**A Shadow of Betrayal**
Six days in a row now, Emily hasn’t spoken to her husband. It all started last Tuesday over something so trivial. Thomas forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer, even though she’d reminded him twice. But when he got home from work, he buried himself in his laptop, lost in some urgent reports.
“Thomas!” Emily’s voice rang from the kitchen, sharp with anger. “Are you deliberately ignoring me? What am I supposed to cook for dinner with no chicken?”
“Sorry, love,” he muttered, not looking up from the screen. “Just swamped. Let’s order a takeaway? Pizza or curry?”
“Order whatever you want!” she snapped, grabbing her coat.
“Where are you going?” Thomas stepped into the hallway, frowning at her.
“Out for a walk,” she bit back, slamming the door behind her.
Thomas shrugged and returned to his work. Two hours later, he ordered the pizza and waited, but Emily didn’t return until midnight, when Manchester was already hushed under a blanket of winter frost.
“Where were you all this time?” he blurted.
“At a café,” she replied coolly.
“Alone? At this hour?”
“What’s the big deal? You didn’t bother with dinner, so I had to find my own.”
“You’re seriously still on about the chicken?” Thomas flared up. “So I forgot! It happens!”
“It’s not about the chicken!” Emily’s voice cracked as she raised it. “You don’t take me seriously! It’s like I don’t exist to you—my words just vanish into thin air!”
“What?” Thomas narrowed his eyes, sensing the fight was spiralling, but he forced a calm tone. “Fine, I’ll set a reminder next time.”
That only poured fuel on the fire. Emily stayed silent all morning, and by evening, she was ignoring him outright. On the third day, Thomas cracked. He tried to pull her into a hug, but she shoved him away with a glare and locked herself in the bedroom.
“Suit yourself,” he muttered, frustration simmering. Work was stressful enough—now he had a cold war at home, too.
A week passed in crushing silence. On a rare day off, Thomas decided to make peace. He woke early, made breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, coffee with her favourite vanilla foam. But when Emily stepped into the kitchen, she barely glanced at the spread.
“We need to break up.”
“What?” Thomas froze, as though struck by lightning. “Over a bloody chicken?”
“Stop with the chicken!” she yelled, fists clenched. “I told you—it’s not about that! This isn’t working! You were different when we married—attentive, caring. Now? I’m lucky if you even look at me!”
“What are you talking about?” Thomas still loved her. He *tried*. “We go to the cinema, to restaurants! Yes, I’m busy weekdays, but weekends are yours!”
“I don’t *feel* you anymore,” she said icily. “You’re miles away, lost in your own head. Like I’m… furniture in your life.”
“Furniture?” Thomas’s chest tightened. “I’m stressed, yes, but it’s work! You know how much pressure I’m under!”
“Exactly!” she cut in. “All that effort, and for what? If you worked this hard, we’d be in a proper house by now, not this flat! I dreamed of holidays abroad, but with you? Never going to happen.”
“Emily, I’m breaking my back for us!” he pleaded. “Just wait—we’ll get there!”
“Three years married, and nothing’s changed.” Her voice was frost. “You promised. Should’ve known better.”
“So you married me… for promises?” Thomas’s stomach dropped. “I thought you loved *me*.”
“I did, but—” Emily stopped herself, realising she’d said too much. “I’m done. I’ll pack my things.”
Alone, Thomas stared at the ruined breakfast, disbelieving that a piece of chicken could wreck his marriage. As Emily shoved clothes into suitcases, he begged. She ignored him. Then, without a word, she left.
For weeks, Thomas drifted in a haze. He waited for her to return, laugh it off—say it was a joke. She never did. He called, begged to meet. At first, she refused. Then, she changed her number.
When the divorce papers arrived, he knew it was over. He stopped reaching out, withdrew into himself.
Then, by chance, he bumped into Emily’s cousin, Sophie. Her pitying look said she knew. Sophie never liked Emily and was quick to gossip.
“You holding up?” she asked gently.
“Fine,” Thomas forced a smile.
“Good,” she touched his arm. “I know how it feels—dumped for someone else. But you’ll land on your feet.”
“Someone else?” Thomas went still.
“You didn’t know?” Sophie blinked. “Emily’s with her boss. They’ve been at it for months. The minute he divorced, she pounced.”
“How do you—?” His voice wavered.
“Dad’s birthday last week,” Sophie smirked. “Emily showed up with him, bragging all night—how rich he was, how successful. Said she couldn’t wait to marry him. ‘Happiness is money,’ apparently.”
Rage and hurt boiled in Thomas’s chest. He hated her for the betrayal, hated himself for not being enough. After Sophie left, he wandered home, replaying every cruel detail.
But time numbed the pain. Oddly, he felt grateful. Six months later, he got a promotion. His hard work paid off, and selling the flat, he bought a proper house in central Manchester.
There, he met Lucy, a new colleague. Friendship turned to love, and within a year, they married.
He heard nothing more of Emily—only whispers. Her affair ended when the boss reconciled with his wife. She was let go.
Then, one day, he spotted her in Tesco. She stared blankly at shelves, hollow-eyed. Seeing him, she turned away. Thomas almost called out—asked how she was—but stopped himself. Schadenfreude wasn’t his style.
With Lucy, he was happy. And silently, he thanked Emily for her betrayal. Without it, he’d never have found real love. Turning, he wandered the aisles, eager to find his wife—just to hold her.
