Eleanor almost ended the call with her husband before she caught the faint trace of another womans voice on his end.
Back then, the snow drifted quietly past the window of their flat in Manchester. Eleanor stood motionless and mesmerised as she watched it descend, untouched by thought. The telephone call with her husband, Edward, felt like any otherroutine, predictable, nothing out of the ordinary after fifteen years of marriage. He was away on business in London, reporting all had gone well at his meetings and hed return in three days time.
Alright, love, Ill talk to you soon, Eleanor replied, pulling the phone from her ear and reaching for the red button. But a sound stopped heryoung, melodic, unmistakably female: Edward, are you coming? The baths running.
Eleanors hand froze. Her heart missed a beat, then started pounding furiously. She pressed the phone back to her ear, but all she caught was the cold, cutting sound of the line disconnecting. Hed hung up first.
She sank shakily into an armchair, her legs unwilling to bear her weight. Her mind raced in broken fragments: Edward… a bath? On a business trip? Vivid, unnoticed oddities from recent months flashed before her: frequent trips south, late night phone calls taken out on their balcony, a new aftershave in his Ford that shed never bought him.
Her hands trembled as she opened her laptop. Getting into his email was easyshed known the password for years, leftovers from older, more trusting times. She quickly found evidence: tickets, a hotel reservationa honeymoon suite in a luxury hotel in central London. Two guests.
Then, the e-mails. Beatrice. Twenty-six, a personal trainer. Darling, I cant go on like this. You promised youd leave her three months ago. How much longer?
Eleanor was overwhelmed with nausea. Memories of their first date rose unbiddenEdward, back then, a junior executive; she, a fledgling accountant. Theyd saved for a year for their wedding, surviving in a rented two-bed. Together, theyd cheered each other’s successes and picked the other up when things went wrong. Now he was a commercial director, she the head accountant at the same firm, but a chasm of time and the youth of a twenty-something Beatrice stretched between them.
***
In their hotel room, Edward paced restlessly between the windows and the sofa.
What did you do that for? His voice stuttered with anger.
Beatrice sprawled on the bed, a silk dressing gown falling loosely about her. Her long, fair hair splayed across the pillows.
Why not? she shrugged, stretching like a pampered cat. You told me you were going to leave her soon.
Ill decide when and how, Beatrice! Dont you see what youve done? Eleanors no fool. Shell have put things together!
Thats what I want! Beatrice shot upright, eyes flashing. Im tired of being your secret. I want people to see us. I want to dine with you at restaurants, meet your friends, be your wife, for heavens sake!
Youre acting like a child, Edward bit back.
And youre a coward! She leapt to her feet, face close to his. Look at me! Im young; Im beautiful; I can give you children. What does she do? Count your money?
Edward gripped her shoulders, his voice low. Dont you dare speak about Eleanor that way. You know nothing about her. About us.
I know youre unhappy with her, Beatrice retorted, pulling away. Shes buried herself in work and chores. When did you last sleep together? Holiday together, even?
Edward turned from her to the window. Outside, snow drifted over Manchester, settling on their familiar house. In that flat with Eleanor, everything theyd built over fifteen years crumbled at a brash young womans offhand remark.
***
Eleanor sat hunched at the kitchen table in the dark, hands trembling around a cooling cup of tea. The phone blinked with a dozen missed calls from Edward. She didnt answer. What could she possibly say? Darling, I heard your lover calling you to the bath?
Her mind twisted through memories: Edward kneeling centre stage in a crowded Liverpool bistro, ring in hand; the afternoon they moved into their first mortgaged terrace on the outskirts; the time he held her, steady and silent, after her mothers passing; the celebration the first time he was promoted.
Lately: endless work emergencies, repayments, DIY. When had they last spoken heart-to-heart? Watched a film together, curled up on the sofa? Dreamed aloud together?
The phone buzzed againa text: Ellie, please, lets talk. I can explain.
Explain what, she wondered. That shed grown older? That shed buried herself in the grind? That a young personal trainer understood Edwards needs better than his wife?
Eleanor turned to the mirror. Forty-two. Crows feet at the eyes, a streak of grey dyed monthly. When had these tired eyes and routines replaced laughter and plans?
***
Edward, where have you been? Beatrice eyed him coldly as he staggered back into the hotel room, loosening his tie.
Not now, he muttered, dropping into an armchair.
No, now. I need to know what happens next. You must see you cant defer this any longer. She stood before him, hands stubbornly on her hips.
Edward gazed up at herat the vibrant, assertive young woman before him. Eleanor had been like that, once, all energy and resolve. How had he come to betray her?
Beatrice, he rubbed his temples, exhausted, Youre right. We need to settle this.
She beamed in triumph and threw her arms around him. I knew youd see what matters!
Yes. He gently disengaged her embrace. We need to end this.
What? Beatrice recoiled, wounded.
This was a mistake. He stood. I love my wife. We have problems, yes. Weve grown apart. But I cantI wont discard everything weve shared.
You… youre just a coward! she said with tears streaming down.
No, Beatrice. The coward was the man who started this affair. Who lied to the woman who has stood by me for fifteen yearsthe woman who has shared every joy and every loss. Youre rightIm unhappy. But true happiness must be built, not snatched on the sly.
***
Near midnight, the doorbell rang. Eleanor knew who it washed caught the first train home.
Ellie, please open up, Edwards voice came muffled through the wood.
She opened it. He stood in the corridor, unshaven, suit rumpled, shame in his eyes.
May I come in?
She moved aside in silence. They went to the kitchenthe same kitchen where theyd once dared to map out their future, where life-changing conversations had happened over long cups of tea.
Eleanor…
Dont, she stopped him, raising a hand. I know. Beatrice, twenty-six, personal trainer. Ive seen your emails.
He only nodded, at a loss for words.
Why, Edward?
He took a long time to reply, staring through frost-blurred glass at the sleeping city.
Because Im weak. Because I was frightened wed become strangers. Because she reminded me of you as you once were, full of ambition and light.
And now, what happens?
Now? He turned to her. Now I want to make things right, if youll let me.
And her?
Its over. I realised I cant lose you. I dont want to. I know I dont deserve forgiveness. But perhapscould we try again? See a counsellor, spend time together, rediscover what weve lost…
Eleanor looked at her husbandolder, greyer, achingly familiar. Fifteen years wasnt just a number. It was shared jokes, old habits, the comfort of togetherness in silence, the courage to forgive.
I dont know, Edward, she whispered, tears finally welling in her eyes. I just dont know
He closed his arms gently around her, and this time she did not pull away. Snow continued falling beyond the window, cloaking Manchester in cold, unseen softness.
Meanwhile, somewhere in London, a young woman cried alone in a hotel room, chastened for the first time by the harsh truth: Real love is not just passion or romance. Its a choice, one renewed each day.
And in that quiet kitchen, two people well past youth began picking up the pieces of their life together. Ahead of them stretched a long roadover resentment and suspicion, through counselling and honest talk, tentative attempts to rediscover each other. Both knew: sometimes, you must nearly lose something to see just how precious its always been.
