Her name was Eleanor, she used to be his colleague. A few hours before their anniversary dinner, her husband called and said, “We need to talk.”
Emily stood in the kitchen of her flat in Manchester, carefully arranging napkins on the table, which she had decorated for their special meal. Tonight marked ten years of marriage with James, and she wanted everything to be perfect—the candles, his favourite wine, the aroma of roast chicken filling the air. But just before the guests were due to arrive, her phone rang. His name flashed on the screen. “Em, we need to talk,” he said, his voice distant and cold. Her stomach twisted with dread, though she didn’t yet know that call would shatter her life. She only felt the ground crumbling beneath her.
James had been her rock, her love, the man who shared her dreams and struggles. They’d met at university, married young, and raised their daughter, Sophie, together. Emily had trusted him completely, even when he stayed late at the office or went on business trips. She took pride in his success—he’d risen to department head at a top firm, his charm opening every door. But now, clutching the phone, she remembered the little things she’d brushed off: his vacant stares, clipped replies, the odd calls he’d dismiss. The name “Eleanor” surfaced in her mind like a stain she’d tried to ignore.
Eleanor had worked with him two years ago. Emily had seen her at the company Christmas party—tall, with a confident smile and eyes that lingered on James a second too long. Back then, she’d shrugged it off: “Just a colleague, no big deal.” James had even mentioned Eleanor had quit and moved away. But now, listening to his heavy breathing on the line, Emily understood—Eleanor had never left. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Em,” he began, each word like a knife. He confessed he’d been seeing Eleanor for a year, that she’d returned to Manchester, that he was “confused.” Emily stood frozen, the room spinning.
She didn’t recall ending the call. Didn’t remember turning off the oven or clearing the candles she’d lit that morning with such hope. Her thoughts raced: “How could he? Ten years, Sophie, our home—all for her?” She sank onto the sofa, clutching their wedding photo, trying to pinpoint when her life had become a lie. She remembered James hugging her just last week, promising Sophie a trip to the Lake District. All while he was with someone else. The betrayal burned, but worse was the realisation—she hadn’t seen it because she’d trusted him too much. Loved him too blindly.
When James came home, Emily met him in silence. The guests never arrived—she’d cancelled, unable to pretend. He looked guilty but not broken. “I never wanted to hurt you, Em. But with Eleanor… it’s different,” he said, and those words broke her. She didn’t scream or cry—just stared at him like a stranger. “Go,” she finally whispered, her voice steadier than she’d expected. He nodded, grabbed a bag, and left her standing in the empty flat that still smelled of a celebration that never happened.
A month passed. Emily focused on Sophie, who still didn’t know the full truth. She smiled as she made her breakfast, but at night, she wept, asking herself, “Why wasn’t I enough?” Friends offered support, but their words couldn’t heal the wound. She learned James and Eleanor were now living together, and the news felt like another punch. Yet deep down, she sensed something new—strength. She hadn’t fallen apart. She’d cancelled that dinner, but not her life.
Now Emily faced the future with cautious hope. She’d enrolled in a design course, something she’d dreamed of in her youth, spent more time with Sophie, learned her own worth. James calls sometimes, begging forgiveness, but she isn’t ready to listen. Eleanor, once just a shadow, no longer rules her thoughts. Emily knows her life isn’t defined by him, or their marriage, but by herself. That anniversary, meant to be a celebration, became the start of a new chapter. One where she’ll never again live for empty promises.
