Emma hadnt quite finished ending the call with her husband when she unexpectedly heard a womans voice on the other end.
She stood by the window, watching thick London snow blanket the city. The phone call with David was winding downjust another mundane chat in their fifteen years of marriage. As usual, he was updating her about his «business trip» in Manchester: everything was fine, meetings were going to plan, hed be back in three days.
«Alright, love, talk later,» Emma said, pulling the phone away to tap the red end-call button. But something stopped her. On the other end, she clearly heard a womans voicesoft, youthful, and unmistakably intimate:
«Davey, are you coming? Ive already run the bath…»
Emmas hand froze mid-air. Her heart skipped, then hammered as if trying to escape her chest. She quickly pressed the phone back to her earbut all she got was the dull tone of a disconnected call.
She sank into the armchair, her legs suddenly weak. Thoughts spun wildly: *Davey? A bath? What sort of business trip has a bath?* Her memory flashed odd details from the last few monthshis frequent trips, late-night calls taken on the balcony, the unfamiliar perfume lingering in his car.
With shaky hands, she opened her laptop. Logging into his email was easyshe still knew the password from when trust was a given. Tickets, hotel bookings… A «honeymoon suite» in a five-star Manchester hotel. For two.
Then she found the messages. *Chloe.* Twenty-six. Personal trainer. *Darling, I cant do this anymore. You promised youd leave her three months ago. How much longer do I have to wait?*
Emma felt sick. She remembered their first dateDavid just a junior sales rep, her a trainee accountant. Theyd saved for their wedding while renting a tiny flat in Croydon. Celebrated promotions, weathered layoffs. Now he was a commercial director, she the companys head of financeand between them, a fifteen-year gap filled with… *Chloe.*
In the hotel room, David paced furiously.
«What were you thinking?» His voice shook with anger.
Chloe lounged on the bed, wrapped in a silk robe, her blonde hair fanned across the pillows. «Whats the big deal?» She stretched like a contented cat. «You said you were leaving her anyway.»
«That wasnt for you to decide! Do you realise what youve done? Emma isnt stupidshe *knows* now!»
«Good!» Chloe sat up sharply. «Im sick of being your secret. I want dinners, meeting your friends, being your *wife*!»
«Youre acting like a child,» he hissed.
«And youre a coward!» She marched up to him. «Look at me. Im young, beautifulI could give you children. What does she offer? Just counting your money?»
David grabbed her shoulders. «Dont you *dare* talk about Emma like that! You know nothing about herabout *us*!»
«I know enough,» Chloe wrenched free. «I know youre miserable. That shes buried in work and chores. When was the last time you even slept together? Or took a holiday?»
David turned to the window. Somewhere out there, in snowy London, fifteen years of marriage were crumbling because of one careless sentence.
Emma sat in the dark kitchen, cradling a cold cup of tea. Dozens of missed calls from David lit up her phone. She didnt answer. What was there to say? *»Darling, I heard your mistress calling you to her bath»?*
Memories flickered: David proposing in a crowded pub. Moving into their first shoebox flat. Him holding her when her mother passed. Celebrating his promotion…
Then came the overtime, the mortgages, the endless DIY weekends.
When had they last *talked*? Watched a film curled up together? Made plans?
Her phone buzzeda text. *»Em, we need to talk. I can explain.»*
Explain *what*? That shed aged? That life had dulled? That a twenty-six-year-old understood him better?
She studied herself in the mirror. Forty-two. Fine lines, greys she touched up monthly. When had the exhaustion settled in? The rigid routines?
«Davey, whered you go?» Chloe scowled as he returned from another failed call to Emma.
«Not now.» He loosened his tie and slumped into a chair.
«No, *now*!» She planted her hands on her hips. «What happens next? You know this changes everything!»
David looked at herconfident, vibrant. Emma had been like that once. God, how had he done this to her?
«Chloe,» he rubbed his face. «Youre right. Its time to end this.»
She beamed, flinging her arms around him. «I *knew* youd choose us!»
Gently, he pushed her back. «No. I choose *Emma*. This was a mistake. I love my wife. Yes, weve drifted. But I wont throw away fifteen years.»
«Youyou *coward*!» Tears streaked her face.
«No. I was the coward when I started this. When I lied to the woman whos stood by me through everything. Youre rightIm not happy. But happiness isnt found in an affair. Its built.»
The doorbell rang near midnight. Emma knew it was himhed caught the first flight back.
«Em, please,» came his muffled voice through the door.
She opened it. David stood thereunshaven, rumpled, guilt etched into every line.
«Can I come in?»
Silently, she stepped aside. They sat at the kitchen tablewhere theyd once dreamed together.
«Em»
«Dont.» She held up a hand. «I know. Chloe, twenty-six, personal trainer. I read your emails.»
He nodded, wordless.
«Why, David?»
He stared out at the city. «Because I was weak. Because I panicked when we grew apart. Because she… reminded me of *you*. The you I fell in love with.»
«And now?»
«Now…» He turned to her. «Now I want to fix this. If youll let me.»
«What about her?»
«Its over. I cant lose you, Em. I dont *want* to. I know I dont deserve forgiveness. But lets try? Counselling, holidays, *us* again…»
Emma studied himolder, greyer, achingly familiar. Fifteen years wasnt just a number. It was inside jokes, shared silences, the ability to forgive.
«I dont know, David.» For the first time that night, she cried.
He pulled her close, and she didnt push him away. Outside, snow kept falling, draping London in white.
Somewhere in Manchester, a young woman cried her first real heartbreak, learning a brutal truth: love isnt just passion. Its a daily choice.
And in that kitchen, two middle-aged people began piecing their marriage back togetherthrough therapy, hard conversations, rediscovering each other. They knew it wouldnt be easy.
But sometimes, you have to almost lose something to remember its worth.
