15November2025
The phone rang just after dinner. A flat, official voice on the other end said, Mrs. Clarke, your wife has been involved in an accident. Theres more. The tone was so rehearsed it felt like a script. I felt my blood run cold. Before I could ask what it meant, the voice added, You need to come to the hospital immediately. Shes conscious, but there was someone else with her.
I threw on my coat, slipped into my trainers, grabbed the keys in one hand and the phone in the other, and bolted out the front door. On the high street I hailed the first taxi that stopped. The driver gave me a strange look, as if Id lost my mind. All I could think was: what does someone else imply? Who could it be? Tom had just returned from a business trip, or so hed always said.
At the Manchester Royal Infirmary they took me straight to the admissions ward. The nurse gave me a look I recognised from countless dramas pity, embarrassment, and a desperate wish to finish the conversation quickly. Your wife was in a car crash. No broken bones, but she suffered a severe concussion. Shes now in the observation room. The other occupant was a woman she died at the scene.
I was stunned. A woman? A colleague? A hitchhiker? Tom never stopped for strangers. He never chatted with anyone he didnt know.
I entered the observation room. She lay there with a bandage across her forehead, her face bruised, an IV drip humming beside her. When she saw me, she turned her gaze away. Hello, she whispered. And in that moment everything inside me shattered. Who was she? I asked. A workfriend? she said nothing. After a pause she muttered, Now isnt a good time. But I already knew.
The next morning, when they were preparing to discharge her, Tom finally told me the truth. It was Ethel. Wed been seeing each other for a year. She was supposed to go back to her husband, but wanted to say goodbye to me. I drove her home. I was speeding. We went off the road. He said it as calmly as if he were describing the weather. Then added, I didnt want you to hear it this way.
I went home with a hollow feeling. The flat looked exactly the same: a coffee mug on the kitchen table, his slippers by the radiator. Yet everything felt altered. Tom tried to act as if life would simply fall back into place, as if everything will be alright. I could not sleep in the same bed, could not breathe the same air.
Ethel was thirtynine, a mother of two. I read about her online. Her husband appeared on the local news, saying he didnt understand what had happened, that Ethel had been happy and that they were planning a holiday. As I watched the broadcast, I felt it should have been me sitting there, clueless and stunned.
I shut myself away. I stopped eating, ignored phone calls. My daughter came over and said, Dad, you need to do something about this. But what? He had cheated. He had fallen in love, and by accident killed the woman he loved. What now?
Two weeks later Tom began talking again about saving the marriage. It was no longer a dialogue between two people. It was a monologue from a man with nowhere to go. He never wept for Ethel. He never spoke her name, as if trying to erase her from existence. I felt as though a part of me had died the part that trusted him.
In the end I packed a suitcase and drove to my sisters house. I said only, I dont know how long this will last, but I cant be the background to his lies any longer. Tom kept calling, texting, even once showed up with flowers. I was no longer the same man.
Lesson learned: when trust is broken, rebuilding the house on those shaky foundations only leaves you living in a wrecked home. The only way forward is to walk away and start anew, even if the path is painful.
