“Cheers, Vinnie! I dunno what I’d do without you,” flashed across the phone screen.
Emma’s hand tightened around her husband’s phone as it buzzed. A quick glance showed the message was from someone named *Marianne*. A little heart emoji winked at the end of it.
Emma’s stomach dropped. *Marianne? Vinnie?* She might’ve brushed it off—maybe a coworker, some distant cousin—except for one thing: Vince didn’t know any *Marianne*. Or did he?
She inhaled sharply. Best to ask first, panic later. But jealousy already coiled in her chest.
“Who’s Marianne?” Emma kept her voice steady, barely.
Vince, sipping his tea at the kitchen table, blinked at her.
“Huh?”
“Marianne.” Emma thrust the phone toward him. “This. Who is she?”
His eyes flickered—just for a second—before he shrugged.
“Oh. That’s just Marina.”
Emma went still.
“Marina *who*?”
“My ex. There’s nothing going on, obviously.”
She set the phone down slowly, arms crossing over her chest.
“Your ex calls you ‘Vinnie,’ thanks you with heart emojis, and you think that’s normal?”
Another shrug, like it was nothing. Like *she* was overreacting.
“We’re mates. She needed a bit of help, so I lent her some cash.”
Emma’s breath hitched.
“You *gave* money to your ex?”
“Yeah? What’s the big deal?”
“The *big deal*?” Her voice cracked. “Are you serious? You’re dipping into *our* money to fund some woman from your past?”
He finally looked at her, irritated.
“Emma, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. We’ve known each other forever. Why can’t I help her out?”
She laughed, sharp and hollow.
“You’re *married*, Vince. To *me*. But you’re still playing knight in shining armor for someone else.”
He sighed, like she was being childish.
“We didn’t end badly. She’s not a stranger.”
“Am *I* the stranger?”
Silence.
Emma exhaled, fists clenched.
“How long has this been going on?”
“What?”
“This… *cosy* little arrangement.”
He looked away.
“We’ve always stayed in touch. Didn’t mention it before. Didn’t want to wind you up.”
Ice pooled in her stomach.
“So for *two years*, you’ve been hiding this?”
“I *wasn’t* hiding it. It’s not like I’m cheating. You’ve got no reason to be upset.”
She bit back a scream.
“How often do you ‘help’ her?”
“Now and then. Small stuff. Fixing her telly, sorting her WiFi.”
“Right. So my *husband* is running errands for another woman like some handyman?”
Vince flushed, temper flaring.
“God, you’re blowing this up! So I helped her—so what? It’s not a crime! I’d do the same for you!”
Emma stared at him, dead calm.
“If you can’t see what’s wrong with this, we’ve got very different ideas of marriage.”
She turned and walked out. She couldn’t stand the sight of him right then.
The rest of the day blurred. Anger, hurt, confusion—all tangled in her chest. She tried to think logically, but one question looped in her head: *How did I miss this?*
Vince didn’t act guilty. Now that she knew, he didn’t bother hiding it—just acted like it was *nothing*.
Over the next two weeks, the pieces fell into place. Vince’s “late work nights” every few days? Funny how Marina always had a *crisis* right around then.
“Gonna pop by Marina’s tonight,” Vince said casually over dinner. “Her washing machine’s leaking.”
Emma set her fork down.
“No repairmen in London, then?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“For *you*, maybe. For me? It’s getting old.”
“Here we go again—”
“*Yes*, again,” she snapped. “Because your ex *somehow* needs rescuing every other day. Thank God you don’t have kids with her.”
He rolled his eyes and kept eating.
“If it was my mum or a neighbour, you’d be fine with it.”
“Difference is, they wouldn’t call you *every single time*.”
“Emma.” Vince sighed. “You’re acting like I’m having an affair.”
“I don’t *know* what you’re doing. But it’s dodgy, and I’m done pretending it’s not.”
A smirk twisted his mouth.
“You don’t trust me.”
“Give me a reason to.”
Silence.
Three days later, Marina was back.
“Marina rang,” Vince said, indifferent. “Needs a fridge delivered. No way to get it home.”
Emma turned slowly.
“You’re telling me you’ll drop everything, take *our* car, and play delivery man for her?”
“What’s the problem?”
“You *really* don’t see it?”
“I see you making drama over nothing.”
“No, Vince. *You’re* the circus act here. If you’re so desperate to be at her beck and call, go move in with her. Save on petrol.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“So you’re kicking me out?”
“No. I’m giving you a choice. Be in this marriage—properly—or don’t be in it at all.”
She walked out before he could reply. No more games.
A day passed. No calls, no texts. Vince had left—to a mate’s place, not Marina’s, but still. She waited. Maybe he’d realise. Maybe he’d *care*.
Nothing.
He strolled back in on day two like nothing happened.
“You calmed down yet?”
Emma didn’t move.
“That’s your solution? Disappear and pretend it’s fine?”
He groaned, exasperated.
“Emma, you’re overreacting.”
Her nails dug into her palms.
“I’m not overreacting. I just won’t share my husband with his ex.”
“There’s no *sharing*—”
“Then prove it. Either you cut ties with her, or we divorce.”
He froze.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“You’d *end* us over *this*?”
“I’d end it because you won’t respect me enough to choose.”
He scoffed.
“So you’re leaving?”
“Packed already.” She grabbed her suitcase. “I’ll be at my parents’. Decide what matters more—your wife or your ex.”
He didn’t stop her. Didn’t say a word.
That hurt most of all.
A week passed. No calls. No texts. Her mum frowned at her over tea.
“You’re being too harsh, love. He’s just kind—can’t say no.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“Kind? Or still hung up?”
“Good men aren’t easy to find. Maybe you should forgive him.”
Emma didn’t answer. It wasn’t just Marina. It was Vince refusing to *hear* her.
Day ten, his call came.
“You done sulking?”
She gripped the phone.
“You think this was just a *mood*?”
“Wasn’t it?”
She closed her eyes. *God, he still doesn’t get it.*
“Vince, do you even know why I left?”
“Over nothing.”
A sad smile tugged at her lips.
“Right. Well, if it’s *nothing*, it’s not worth fighting for. I’m filing for divorce.”
Silence.
“Fine. Your loss.”
“Yeah. *Mine*.”
She hung up. For the first time in weeks, the weight lifted. No more waiting. No more hoping.
Maybe it hurt now. But someday, she’d look back and laugh.
After all, when one door closes… another opens.
