The phone buzzed in her hand, the screen lighting up with a message.
“Thanks, Johnny! Dont know what Id do without you,” flashed across the display, followed by a pink heart, like a tiny kiss.
Emily froze. *Johnny?* The sender was someone named Lucy. She could have brushed it offa distant cousin, a coworkerexcept for one thing: her husband had never mentioned anyone by that name. Or had he kept her hidden?
She forced herself to breathe. She needed the truth, not wild guesses. But jealousy twisted in her chest like a wrung-out towel.
“Whos Lucy?” Emily asked, her voice steady but brittle.
James, sipping his tea, blinked like shed spoken in code.
“What?”
“Lucy.” She thrust the phone toward him. “Who is she?”
His eyes flickeredjust for a secondbefore he shrugged.
“Oh. Thats Laura.”
“What *Laura?*”
“My ex. Its nothing.”
Emily set the phone down hard, arms crossed.
“Your ex calls you *Johnny* and sends heart emojis? You think thats normal?”
Another shrug, as if the question bored him.
“Yeah. Lent her some money. She needed a loan.”
Fury flared in her ribs.
“You gave your *ex* money?”
“Yeah. Whats the big deal?”
“The big *deal*?” She nearly laughed. “You took *our* money and handed it to some Lucy?”
Finally, he met her gaze.
“Emily, youre making a mountain out of a molehill. Weve known each other forever. Why shouldnt I help?”
She smiled, sharp and joyless.
“Youre married, James. To *me*. Yet youre still playing handyman for someone else.”
He sighed, like she was a child missing the obvious.
“We didnt end badly. Shes not a stranger.”
“And what am I?”
Silence. Emily exhaled, slow and heavy.
“How long has this been going on?”
“What?”
“Your little *friendship*.”
He looked away.
“Weve always talked. Even before you. Just didnt mention it. Didnt want you overreacting.”
Her skin burned.
“Two years. You *hid* it?”
“Didnt hide it. Just didnt bring it up. Im not cheating. Why fuss?”
She dug her nails into her palms.
“How often do you *help* her?”
“Now and then. Small things. Fixing her Wi-Fi, setting up her laptop.”
“So my husband runs errands for another woman like some repairman?”
“Dont be ridiculous!” he snapped. “I helped her, loaned her cash! Is that a crime? Id do the same for you!”
Her voice turned icy.
“If you cant see whats wrong with this, we dont share the same idea of marriage.”
She walked out before he could reply.
The day blurredanger, hurt, confusion. She tried to think clearly, but one question hammered in her skull: *How did I not see this?*
James acted innocent. Now he didnt even hide talking to Laura, as if it were perfectly normal.
Over the next fortnight, the truth sharpened. He worked late often. Every few days, Laura had another *emergency*.
“Going to Lauras tonight,” he said over dinner, casual as the weather. “Her washing machine broke.”
Emily set her fork down.
“No other repairmen in town?”
“Christ, is it so hard to help someone?”
“For you, no. For me, *yes*.”
“Here we go again! Must we keep rehashing this?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “Because your ex always needs *something*. At least you dont share kids.”
James rolled his eyes and kept eating.
“If it were your mum or the neighbour, would you care?”
“The difference is, *they* wouldnt call you daily.”
“Emily,” he sighed. “Youre acting like Ive shagged her.”
“I dont *know* if you have. But this isnt normal. And I wont tolerate it.”
He smirked.
“You dont trust me.”
“Have you given me reason to?”
Silence.
Three days later, Laura resurfaced.
“Laura rang,” James announced. “Needs a fridge delivered.”
Emily turned slowly.
“So youll drop everything to play delivery man?”
“Whats the fuss?”
“James, are you *blind*?”
“Youre making drama out of nothing.”
“No. *You* are. And I wont be part of it. If helping Laura matters so much, move in with her. Save on petrol.”
“Youre serious?”
“Deadly.”
“So youre kicking me out?”
“No, James. Im giving you a choice. Be in *this* family, or walk away. But I wont have you here like this.”
She left before he could argue. No more games. Maybe he thought honesty meant confessing where he went. But to Emily, it wasnt honestyit was betrayal.
Twenty-four hours passed. No calls. No texts. Hed gone. Maybe to
Ten days of silence taught her: sometimes goodbye isnt a loss, but a lesson in knowing your worth.
