“His Ex
‘Thanks, Johnny boy! I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ flashed across the screen of his phone.
Emma’s hand froze. The message had popped up right as she was holding her husband’s phone. Her eyes skimmed over the words. The sender? Someone named *Marie*. And there it was—a cheeky little heart emoji at the end.
Emma’s stomach twisted. *Marie*? *Johnny boy*? She might’ve brushed it off as a distant cousin or coworker if not for one thing: her husband had never mentioned any *Marie* in all their years together. *Or had he?* She forced herself to stay calm. Facts first, panic later. But the sting of jealousy was already there.
‘Who’s Marie?’ she asked, keeping her voice steady, though it took effort.
John, mid-sip of his morning tea, blinked at her like she’d just spoken in riddles.
‘What?’
‘Marie,’ Emma repeated, shoving the phone toward him. ‘Care to explain?’
He glanced at the screen. A flicker of tension crossed his face before he shrugged it off.
‘Oh. That’s just Marilyn.’
Emma went still.
‘*Marilyn* who?’
‘Er… my ex. It’s nothing, honestly. We’re just mates.’
She set his phone down slowly, arms crossed.
‘Your ex calls you “*Johnny boy*,” thanks you for something, *and* tacks on a heart? Seriously?’
Another shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
‘Yeah? I lent her some money. She asked, I helped. No big deal.’
A wave of anger crashed over her.
‘You gave *your ex* money?!’
‘Yeah, so what?’
‘*So what?!*’ she echoed, voice rising. ‘Are you hearing yourself? You think it’s fine to dip into *our* savings and hand it over to some random Marilyn?’
He finally met her eyes, exasperated.
‘Emma, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. We’ve known each other forever. Why wouldn’t I help her out?’
She laughed, hollow and bitter.
‘You’re married, John. *Married.* To *me.* But you’re still playing knight in shining armor for your ex?’
He sighed like she was being unreasonable.
‘We didn’t end on bad terms. She’s not a stranger.’
‘And what am I? A stranger?’
Silence. Emma clenched her fists, exhaling slowly to keep from screaming.
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘What?’
‘This little… *friendship* of yours.’
He looked away.
‘We’ve always stayed in touch. Even before you. I just didn’t bring it up. Didn’t want to upset you.’
Her blood ran cold.
‘So you’ve been hiding this for *two years*?’
‘I wasn’t *hiding* it. There was no reason to mention it. I’m not cheating on you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’
She bit back a scathing reply.
‘How often do you “help” her?’
‘Now and then. Small stuff. Fixing her telly, sorting her Wi-Fi.’
‘So my *husband* runs off to play handyman for another woman?’
‘Oh, come off it!’ he snapped. ‘I helped her out, loaned her a few quid—what’s the crime in that? I’d do the same for you!’
Emma stared at him, dead calm.
‘If you can’t see why this is wrong, then we clearly have different ideas of what marriage means.’
She turned and walked out. Seeing his face right now would only make it hurt worse.
The rest of the day blurred. Anger, hurt, confusion—all of it churned inside her. She tried to rationalise it, but one thought kept looping: *How did I miss this?*
John didn’t even act guilty. Now that she knew, he didn’t hide his contact with Marilyn—but he acted like it was *her* problem for caring.
Over the next fortnight, the pattern became clear. Every few days, he’d mysteriously be ‘held up at work.’ Every few days, Marilyn would suddenly have some ’emergency’ only he could fix.
‘Popping round to Marilyn’s tonight,’ he announced casually over dinner. ‘Her washing machine’s leaking.’
Emma set her fork down.
‘No repairmen in all of London?’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s no trouble.’
‘For *you*, maybe. For *me*? It’s getting old.’
‘Here we go again! You’re obsessed with this!’
‘Damn right I am,’ she said coldly. ‘Because your ex just *happens* to need saving every other day. Thank God you two never had kids.’
John rolled his eyes but kept eating.
‘If it was someone else—my mum, a neighbour—you’d have a problem with that too?’
‘The difference is, *someone else* wouldn’t call you every five minutes.’
‘Emma,’ he sighed, pushing his plate away. ‘Honestly, you’re acting like I’m having an affair.’
‘I don’t know if you are, but you’re sure acting shady. And I’m sick of it.’
He scoffed.
‘You don’t trust me.’
‘Give me one reason why I should.’
Silence.
Three days later, Marilyn struck again.
‘Marilyn rang,’ John said breezily. ‘Needs a new fridge delivered. No way to get it home.’
Emma blinked.
‘So you’re dropping everything to play delivery man?’
‘What’s the issue?’
‘You *really* don’t see a problem here?’
‘You’re making a drama out of nothing.’
‘No, *you’re* the one putting on a bloody circus. And I’m done watching. If you’re so keen to play hero for Marilyn, why not just move in with her? Save on petrol.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Dead serious.’
‘So you’re kicking me out?’
‘No, John. I’m letting *you* choose. Either you’re in this marriage, or you’re not. But I won’t stand here and watch this.’
She left before he could reply. Maybe he thought ‘being honest’ about his little errands made it better. But to her? It was just another betrayal.
A day passed without a word. No calls, no texts. He’d left—not to Marilyn’s, apparently, but to a mate’s. She waited. Maybe he’d realise he’d gone too far. But nothing.
On the second day, he strolled back in like nothing had happened.
‘Calmed down yet?’ he asked, heading to the bedroom.
Emma followed, arms crossed.
‘Is this your idea of fixing things? Disappear for two days, then waltz back like it’s all fine?’
He sighed, looking pained.
‘Emma, you’re blowing this out of proportion.’
Her nails dug into her palms.
‘I’m not. I just won’t be the third wheel in my own marriage.’
‘There *is* no third wheel,’ he snapped. ‘You’re imagining things.’
‘Fine,’ she said, locking eyes with him. ‘If you won’t listen, then here’s the deal: either you cut contact with Marilyn, or we divorce.’
He froze.
‘You’re joking.’
‘No.’
‘You’d throw away our marriage over some paranoid jealousy?’
‘I’ll walk away from a man who won’t set boundaries or put me first.’
He laughed bitterly.
‘So you’re leaving?’
‘I’ve already packed,’ she said calmly. ‘Staying with my parents. Think hard about what matters more: your wife, or your ex.’
She grabbed her suitcase and walked out. John stood there, watching. He didn’t stop her. Didn’t say a word. That hurt worst of all.
A week dragged by. Emma waited. For a call, a text, *anything*. But nothing came.
Her mum frowned at her.
‘You’re overreacting, love. He’s just a soft touch.’
Emma smiled grimly.
‘Soft touch? Or still hung up on his ex?’
‘Don’t be harsh. Good men are hard to come by. Maybe you should compromise?’
Emma turned away. It wasn’t just about Marilyn. He hadn’t even *tried* to understand her.
On day ten, John finally called.
‘You cooled off yet?’
She gripped the phone.
‘You think I just needed time to *get over* this?’
‘Didn’t you?’
She closed her eyes. The truth was crystal clear.
‘John, do you even know why I left?’
‘Over nothing.’
A bitter smile.
‘Right. If it’s *nothing*, then we’re done talking. I’m filing for divorce.’
Silence.
‘Fine. Your loss.’And as the final papers arrived, she realized some doors close so better ones can open.
