James lay on his back, the weight of Martha’s head nestled in the hollow of his collarbone. One of her legs draped over him, her palm pressed lightly against his chest, just above his heart. He listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing, overcome with quiet contentment. *If only life could be like this forever…* he thought, closing his eyes.
A sudden jolt startled him awake, as if someone had nudged him in the ribs. Beside him, Martha stirred.
“Time to go already?” she mumbled sleepily.
From the sofa, he couldn’t see the window, but the deepening darkness in the room told him evening had fallen. Long past time to leave their little refuge. How he wished they didn’t have to.
They had met too late—both bound by duty, by families, by responsibilities. These stolen hours were all they had, each meeting a brief respite from the ache of longing. James sighed without meaning to, and Martha lifted her head.
“It’s pitch black!” she gasped, instantly awake, and sprang from the bed.
The warmth of her hand on his chest faded, replaced by a cold emptiness. She was right here beside him, yet his heart already ached with loneliness.
“Come on, we’ve got to go. What am I supposed to tell my husband?”
“The truth,” James said, tossing aside the sheet as he stood.
They dressed hurriedly, avoiding each other’s eyes. James didn’t care what awaited him at home anymore—he was resigned to it. Sick of the lies, the hiding. But Martha was tense, irritated at how recklessly they’d wasted their precious time.
“Say you ran into an old friend at the shops. Got chatting, lost track of time,” he suggested.
“He knows all my friends. Might even call one of them to check.” She refused to look at him.
“Make someone up. An old schoolmate, someone from uni. Not a friend, just an acquaintance.”
“And what will *you* tell your wife?” Martha stopped buttoning her blouse and fixed him with a hard stare.
He stepped closer, cupped her face, gazed into her eyes.
“She stopped asking questions a long time ago. She knows.” He kissed her, and she melted in his arms. The darkness wrapped around them like a cloak, reluctant to let go.
Martha pushed him away—gentle but firm.
“We’ll never leave if we keep doing this.” She hurriedly finished fastening her blouse.
James wanted to say something, to soothe her. He’d begged her countless times to tell their spouses the truth, to break free of the suffocating cycle. But the children… He adored his ten-year-old Lily, and Martha fretted endlessly over her twelve-year-old son, Daniel.
When they’d first started seeing each other, he’d thought it would be fleeting—a fling, nothing more. But it had become something deeper, something irreversible. He’d sacrifice everything for her, but was she ready? She always dodged the question, asked for more time. James sighed.
“Don’t be angry, we agreed…” Guilt tinged her voice.
“You go down to the car. Keys are in my jacket pocket. I’ll tidy up here,” he said, gathering the bedsheets.
“Don’t take too long,” she called from the hallway.
How quickly those few hours had slipped away. Usually, after the passion faded, they’d lie together, talking, making plans. But today, they’d fallen asleep, leaving things painfully unfinished.
The dim glow from the hallway barely lit the room. The front door clicked shut—Martha was gone. James folded the sofa back into place, stowed the sheets in the drawer beneath it. The landlady never touched them. He straightened up, scanning the room—no trace of their presence remained.
In the cramped hallway, he shrugged on his coat, pulled out a few banknotes he’d withdrawn earlier, and left them on the side table. A flick of the switch, and he stepped out into the night.
He rented the flat for a few hours at a time from an elderly woman. A colleague had suggested it years ago—apparently, he’d used it for similar purposes.
At the arranged time, the landlady would leave. He never asked where she went. She needed the money; he and Martha needed privacy.
A hotel room would’ve been simpler—but too risky. Too many acquaintances in town, and the thought of lying on a bed shared by countless others unsettled him.
On the stairs, he passed a woman struggling with heavy shopping bags. He muttered a greeting and sidestepped past her. She didn’t reply. He could feel her suspicious gaze boring into his back.
In his own building—where he lived with his wife and daughter—people nodded hello, even if they didn’t know each other. Just the polite thing to do.
But here, strangers didn’t acknowledge one another. Maybe because in a small block like this, everyone knew everyone—an unfamiliar face was something to scrutinize. Especially for the elderly.
James slid into the driver’s seat and glanced at Martha.
“Ready?”
In the dim interior, her expression was unreadable.
“Maybe you’re right. We should tell them, end all this lying. We’re happy together. But where would we live? If we decided to stay, I mean.”
The unfinished conversation must’ve weighed on her too.
“We’ll figure it out. Rent somewhere for now.”
“Like today?” Her voice wavered.
He didn’t answer, eyes fixed ahead as he pulled out of the car park. Traffic was light on the outskirts but thickened closer to the city centre. A few streets from Martha’s home, he pulled over. She leaned in for a kiss—one last moment of closeness before parting.
“Same time Tuesday?” She pulled away.
Her eyes glistened—streetlights or tears, he couldn’t tell.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” James murmured.
Martha stepped out of the car without a backward glance, disappearing into the gap between buildings.
He sat there a moment longer, half-hoping she’d change her mind, come running back. Then he turned the car around and drove home.
***
The flat was dark, save for a sliver of light under Daniel’s door. Martha slipped off her shoes and peeked in.
“Hey. Your dad home yet?” She leaned over his shoulder.
“Hey, Mum. He came in, then left again.”
“Did he say where? When he’d be back?”
“Nope,” Daniel said, not looking up from his notebook.
“I’ll start dinner.” Martha retreated to the kitchen.
They’d met on the street. She’d been walking home from university when a car pulled up beside her, the driver asking for directions to a house tucked deep in the estate. She hadn’t known how to explain, so she offered to show him.
After that, he’d started waiting for her outside the campus. She’d climb into his car under the envious whispers of her friends.
When he proposed, her mother had urged her to say yes.
“You’re young—he won’t stray. You’ll want for nothing. What more do you need? Love burns out fast. First it’s passion, then it’s drinking, shouting, cheating… With him, you’re safe. He’s older, stable, has a flat, a car, doesn’t drink.”
So she’d agreed. Back then, she thought she could learn to love him. But she never did. When she found out she was pregnant, her first thought was to end it. But fear held her back.
“You’ll have a son who’ll care for you forever. Your husband paid for my eye surgery. Buys my blood pressure meds, my painkillers. I can walk because of him…”
All true. But how do you live without love? Comfortably, securely—yet empty inside. A year ago, Martha had met James. Her heart, starved for affection, had responded instantly.
The front door clicked. Her husband shuffled in, hanging up his coat. He walked into the kitchen and slumped into a chair.
“Dinner’s nearly ready,” Martha said without turning.
Silence. After a few minutes, she glanced back. He sat motionless, staring into space.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
He flinched, then met her gaze. His eyes held something uneasy—fear? Or was it her imagination?
“Are *you*?” he countered.
“I ran into an old school friend… Not a friend, really, just someone I knew. We lost track of time…”
She could’ve said nothing—he hadn’t asked. But the excuses spilled out anyway.
“I’ll call Daniel for dinner.” She slipped out of the kitchen, relieved for the reprieve. Tension radiated off him in waves.
They ate in silence.
“What’s wrong?” she finally asked. “Something’s bothering you.”
“Not anymore,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to his plate.
*Not anymore?* Her stomach twisted.
Women sense things before they know for sure. Martha understood—he *knew.* Had done something. But what? She barely made it to the bathroom in time.
“Are you sick?” His voice behind her made her jump. She straightened,She clutched James’s hand tightly as they drove away, knowing that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.
