Emily stood by the window, watching the thick London snow blanket the city. The phone call with her husband was drawing to a closejust another mundane conversation in their fifteen years of marriage. James, as usual, was reporting on his “business trip” to Manchester: everything fine, meetings on schedule, hed be back in three days.
“Alright, love, talk soon,” Emily said, moving the phone away to tap the red end-call button. But something stopped her. On the other end, she heard a womans voice, bright and youthful:
“Jamie, are you coming? Ive run the bath”
Emilys hand froze mid-air. Her heart skipped, then pounded as if trying to escape her chest. She pressed the phone back to her ear, but all she heard was the dial toneJames had already hung up.
She sank into the armchair, legs giving way beneath her. Thoughts spun wildly: “Jamie A bath What bath on a business trip?” Her memory flickered through odd details from recent monthsfrequent trips, late-night calls taken in the garden, the new cologne lingering in his car.
With trembling hands, she opened her laptop. Logging into his email was easyshed known the password since the days of trust between them. Tickets, hotel bookings A “honeymoon suite” in a five-star Manchester hotel. For two.
In the inbox, she found the messages. Chloe. Twenty-six. Fitness instructor. “Darling, I cant do this anymore. You promised youd leave her three months ago. How much longer?”
Emily felt sick. A memory flashedtheir first date, James a junior manager, her a trainee accountant. Theyd saved for their wedding while renting a tiny flat. Celebrated first successes, leaned on each other through setbacks. Now he was a commercial director, she the head of finance at the same firmand between them stretched a chasm fifteen years long and twenty-six years wide.
In the hotel room, James paced furiously.
“Why did you do that?” His voice shook with anger.
Chloe lounged on the bed, wrapped carelessly in a silk robe, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow.
“Whats the big deal?” She stretched like a contented cat. “You said you were leaving her anyway.”
“I decide when and how! Do you realise what youve done? Emily isnt stupidshell figure it out!”
“Good!” Chloe sat up sharply. “Im sick of being your dirty secret. I want restaurants, meeting your friends, being your wife!”
“Youre acting like a child,” he hissed.
“And youre a coward!” She leapt up, confronting him. “Look at me. Im young, beautifulI can give you children. What can she do? Count your money?”
James grabbed her shoulders. “Dont you dare talk about Emily like that! You know nothing about us!”
“I know enough,” she wrenched free. “I know youre unhappy. That shes buried in work and chores. When did you last make love? Go on holiday together?”
James turned to the window. Somewhere in snowy London, fifteen years of marriage were crumbling like a house of cardsall because of a spoiled girls careless words.
Emily sat in the dark kitchen, clutching a cold cup of tea. Dozens of missed calls from James lit up her phone. She didnt answer. What could she say? “Darling, I heard your mistress calling you to her bath?”
Memories flickered: James on one knee in a restaurant, sliding a ring onto her finger. Moving into their first flata cramped two-bed in the suburbs. Him holding her when she lost her mum. Celebrating his promotion
Then came the endless overtime, mortgages, renovations
When had they last talked properly? Watched films curled up on the sofa? Made plans?
Her phone buzzed again. A text: “Em, we need to talk. I can explain.”
Explain what? That shed aged? That she was buried in routine? That a twenty-six-year-old understood him better?
Emily studied herself in the mirror. Forty-two. Crows feet, grey roots she religiously dyed. When had the tiredness set in? The endless chase for stability?
“Jamie, whereve you been?” Chloe scowled as he returned from yet another failed call.
“Not now.” He slumped into a chair, loosening his tie.
“Nonow!” She planted her hands on her hips. “What happens next? You know you have to choose.”
James looked at herconfident, radiant, full of life. Emily had been like that fifteen years ago. God, how could he do this to her?
“Chloe,” he rubbed his face. “Youre right. Its time to end this.”
She beamed, flinging herself at him. “Darling! I knew youd choose us!”
He gently pushed her back. “No. Us. Me and Emily. I love my wife. Yes, weve drifted. But I wont throw away fifteen years.”
“Youyou coward!” Tears streamed down her face.
“No. I was the coward when I started this. When I lied to the woman whos stood by me through everything. Youre rightIm not happy. But happiness isnt foundits built.”
The doorbell rang near midnight. Emily knew it was himhed caught the first flight back.
“Em, please,” his voice was muffled through the door.
She opened it. James stood thereunshaven, rumpled, eyes brimming with guilt.
“Can I come in?”
Silently, she stepped aside. They moved to the kitchenwhere theyd once dreamed aloud, made decisions side by side.
“Em”
“Dont.” She held up a hand. “I know. Chloe, twenty-six, fitness instructor. I read your emails.”
He nodded, wordless.
“Why, James?”
He stared at the dark city beyond the window.
“Because Im weak. Because I got scared wed become strangers. Because she reminded me of youthe you full of fire and plans.”
“And now?”
“Now” He turned to her. “Now I want to fix this. If youll let me.”
“What about her?”
“Its over. I cant lose you. Em, I dont deserve forgiveness. But lets try? Counselling, more time togetherfind our way back”
Emily studied himolder, greyer, achingly familiar. Fifteen years wasnt just a number. It was shared jokes, silent understandings, the choice to forgive.
“I dont know, James.” For the first time that night, she cried.
He pulled her close, and she didnt resist. Outside, snow draped London in white.
Somewhere in Manchester, a young woman wept, facing a harsh truth: love wasnt just passionit was a daily choice.
And here, in the kitchen, two people began piecing their lives back together. Ahead lay a long roadof therapy, painful talks, relearning each other. But both knew: sometimes you must lose something to understand its worth.
