James Smith thrust his shoe back on as Poppy stared him down.
Are you still going to see her? she asked, voice sharp.
James tightened his laces. Get the kids, Poppy. Get the kids, not her, he muttered, slipping his jacket from the coatrack. How long do we have to argue about this?
Poppy stayed silent, lips pressed into a thin line. So many things crowded her throat that they turned into a painful knot.
Before we married you were fine with it, James continued, pulling the jacket over his shoulders. You knew I had children. I told you everything from the start. You said you understood. And now youre throwing tantrums, interrogation sessions?
She clenched her teeth harder. Without waiting for a reply, James stepped out, the lock clicking behind him, leaving her alone.
A few seconds passed before Poppy managed to move. Her legs felt like lead. She collapsed onto the sofa, turned on some mindless sitcom, and let the background noise drown her thoughts.
They had been together three years, two of them married. She had known from day one that he had two children a boy and a girl and that a divorce was behind him. Hed mentioned them on their third date. Poppy had smiled then, said it wasnt a problem, that she understood, that children werent an obstacle.
Now those words seemed naive, foolish.
She covered her eyes with her palm, inhaled deeply. Holding back tears grew harder; her chest tightened as if an invisible slab pressed down on it.
The situation became unbearable. Twice a week Tuesday and Saturday James left for his exwifes house, saying he was meeting the children. He stayed for dinner, lingered with Sarah Brown.
Poppy knew it was absurd. She tried to trust him, or at least convince herself she could. A vague foreboding gnawed at her, making her feel sick.
When James left, Poppy was alone in the flat. She sank into selfreproach, berating herself for not standing firm, for giving in to his promises, for staying quiet when she should have shouted.
She grabbed her phone and typed quickly to her friend Claire: Hes with her again.
The line rang Claires voice came through.
Hello? Poppy steadied her tone, trying not to let it tremble.
Poppy, what are you doing? Claire didnt mince words. How long can you put up with this? Hes cheating on you, its obvious.
No, Claire, you dont get it Poppy began, but Claire cut her off.
I know exactly. He goes to Sarahs twice a week, stays until night. And you expect them to be building Lego castles together? Come on.
Poppy ran a hand over her face. She knew Claire was right, but admitting it out loud meant accepting that her marriage was a farce.
He says theres nothing between them, Poppy whispered. He says hes only there for the kids.
God, youre so gullible, Claire sighed. Open your eyes, Poppy. Normal men dont spend half an evening at their exs house. Normal men pick up the kids, take them for a walk, then drop them back. Your husband sits in her kitchen, eats her borscht, probably holds her hand when the children arent looking.
Enough, Claire, Poppy snapped, squeezing the phone tighter.
Fine. But remember my words. When you finally leave him, dont say I didnt warn you.
The call ended. Poppy stared at the ceiling, the TVs laughter echoing uselessly.
James came back just after midnight. She heard him stripping in the hallway, heard the bathroom door open, felt a waft of unfamiliar, sweet perfume.
She didnt ask why he was late; she had no energy left. James settled beside her, the scent still hanging.
Sorry Im late. Emma needed a craft for kindergarten, so I helped, he mumbled, already halfasleep. She made a pinecone cow. Look how funny it turned out.
Poppy nodded in the darkness, though he couldnt see her.
The pattern repeated for months Tuesday, Saturday, exit, return, foreign perfume, excuses.
Then James grew sullen, withdrawn. He could sit for hours staring at his phone, brow furrowed. Poppy tried to ask what was wrong, but he brushed her off, muttering something unintelligible before disappearing into another room.
A couple of weeks later he announced, Listen, were going on a double date Friday.
Poppy raised an eyebrow.
With who?
With Sarah and her new boyfriend.
Poppy felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Sarah had a man now? James wasnt with his ex? Had all her fears been unfounded?
A smile slipped onto her face. She turned to James, wrapped her arms around his neck.
Of course well go.
Friday arrived quickly. Poppy bought a new dress a lightblue sheath that hugged her figure wanting to look her best, to show Sarah she was worthy of James, that she was the right choice.
They met at a cosy café on the other side of town, wooden tables and soft lighting. Sarah was already there with a man in his early forties, tall, athletic, with a friendly grin.
Hi, Poppy, Sarah stood, introducing him. This is Mark.
Mark shook Jamess hand, and they all sat down. Poppy felt a hopeful flutter; the evening should pass peacefully, with conversation and a clean break.
Instead, the double date turned disastrous.
All evening James behaved as if he were fighting for his exwifes attention. He constantly interrupted Mark, demonstrating how well he knew Sarah.
When Mark suggested ordering a pepper pizza, James blurted out, Sarah doesnt like spicy.
I know, Mark replied calmly. We already talked about that. You cut me off, didnt let me say wed get something else for you.
James didnt stop.
Remember that holiday at the sea with the kids? Michael brought a jellyfish to the shore, thinking it was a toy, James went on, ignoring Mark entirely.
Sarah smiled politely, but irritation flashed across her face.
That was ages ago, she tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.
James kept launching story after story about the children, about choosing a pram, about sleepless nights when their son had colic.
Poppy sat silently, gripping her glass of water. Every word James spoke struck a raw nerve. She could see Sarahs patience wearing thin, and the exwife kept glancing at James, silently pleading for him to stop.
Poppy realised then that James had never truly let go of Sarah. He clung to their shared past, to the children, to memories. She was a spare part, a temporary replacement.
Her phone buzzed a banks automated message. Poppy pretended to take an urgent call from her mother, saying, Sorry, I have to go, its important.
She slipped out of the café, hailed a cab, and raced home.
Back in the flat, she hauled out a large suitcase and began packing. She could no longer tolerate Jamess behaviour.
James returned an hour later, scowling. He saw the suitcase at her feet.
Whats happening?
Poppy met his gaze, eyes dry, tears long gone.
Im leaving, she said simply.
Where? Whats going on? James asked, frowning.
Anywhere but here, she replied, slipping on her jacket. Tonights outing opened my eyes. You still love Sarah, or at least you cant let her go. I dont know which is worse.
What are you talking about? James started, but Poppy raised a hand.
Stop. Dont lie. I saw how you acted. You were trying to claim her from Mark, making it clear shes still yours. I was the extra.
James fell silent.
I wont be a backup, James, Poppy continued, gripping the suitcase handle. Im done. Im leaving.
Poppy, wait, he pleaded.
No, she shook her head. I love you, but that love is burning out, ruining me. At least Ill keep what dignity I have left.
She walked out, James watching without a word, offering no protest, no explanation.
Poppy caught a cab to her parents house, watching the nightlit city through the window, feeling a strange mixture of sorrow and relief. She whispered to herself, Finally free.
In the end, she learned that staying in a relationship out of habit or hope for change only erodes selfrespect. True freedom comes from recognizing when love has become a onesided echo and having the courage to walk away.
