Many years ago, in a quiet corner of London, a memory unfolded that still lingers in my mind.
“Thank you, Johnny! I dont know what Id do without you,” flashed across the screen of the mobile.
The phone had buzzed in her hand. Emma glanced at it out of habit. The sender was someone named Maisie. The message ended with a pink heart, like a little kiss.
Emmas breath caught. Maisie? Johnny? She might have dismissed it as a distant relative or a colleague, except for one detailher husband had never mentioned anyone by that name. Or had he kept it hidden?
She looked up sharply. She needed the truth before jumping to conclusions, but jealousy coiled tight in her chest.
“Whos Maisie?” Emma asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
John, sipping his tea calmly, blinked in confusion.
“What?”
“Maisie,” she repeated, holding up the phone. “Who is she?”
He glanced at the screen, and for just a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Then he shrugged.
“Oh. Thats just Mary.”
Emma went cold.
“Which Mary?”
“Well my ex. Theres nothing between us now.”
She set the phone down and crossed her arms.
“Your ex calls you Johnny and thanks you with hearts? You think thats normal?”
John shrugged again, as if it werent worth discussing.
“I lent her some money. She needed help, so I helped.”
Emmas temper flared.
“You gave money to your ex?!”
“Yes. Whats the big deal?”
“The big deal?!” She scoffed. “Seriously? You think its fine to take from our savings and hand it to some Maisie?”
Finally, he met her eyes.
“Emma, youre making a mountain out of a molehill. Weve known each other forever. Why shouldnt I help her?”
She laughed, but it held no joy.
“Youre married, John. To me! And yet youre still tangled up with her.”
He sighed, irritated, as if explaining something obvious to a child.
“We didnt part badly. Shes not a stranger to me.”
“And am I?”
John fell silent. Emma shook her head and exhaled heavily.
“How long has this been going on?”
“What?”
“This lovely little friendship of yours.”
He looked away.
“Weve always talked. Even before you. I just never mentioned it. Didnt want to upset you.”
Emma felt heat rise in her veins.
“So, for two years, youve hidden it?”
“I didnt hide it! There was no reason to tell you. Im not cheating. Why are you making this into something?”
She took a deep breath, forcing herself not to shout.
“And how often do you help her?”
“Now and then. Small things. Fixing her boiler, sorting her computer.”
“So my husband runs after another woman like some handyman?”
“Dont be ridiculous!” he snapped. “I helped her, lent her money! Is that a crime? Id do the same for you!”
Emma stared at him, cold resolve settling in.
“If you dont see anything wrong with this, then we have very different ideas of what a marriage should be.”
She turned and walked out. She couldnt bear to look at him.
That day passed like a blur for Emmaanger, hurt, confusion. She tried to think clearly, but one question echoed in her mind: “How did I not notice?”
John didnt act guilty. Now that he wasnt hiding his chats with Mary, he acted as though it were perfectly ordinary.
Over the next fortnight, the truth became clear. Her husband was often late from work. Every few days, Mary had some urgent problem.
“Im going to Marys tonight,” he said over dinner, indifferent. “Her washing machines broken.”
Emma set down her fork and fixed him with a stare.
“Are there no repairmen in London?”
“Come on, is it so hard to lend a hand?”
“Not for you. But its hard for me to accept.”
“Here we go again!”
“Yes, here we go,” she said flatly. “Because your ex always needs rescuing. At least you dont share children.”
John sighed but kept eating.
“If it were the neighbour or my mother, would you react like this?”
“The difference is, they wouldnt call you every other day.”
“Emma,” he said wearily, “youre acting like Ive cheated.”
“I dont know if you have. But this isnt right. And it bothers me.”
He smirked.
“You dont trust me.”
“Have you given me reason to?”
Silence fell between them.
Three days later, Mary reappeared.
“Mary called,” John said casually. “Shes buying a fridge but cant get it home.”
Emma turned slowly.
“So now youll drop everything to deliver her fridge?”
“Whats the harm?”
“John, do you really not see the problem?”
“I see you making drama over nothing.”
“Im not the one performing. But I wont be part of the show. If you want to help Mary so much, move in with her. Save on petrol.”
“Youre serious?”
“Completely.”
“So youre throwing me out?”
“No, John. Im giving you a choice. Either youre in this family, or you walk your own path. But I wont have you here any longer.”
She turned and left. She refused to be played any longer. Perhaps he thought honesty meant admitting where he went. But to Emma, it wasnt honestyit was betrayal.
Twenty-four hours passed since their last argument. Emma sat in the kitchen, staring at her phone. John hadnt called, hadnt texted. He was gone. Maybe to
After ten days of silence, Emma understood: sometimes, an ending isnt a loss, but a lesson teaching you never to settle for less than you deserve.
