**No Divorce**
By fifty, Peter Collins had barely any grey in his hair, but the devil in his ribs had taken up permanent residence. And it was all because of her—Emily. He’d met her by chance when he stopped by the university department where an old friend lectured. The matter had been trivial, but the consequences were life-changing.
She stood by the window, sunlight dancing in her golden hair. Bright green eyes, a slender figure, brimming with life and defiance… Peter, a man long past his youth, suddenly felt young again. Emily seemed to him like the embodiment of every dream—a fairy, a siren, a nymph. In truth, she was just a pretty student, but that realisation came much later. At that moment, he was spellbound.
He hadn’t felt such passion even for his wife, Elizabeth, in their earliest years. Behind them lay three decades of marriage, two grown children, a shared history, a home, mutual understanding, and rare arguments. Yet all of it seemed to vanish from his mind the moment he laid eyes on Emily.
She didn’t resist the attentions of her older admirer—if anything, she encouraged them. To her, he was an opportunity. Raised in a modest family, barely scraping into university, she dreamed of staying in London. And Peter was her ticket.
“He’s ancient!” her flatmate, Sophie, protested. “Are you mad? Could you actually live with him?”
“Hardly ancient,” Emily scoffed. “Fit, well-off, head over heels. Just watch—he’ll propose soon.”
Peter fell for her completely. He was affectionate, generous, attentive. But not once—not a single word—did he mention divorce. Emily waited, hoped. Her plans were simple: Peter’s children had long flown the nest, his wife was healthy, life was stable. And he had money. A wedding seemed inevitable.
Then Peter began to tire. The relentless pace of a young mistress, it turned out, was too much for a man his age. He’d have been happy with a weekly hotel rendezvous, slipping back home to his cosy life, Elizabeth’s shepherd’s pie, and uncomplicated love.
Emily grew impatient.
“Why can’t we move in together? You’ve got that second flat!”
“Tenants,” he lied. In truth, the place was empty—he and Elizabeth had planned renovations. But turning it into a love nest was out of the question.
“Then rent somewhere new! Be a man!”
The rows escalated. Then came the bombshell.
“I’m pregnant, Alex,” Emily announced (yes, that’s what she called him). “Aren’t you happy?”
Peter froze. He’d planned to end things—even cut a business trip short to do it. And now—a child.
“But you said you were on the pill…”
“Nothing’s foolproof. I thought you’d be thrilled.”
He wasn’t thrilled. He was paralysed. But he stayed. The child was born—a boy, Oliver. Peter helped: with money, visiting, playing the part. But Emily wanted more.
“I’m sick of being hidden! Either you tell your wife, or I will.”
Before he could decide, Emily took matters into her own hands. Days later, Elizabeth confronted him.
“So you have a child, and you’re getting married? Is it true?”
“Liz, it’s not like that… I can explain—”
“I’ll tell you now: there’ll be no divorce,” she said calmly but firmly. “I didn’t spend thirty years building a family for some student to tear it apart.”
Relief washed over Peter. Not because he’d avoided losing her, but because she still wanted to fight for them.
“I love you, Lizzie. Forgive me. It was madness—I don’t know what came over me—”
“But the boy—he’s innocent,” she added. “We’ll take him in. Cut ties with her for good. Then I’ll forgive you. Properly.”
Peter couldn’t believe his ears. But Elizabeth, ever the strategist, had it all planned. Exhausted, unsupported, Emily gladly handed Oliver over when he offered a solution:
“I want him with us. You can go back to your studies, your life. We’ll manage.”
“Fine,” she said flatly. “Just don’t come complaining later.”
Custody was settled quickly—father acknowledged, mother compliant. Oliver moved in. Elizabeth cared for him, though coolly. Peter hoped time would soften things. A year passed.
Then—out of the blue.
“I’m filing for divorce,” Elizabeth announced, returning from a business trip. “I’ve met someone else. And I’m happy—truly happy—with him.”
“Who?”
“Daniel. He lives in Manchester but he’s moving here. You’ll keep the flat. Fair’s fair.”
“But you said—”
“I meant it then. But love doesn’t follow orders. I’m sorry.”
She left. Leaving him with Oliver and the past. He tried to win Emily back, but she only laughed.
“You got what you wanted, Alex. And I got my freedom. Live with it. I’m getting married soon.”
Now he was alone. With a son he’d grown to love. Without a wife, without a mistress. Just the quiet certainty that this, perhaps, was justice.
