I thought he was cheating on me, but it turned out to be something far worse.
My phone was on silent, yet I still heard it. The buzz on the kitchen worktop sounded like a gunshot. I glanced an unknown number. Peter had just come back from a work trip and was still standing under the shower.
I dont know what possessed me, but I answered. The line was dead for a moment, then a womans voice broke the silence:
Please tell him Tom was very brave at the dentist today. And were expecting him on Sunday.
I froze.
Sorry, who is this? I asked.
Ah isnt that his number? she hesitated. Sorry wrong number.
She hung up. I was rooted to the kitchen floor. Tom. Brave at the dentist. Expecting him on Sunday. I didnt even know who Tom was, but I knew one thing this wasnt a mixup.
When Peter stepped out of the shower, I stared at him as if he were a stranger. He smiled, asked if there was anything to eat, and I opened the fridge thinking, Well, thats just the beginning.
The next morning I could barely get out of bed. It felt like someone had swapped my world for a version where nothing fits. Peter same voice, same scent, the same morning routine with the tea yet every fibre of me was shouting, Its not him anymore. Not the man you thought youd married.
I tried to rationalise. Maybe it really was a mistake? Maybe a colleague dialled the wrong number? But that tone, that certainty in the womans voice, the word waiting it felt like shed said it before.
I started watching Peter more closely. Things seemed normal, but not quite. Hed park his car a few spaces further than usual. His trips away became more frequent. And the short messages on WhatsApp were always workrelated, blunt, but the wording felt off, as if someone else was typing for him.
Finally I decided I had to know. I hated playing detective, but I hated being naive even more.
I started with the car. After one of his trips I checked the boot. Apart from a single receipt, it was empty a hotel bill from Bristol, not the town he claimed he was heading to. The date matched the day hed said hed be home late because of traffic.
My heart was racing, but I didnt give up. The next time he was getting ready to leave, I wrote down the hotels registration number from the receipt. Two days later I drove there.
I wasnt sure what I was expecting maybe just to confirm he wasnt there, maybe to prove I was losing my mind. But when I pulled up opposite the building and saw Peter walking out, hand in hand with a little boy, I stopped dead. The child looked about four, a crooked baseball cap, a laugh like a bell, and his features his. A miniature version of Peter.
A woman stepped out after them younger than me, maybe early thirties. She adjusted the boys jacket and Peter kissed her on the forehead as if it were the most ordinary thing. Their family.
I backed away to the car, legs barely holding me up, hands shaking. My phone buzzed probably my daughter checking if Id be back from the shopping. I didnt answer. I just stared at that scene through the windshield, like watching a life that wasnt mine. And then it hit me: this wasnt an affair, it wasnt a simple betrayal. It was something far worse. He had a second family, a whole other life, and I was just a footnote, a background prop.
I dont know how long I sat there, but eventually I started the engine and drove off. Not home I needed fresh air, to clear the fog of my own delusions.
I didnt get back until evening. The house was quiet, the kids asleep. Peter was on the sofa, flicking through the TV as if nothing had happened. He looked up, raised an eyebrow.
Been a long time getting those shopping trips. Everything alright? he asked in that calm tone that used to make my friends jealous.
I said nothing, just stared at him, wondering how Id missed it all for so long. How could he have kept two fronts? How often did he slip back from that other house without a pang of conscience?
I sat opposite him and said calmly, I was in Bristol today.
He froze. His smile vanished.
Why would you be there? he asked, voice a little shaky.
I saw you you, her and the boy.
He stayed silent for a long beat. Then he sighed.
I didnt mean to hurt you. It just happened.
The child happened? I interrupted. The family happened?
He clenched his fists, didnt try to explain any further. Maybe he realised there was no point. Or maybe he was simply exhausted by the lies.
I never wanted to leave anyone behind you, them. I thought I could manage both.
Manage both? I said, bitter. Is that what you call juggling two lives? Building Lego sets in two different homes? Lying to both for the sake of convenience?
I stood up.
I dont know what comes next, but I know one thing: Im not staying in this circus any longer.
I didnt scream. I didnt cry. I just felt empty, then a strange new fire inside anger, sure, but also a fierce resolve.
Two weeks later I told him he had to move out. He didnt plead, didnt protest. He packed quietly and left.
And for the first time in ages I could actually breathe no more lies, no constant tension. I was alone, but free.
The only thing that still nags at me is: how did I fall into that trap? How could I have been so blind to the fact I was living in someone elses theatre, not my own home? I still cant quite work out how I got tangled up in that mess.
