Deciding to surprise her husband, Emily came home three hours early from visiting her mumonly to burst into tears the moment she stepped inside.
Shed been staring out the train window, thinking about her mother. Three days spent looking after her, making soup, doling out medicine. The fever had only broken the day before.
*»You should stay another day,»* Mum had said that morning.
*»Michaels at home alone, Mum. Probably starving by now.»*
Now, as the train rattled along, she wished shed listened. But Michael had called every evening, asking after Mum, complaining about the empty fridge. His voice had sounded oddstrained, maybe.
*»Miss you,»* hed murmured last night before bed.
Shed smiled then. Thirty-two years together, and he still missed her. Good man, really.
The carriage rocked. A woman opposite her cracked sunflower seeds and flipped through a crime novel, the cover showing a glamorous woman clinging to a suited man. Emily caught her reflection in the windowwrinkles, grey roots creeping in. When had she aged so much?
*»Off to see the husband?»* the woman asked.
*»Yes. Just heading home.»*
*»Me? Off to my boyfriends,»* she laughed. *»Husband thinks Im at my sisters.»*
Emily flushed and looked away. How could someone say that so casually?
Her phone buzzed.
*»Hows it going? When are you back?»* Michael had texted.
She checked the timestill four hours till shed reach their house in Manchester. She meant to reply honestly, then changed her mind. A surprise would be nice. Shed make dinner. Hed be thrilled.
*»Tomorrow morning. Miss you too,»* she sent.
He hearted it instantly.
Fields and little villages whipped past outside. She pulled out the thermos of tea Mum had insisted she take, along with sandwichesstill fussing over her like she was a child.
*»Youve got too thin, love. Bet that Michael of yours doesnt notice what you eat.»*
*»Mum, Im fifty-seven.»*
*»So? Youll always be my girl.»*
Chewing the ham sandwich, she thought about Mumstill in that same little house in Liverpool where Emily grew up. Dad had passed five years back. Mum refused to move in with them.
*»Youve got your own life,»* she always said. *»Dont need me underfoot.»*
Wouldnt be underfoot. Emily loved caring for peoplealways had. First her parents, then Michael, then the kids. Shed taught primary school, but after Jamie was born, she stayed home. Then Sophie came along. Somehow, she never went back.
*»Why bother working?»* Michael had said. *»I earn enough. Keep the house nice.»*
So she had. Thirty years of it. Cooking, cleaning, laundry. Raising kids, ferrying them to clubs. Ironing Michaels shirts, darning his socks.
Now the kids were goneJamie up in Edinburgh with his own family, Sophie married with a baby of her own. She was a grandmother now.
And then what?
The train slowed. She gathered her things, said a stiff goodbye to the woman. The platform was noisy, crowded. The bus home took half an hour.
She imagined Michaels face when she walked in. He thought shed be back tomorrow. Shed stop at Tesco, grab something nicemaybe a roast, some fresh potatoes. Cook a proper dinner, set the table with their good plates.
The cashier smiled as she packed the bags. *»Special occasion?»*
*»Just treating my husband.»*
The bags were heavy. She barely made it to their building. Caught her breath in the lift. Dug forever for her keys.
Finally, the door swung open.
*»Michael? Its me!»* she called. *»Im home!»*
Silence. Probably asleepit was nearly ten.
She dropped the bags, shrugged off her coat. Oddthe lights were on. Michael never slept with them on.
Heading to the wardrobe, she froze. A pair of shoes sat by the door. Womens. Black, shiny heels. Fancy.
*»Michael?»* she whispered.
Her pulse jumped. Maybe Sophies? But why wouldnt she have called?
A womans laugh trickled from the kitchen. Not Sophies voice.
*»Youre hilarious, Michael,»* the voice giggled.
*»Emily wont be back till tomorrow. Weve got time,»* Michael replied.
Emily leaned against the wall, legs shaky. What was happening? Who was that?
*»What if she comes early?»* the woman asked.
*»She wont. Shes always exact. If she says tomorrow, its tomorrow.»*
They laughed. Emilys breath stuck in her throat.
She crept to the kitchen. The door was ajar. Peeked in.
Michael sat at the table in his pyjamas, hair messy, grinning. Opposite hima blonde, maybe thirty, in a dressing gown. *Her* dressing gown.
Two mugs of coffee. A half-eaten cake. His hand on hers.
*»Liz, youre amazing,»* he murmured.
*Liz?* Who the hell was Liz?
*»But your wife,»* the woman said coyly. *»You said you love her.»*
*»I do. But this is different. With you, I feel alive again.»*
Emily gripped the doorframe. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of trust, and this?
*»Michael»*
They whipped around. He went white. The womanLizjumped up, clutching the gown shut.
*»Emily? Youyou said tomorrow»*
*»Who is she?»*
*»This isLiz. From flat 52.»*
*»Our neighbour?»* Emily stared at the woman in *her* robe. *»Why is she wearing my things?»*
*»I should go,»* Liz muttered, backing away.
*»Stop!»* Emily snapped. *»Explain this. Now.»*
Liz froze. She looked guilty, but not enough.
*»We were just talking. Michael fixed my tap.»*
*»In my robe? At midnight?»*
*»Love, calm down,»* Michael stood. *»Nothing happened. Liz needed help, I went over. We had coffee, thats all.»*
*»For four hours?»*
Silence. His face sweaty, red.
*»Im not stupid, Michael. Thirty-two yearsI know when youre lying.»*
*»It was just talking! Shes lonely!»*
*»And Im what? Furniture?»*
She stormed out. Packed a bag in numb silence.
*»Where are you going?»* he begged.
*»To Sarahs.»* Her oldest friend. *»Were done.»*
*»NoIll end it with Liz, I swear!»*
She laughed, hollow. *»How many others were there?»*
*»None!»*
*»Liar.»*
The rain outside matched her tears. At Sarahs, she poured it all out.
*»Bastard,»* Sarah said simply. *»All men are bastards.»*
*»What do I do?»*
*»Leave. Simple.»*
*»But thirty-two years»*
*»Exactly. He thinks youll put up with anything.»*
Michael called nonstop next day. Showed up at Sarahs, pleading.
*»Its over with Liz. I swear.»*
Emily studied himcreased shirt, desperate eyes. Maybe he meant it. Now.
*»Michael,»* she said softly, *»Im fifty-seven. Maybe its time I lived for me.»*
*»But were family»*
*»Family respects each other. You didnt.»*
She asked for space. Time to think. To decide if she even wanted him back.
Sarah hugged her later. *»Proud of you.»*
*»Im terrified.»*
*»Course you are. But youre free.»*
Emily smiled for the first time in days.
Tomorrow, shed job hunt. Visit Mum. Maybe see the world.
For the first time in decadesshed live for herself.
