“Thank you, my dear Vinnie! I don’t know what I’d do without you,” flashed the notification on the smartphone screen.
Her husband’s phone buzzed right in her hand. Emily instinctively glanced at the display. The sender was someone named Maisie. The message ended with a flirtatious heart emoji.
Emily’s eyes widened. *Maisie? My dear Vinnie?* She might have dismissed it as a distant relative or colleague—except for one thing: her husband didn’t know any Maisie. Or did he?
She sharply looked up. *Get the facts first, then react.* But a pang of jealousy twisted inside her.
“Who’s Maisie?” Emily kept her voice steady with effort.
Vincent, casually sipping his tea, didn’t even register the question at first.
“What?”
“Maisie,” Emily hissed, shoving the phone toward him. “Who is she?”
Her husband glanced at the screen, tension flickering in his eyes. He shrugged and looked away.
“Oh. That’s just Marina.”
Emily froze.
“Marina who?”
“Well… my ex. There’s nothing between us now.”
She slowly set his phone down and folded her arms.
“Your ex-wife calls you *‘my dear Vinnie’* and thanks you with a heart? Are you serious?”
Vincent shrugged again, as if it were nothing worth discussing.
“Yeah. She needed a favour. Borrowed some money.”
A wave of anger crashed over Emily.
“You *gave* money to your ex?!”
“Yeah, what’s the big deal?”
“The *big deal*?” she echoed. “Seriously? You think that’s normal? Taking from *our* shared budget to hand it to some woman from your past?”
He finally met her gaze.
“Emily, you’re blowing this out of proportion. We didn’t end on bad terms. I’ve known her forever. Why shouldn’t I help?”
She laughed, sharp and joyless.
“You’re married, Vince. *Married.* To *me.* Yet you’re running back to her like some knight in shining armour.”
He sighed irritably, as if explaining basic maths to a child.
“We didn’t part as enemies. She’s not a stranger.”
“And am *I* a stranger?”
Vincent stayed silent. Emily shook her head, exhaling heavily.
“How long has this been going on?”
“What?”
“Your cosy little chats.”
He avoided her eyes again.
“We’ve always kept in touch. Even before you. I just never mentioned it. Didn’t want to upset you.”
Emily’s blood ran cold.
“So for *two years*, you hid this?”
“I didn’t *hide* it. There was no reason to bring it up. I’m not cheating. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
She breathed slowly, fighting the urge to scream.
“How often do you *help* her?”
“Now and then. Small stuff, usually. Fixing a shelf, sorting her laptop.”
“So my *husband* plays handyman for another woman?”
“Bloody hell, Emily!” he snapped. “I helped. I lent her money. Is that a crime? I’d do the same for you!”
She stared at him, ice in her veins.
“If you don’t see the problem, then we’re not on the same page about marriage.”
She turned and walked out. Right now, she couldn’t bear to look at him.
The day blurred. Anger, hurt, confusion—it shredded her from inside. She tried to rationalise it, but one thought looped endlessly: *How did I miss this?*
Vincent showed no guilt. Now that she knew, he didn’t bother hiding his ties to Marina—yet acted like it was harmless.
Over the next fortnight, the puzzle clicked into place. Once she knew what to look for, the pattern was obvious. Her husband’s *late work nights* every few days matched perfectly with Marina’s *sudden emergencies.*
“I’ll pop round Marina’s tonight,” Vincent said casually over dinner. “Her washing machine’s leaking.”
Emily set her fork down.
“No repairmen in London, then?”
“Come off it. It’s just a favour.”
“Easy for *you.* Hard for *me* to swallow.”
“Here we go again! You’re obsessed!”
“Damn right,” she said coldly. “Because your ex ‘magically’ needs saving every other day. Lucky you two don’t have kids.”
He gave her a tired look but kept eating.
“If it were my mum or a mate, would you ban me from helping?”
“The difference is, *they* wouldn’t ring you non-stop.”
“Emily.” Vincent pushed his plate aside. “Honestly, you’re acting like I’m having an affair.”
“I don’t *know* if you are. But it’s shady. And it *hurts*,” she shot back.
He smirked.
“You don’t trust me.”
“Give me a reason to.”
Silence.
Three days later, Marina struck again.
“Marina called,” Vincent said breezily. “Needs help moving a fridge.”
Emily turned slowly.
“You’re telling me you’ll drop everything, take *our* car, and haul her appliances?”
“Yeah. What’s the issue?”
“Vince, are you *blind*?”
“No, but you’re making a scene.”
“No, *you’re* the circus act. The minute she whistles, you sprint to her rescue. If you love babysitting Marina so much, why not move in? Save petrol.”
“You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
“So you’re kicking me out?”
“No. I’m letting *you* choose. Be my husband, or be hers. I’m done watching.”
She walked away, done with his games. Maybe he thought *confessing* his charity work made it honest. But to Emily, it was betrayal in broad daylight.
A day passed since their fight. Emily sat at the kitchen table, phone in hand. No calls. No texts. He’d left—not to Marina, but to a mate’s. Still, he’d *gone.* She waited. *Maybe he’ll realise. Maybe he’ll apologise.*
Nothing.
On day two, he strolled back in like nothing happened.
“Calmed down yet?” he asked, heading to the bedroom.
Emily turned.
“That’s your solution? Vanish for two days, then waltz back like it’s normal?”
Vincent sighed, the picture of long-suffering patience.
“Emily, be real. You’re overreacting.”
Her fists clenched.
“I’m not. I just won’t share my marriage with your ex.”
“There *is* no third person. You’ve imagined it.”
“Fine.” She locked eyes with him. “If you won’t hear me, then choose: end things with Marina, or we divorce.”
He froze.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“You’d wreck our marriage over *jealousy*?”
“I’ll leave if you won’t set boundaries. It’s that simple.”
He scoffed.
“So you’re leaving?”
“Packed already.” She nodded to the suitcase. “I’ll stay with Mum. Decide who matters more: your wife, or your past.”
She walked out. Vincent stood there, watching. He didn’t stop her. Didn’t plead. *That* was the worst part.
A week crawled by. Emily waited. For a call. A text. Any effort to fix this.
Nothing.
Her mum frowned at her.
“You’re being harsh, love. He’s just kind-hearted. Can’t say no.”
Emily laughed bitterly.
“Kind? Or just clinging to his ex?”
“Don’t be stubborn. Good men are rare. Maybe bend a little?”
Emily turned away. It wasn’t *just* Marina. He’d refused to *listen,* to compromise.
On day ten, Vincent finally rang.
“Cooled off yet?”
She gripped the phone.
“You think I threw a tantrum and needed time out?”
“Didn’t you?”
She closed her eyes. *This is it.*
“Vince, do you even *get* why I left?”
“Over nonsense.”
A sad smile touched her lips.
“Right. If it’s *nonsense,* then it’s not worth fighting for. I’ll file for divorce.”
Silence.
“Suit yourself.”
“I will. It’s *my* life now.”
She hung up. For the first time in weeks, the weight lifted. No more waiting. No more hoping.
Yes, it hurt. But pain fades. And when one door closes, another opens.
**Lesson:** Love shouldn’t mean competing with ghosts of the past. True partnership respects boundaries—because trust isn’t just given; it’s earned and guarded.
