Receptions awful, Im at the site: my husband left for work up north, but a week later, Mum saw him in another part of town with a pram. I went to check.
Two weeks ago, I stood shivering on the chilly platform, wrapping my coat tighter and waving goodbye to Simon. In his hands was a huge sports bag, stuffed to bursting with thermals, thick socks and cans of food. He was off to work on-site, far away. The place he spoke of had harsh conditions, tough labour and, as he promised, big money.
Dont be sad, Alice, he said, kissing my forehead with an oddly calm, almost detached tenderness. Its just three months. Well pay off the mortgage, and then Ill get you a new car. The reception there is dreadful, you knowremote sites, middle of nowhere. Ill call whenever I can. Just wait for me.
And so I waited. Like a loyal dog. I kept my phone glued to my handeven in the bath. Simon rang rarely, every few days, always on video, though the camera never worked or was covered up.
The internets barely working, Alice, his voice crackled through the static. Only one mast here for miles. Love you, miss you. Gotta go, foremans calling.
I believed him. In fact, I was proud. My husbanda provider, a hero, enduring hardship for his familys future. I cut back on everything, careful not to touch the money he was supposedly earning for us.
Yesterday started as normal. I was at work when Mum rang. Her voice was strangequiet, tense, as if she was choosing her words deliberately.
Alice, are you sitting down?
Mum, whats happened? Is Dad okay?
Dads fine. Im at the MetroCentre in the North End. Wanted to look for a present for your little oneand, Alice, I saw Simon.
I laughedloudly, nervously, almost hysterically.
Mum, youre mistaken. Simons up north. Its a seven-hour time difference. Its snowing there, hills everywhere; hes either working or sleeping.
Alice, she interrupted sharply. Ive known him ten years. I know how he walks, how he scratches his head, his coat. It was him. He was at the food court. With a young woman. Andthey were pushing a pram.
The world didnt collapse; it simply froze. Grey, flat, silent. I left work, claiming a migraine, and jumped into a taxi. It takes forty minutes to the MetroCentre. The whole journey I tried ringing Simon. The response: number unavailable. Obviously. Hes out in the sticks.
Mum waited at the entrancepale, clutching a bottle of water with drops of valerian floating inside.
Theyre at the cinema, she whispered. The film ends in about twenty minutes.
We waited. I hid behind a pillar, feeling like a character in a cheap mystery film. The cinema doors burst open and people spilled out. Among them, I saw him. My on-site worker. My hero. He walked arm-in-arm with a woman about twenty-five, visibly pregnant. Simon pushed a pram holding a little girl, no older than eighteen months.
He didnt look tired or worn-out. He looked well-fed, calm, happy with life. He smiled at her in a way he hadnt smiled at me in years, leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.
And then I stepped out from behind the pillar.
Hello, on-site worker, I said loudly.
Simon looked up, the colour draining from his face instantly. He jerked like he wanted to run, but the pram got in the way.
Alice?.. What are you doing here?
Me? Im here to meet my husband whos just returned from his site. Did your flight get in early, or have you mastered teleportation?
The girl stiffened, glancing between us.
Simon, who is this? she demanded. Is she that ex you told me makes it impossible for you to pay child support?
I stared directly at her.
Ex? Im his legal wife. Married ten years. And right now, hes supposed to be on site, earning for our mortgage.
Simon said nothing. His carefully built story fell apart in a minute. It turned out, all his site work over the last three years was a lie. He hadnt gone anywhere. He simply lived two lives. One side of townwith me. The otherwith her. And the moneyhe took from our shared savings, getting loans and debts, spending it on his other family.
I turned and walked away. Mum followed. Behind us came shouts, a child crying, the womans hysteria. I didnt care.
Looking at it soberly, this is a classic case of ‘fake business tripsthe highest level of narcissistic deception. Lying for years about far-off cities and time differences, while just forty minutes away, isnt just dishonestyits a carefully constructed system of manipulation.
First, its the illusion of distance. The farther away and less reachable the place, the easier to excuse absence: too expensive, too far, bad reception, time difference. The perfect alibi.
Second, dissociation. Its as if these people have different personalities for different women. One role for one, another for the other. The worlds never cross, and theres no guilt.
Third, gaslighting the second partner. Judging by her words, he told her a story about an ex who wouldnt let him live or grant a divorce. To each womana unique fairytale.
Fourth, financial parasitism. The worst part isnt just the affair, but the money. The wife cuts back, thinking of the future, while shes actually funding someone elses life. Thats true economic abuse.
And finally, lucks role. Sometimes its an outsiders eyea mother, a friendwho shatters the illusion. When facts contradict belief, believe the facts, however painful.
What next? No heart-to-heart chats. You cant negotiate with someone who is capable of such grand-scale deceit. Concrete steps are needed: divorce, a full audit of the finances, changing the locks. His site work ended with a complete collapse.
Would you trust your husband if he said he was leaving to work in another part of the country for months? Or would you check the tickets and location?.
