It wasnt the same with me as it was with her.
Whos that?
Davids phone lay faceup on the kitchen counter, and Poppy had already read the popup before she knew what she was doing. Missing you, love. A heart. A kiss. And a name she didnt recognise Pippa.
David spun around from the espresso machine, a flicker of annoyance flashing in his eyes not fear, just the kind of irritation he usually hides behind a practiced smile.
Youre snooping in my phone?
It lit up on its own. Poppy lifted the device, swiping the lock away with the same flick shed used a million times. They knew each others passwords. Whos Pippa?
David turned away, pressed a button on the machine.
A colleague.
A colleague sends you missing you, love?
Poppy scrolled through the chat, each swipe chilling her fingertips. Photos. Voice notes. Weekend plans he claimed were spent at a conference in Manchester. Jokes only the two of them understood. The earliest message was from March; it was now September. Six months. One hundred and eighty days of her making his breakfasts, waiting for him after work, dreaming of holidays, believing they were happy.
David, thats half a year of texting.
The espresso machine fell silent. David took a sip from his mug, and Poppy, with a detached clarity, noted that he seemed perfectly calm.
Poppy, dont start.
Not start? She stared at David, searching his familiar face for any hint of remorse or embarrassment. Nothing. Just the tired look of a man whod been pulled away from his morning tea.
Youve been cheating on me for six months and Im supposed to keep quiet?
David set his mug down, ran his hand over his cheek.
Look, its a bit messy to explain. Lets talk this evening; Im running late.
He left. He just grabbed his briefcase, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked out. The door clicked shut softly, and Poppy was left standing in the middle of the kitchen.
She replayed the messages over and over, hunting for an explanation. Maybe it was a joke? Maybe shed misread something? But the photos didnt lie David and a blonde stranger at a riverside bistro, in someones flat, selfies with intertwined fingers and matching smiles.
Poppy tried to pinpoint when things went off the rails. Their morning chats, dinner together, plans to buy a bigger flat, maybe even get a Labrador. Nothing had hinted at trouble. Absolutely nothing.
Or perhaps shed simply chosen not to see it?
Ethel burst in forty minutes after the phone rang. She shoved a bag of fresh croissants into Poppys hands and plonked herself on the sofa arm.
Spill.
Poppy rattled off the story, jumping from detail to feeling and back again. Ethel listened in silence, her expression growing increasingly solemn.
I dont get it, Poppy ran her fingers through her hair for the tenth time. Everything was fine. We were happy. Where did this come from?
Ethel was quiet a heartbeat, then asked gently:
Poppy, did you notice anything at all? Anything?
What was I supposed to notice? He came home, we ate dinner, wed weekend trips out to the countryside. A normal family!
Right. Ethel inhaled deeply, and Poppy read the impending pain on her face. Do you remember how you met?
Poppy blinked.
What does that have to do with anything?
Everything. You met three years ago at his companys Christmas party. You were on the outsourced accounts team.
And?
And David was married to Milly. Two years, Poppy. You were with him while he was still married. Then he divorced and married you.
Poppys mouth fell open, then closed. Her head buzzed, and the croissants suddenly seemed overly sweet.
Thats different, she managed. We loved each other. Hed already moved on from Milly, he told me himself. The divorce was just dragging on.
Ethel gave her a pointed look.
He was cheating on his wife for two years. With you. Why did you think hed be faithful to you?
Because ours was different! Poppy leapt up, wrapping her arms around herself. Because he chose me. David changed, Ethel. He really changed after we married.
Ethel shook her head.
He didnt change, Poppy. Hes just him. He loves himself, and everything else is scenery wife, lover, job. He takes what he wants when he wants. Loyalty is boring to him. Limits are for other people.
You dont know him.
I know plenty like him. Ethel reached for Poppys hand. Remember how you dreamed hed leave Milly? How you waited for his call? How you kept telling yourself it was only a matter of time before you were truly together?
Poppy was silent. Of course she remembered: every sleepless night, every lastminute cancelled dinner, every lie she used to cover up their meetings with friends. Two years as a mistress humiliating, painful, but she endured it. She waited. She believed.
You got what you wanted, Ethel continued, gentle but ruthless. He divorced, married you. And guess what? The mistress position became vacant. David cant go without that thrill. He needs the forbidden, the secret. You became the lawful wife and suddenly, boring.
Im not boring!
Poppy sank back onto the sofa. Ethel was saying horrible things, yet something inside her finally accepted the truth.
Business trips began in April, every fortnight or more. She brushed it off as work late meetings, endless negotiations, corporate events wives werent invited to.
And the bedroom. Poppy recalled the last months painfully: David would come home exhausted, kiss her forehead, turn away to the wall. She blamed stress, age, everything, just to avoid facing the facts.
I need to see it with my own eyes, Poppy exhaled. I have to catch them.
Spying on her own husband turned out to be both humiliating and technically simple. She took a few days off sick and trailed David after work. On day two, luck struck.
He left the office at seven, got into his car, but didnt head home. Poppy followed in a taxi, feeling like a lowbudget detective. He parked outside a café in the city centre, and five minutes later a young woman slipped into the passenger seat.
She was about twentyfive, maybe twentysix, a blonde with a trendy bob and a confident grin Pippa, just as Poppy had seen in the photos.
David took Pippas hand, brought it to his lips, whispered something, and she laughed, throwing her head back. The gesture was exactly what Poppy had done three years earlier.
Same café, same window seat. David ordered Poppy recognised the familiar gestures, even if she hadnt heard the words. He probably suggested duck breast and a slice of Victoria sponge, rattled off stories about his childhood in Liverpool, and gave Pippa that hungry, promising look.
The scene replayed down to the tiniest detail. David didnt bother inventing a new script. Why bother when the old one worked?
Poppy got home and waited.
He arrived at eleven, smelling of foreign perfume sweet, floral, nothing like hers.
We need to talk.
David sighed, shrugged his jacket onto the back of the chair.
What now, Poppy? Im knackered
I saw you today.
David froze for a heartbeat, then shrugged again.
So you were watching.
Answer me.
Yes, I was with Pippa. He settled into the armchair, crossing his legs. It means nothing, Poppy. Listen. He leaned forward, that earnest, convincing expression shed believed for three years. I love you. Youre my wife. Pippa is just an adventure. It doesnt affect us.
Did you tell Milly the same nonsense?
Davids eyes widened.
Thats different.
Really? Poppy sat opposite him. You cheated on her with me. Now you cheat on me with her. Whats the difference?
Ive changed, Poppy. After we married I really wanted to be faithful. But He spread his arms. It just happened. Ill end things with Pippa. I promise. From now on, its only you.
The promise sounded rehearsed, smooth. Poppy stared at the man shed loved for years and saw what shed been refusing to see: a hollow space behind the polished words. Lying had become his second nature, his ego wrapped in charm.
David couldnt love anyone but himself. He didnt know how, or even wanted to, learn otherwise.
No.
What, no?
I dont need your promises.
David frowned.
Poppy, dont dramatise. Every couple goes through this. Well get through it.
Poppy shook her head. Her chest felt empty and cold, yet for the first time in ages, it was clear.
You wont change. Never. Because it isnt a problem for you. Its normal. Wife at home, lover on the side. Convenient.
Youre talking rubbish.
Im telling the truth. Poppy stood. Three years ago I thought I was special. That youd be different with me. I was just another version of Milly.
She left for Ethel that evening.
The divorce took three months.
David didnt fight it. By November he had officially moved in with Pippa Poppy learned this from mutual acquaintances. The new couple looked blissfully happy. Pippa posted photos with hashtags about love and destiny, making plans for a wedding.
Ethel showed Poppy one of the posts.
Look. He says Im special. Hes never loved anyone like this before.
Poppy put her phone down.
I dont want to see that.
Are you angry?
No. And it was true. I feel sorry for her. In a couple of years shell be sitting with a friend, crying just like I did.
Ethel hugged her.
Feeling better?
Poppy thought about it. Better? No. But something inside finally stopped clinging to a mirage, to the man shed invented and adored.
You know whats the stupidest thing? Poppy managed a wry smile. I knew from the start. I knew he was that sort of bloke. I was his mistress, I heard his lies to his wife, I believed his stories. And for some reason I convinced myself it would be different with me.
You fell in love.
I was foolish and blind. Those arent the same.
Ethel was quiet.
So what now?
Poppy looked out the window.
Now Ill look for someone who doesnt need to be reshaped. Someone genuinely loyal from the getgo. Do they even exist?
Rain began to patter against the glass. Poppy watched the droplets race down the pane and, for the first time in months, didnt think of David. She didnt replay their meeting, their wedding, their shared plans.
She didnt know that a year later shed walk down the aisle again, this time with a man who never glanced elsewhere. Two years on, theyd have a daughter, then a son. Poppys family would grow stronger each day, and she would finally understand what a marriage built on true love feels like.
