Emily didnt quite manage to end the call with her husband when an unexpected female voice chimed in on the other end.
She stood by the window, watching thick London snowflakes drift lazily onto the pavement below. The phone call with David was drawing to its usual, mundane closejust another of the countless check-ins theyd had over their fifteen years of marriage. David, as always, was reporting from his «business trip» in Manchester: meetings going smoothly, everything on schedule, back in three days.
«Alright, love, talk later,» Emily said, pulling the phone away to tap the red end-call button. But thensomething stopped her. A womans voice, light and girlish, cut clearly through the line:
«Davey, are you coming? Ive already run the bath…»
Emilys hand froze mid-air. Her heart skipped, then pounded wildly, as if trying to escape her chest. She jammed the phone back to her earbut all she heard was the sharp click of a disconnected call.
She sank into the armchair, legs suddenly weak. Thoughts spun dizzyingly in her head: *Davey? Bath? What bath on a business trip?* Her memory unhelpfully supplied recent odditiesthe frequent trips, the late-night calls he always took on the balcony, the new cologne lingering in his car.
With trembling fingers, she opened her laptop. Logging into his email was laughably easythe password unchanged since the days when trust had been their default. Tickets, hotel bookings… A *honeymoon suite* in a five-star Manchester hotel. For two.
Then, the emails. *Chloe.* Twenty-six. Personal trainer. *Darling, I cant do this anymore. You promised youd leave her three months ago. How much longer do I wait?*
Emily felt sick. A memory flashedtheir first date. David had been a junior manager then, she a trainee accountant. Theyd scrimped for their wedding, renting a tiny flat in Croydon, celebrating small victories, weathering setbacks. Now he was a commercial director, she the companys head of financeand between them, a chasm fifteen years deep and twenty-six-year-old Chloe wide.
In the hotel room, David paced furiously.
«Why did you do that?» His voice shook with anger.
Chloe lounged on the bed, wrapped carelessly in a silk robe, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow. «Whats the big deal? You said you were leaving her anyway.»
«I decide when and how that happens! Do you have any idea what youve done? Emily isnt stupidshell have figured it out!»
«Good!» Chloe sat up sharply. «Im sick of being your dirty little secret, tucked away in hotel rooms. I want dinners out, meeting your friendsbeing your *wife*, for Gods sake!»
«Youre being childish,» he snapped.
«And youre a coward!» She marched up to him. «Look at me. Im young, Im beautiful, I can give you children. What does *she* offer? Just counting your money?»
David grabbed her shoulders. «Dont you dare talk about Emily like that! You know *nothing* about herabout us!»
«I know enough,» she spat. «I know youre miserable with her. 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 in snowy London, fifteen years of marriage were crumbling with one careless sentence from a petulant girl.
Emily sat in the dark kitchen, cradling a cold mug of tea. Her phone buzzeddozens of missed calls from David. She ignored them. What could she say? *»Darling, I heard your mistress calling you to a bubble bath?»*
Memories flickered: David kneeling in a restaurant, ring in hand. Moving into their first flata cramped two-bed in a dull suburb. Him holding her when her mother passed. Celebrating his promotion…
Then came the endless overtime, the mortgages, the renovations.
When had they last talked properly? Watched a film tangled together on the sofa? Made plans?
Another buzza text this time. *Em, we need to talk. I can explain.*
Explain *what*? That shed aged? That life had swallowed her? That a perky gym instructor understood him better?
Emily faced the mirror. Forty-two. Fine lines, greys she religiously coloured. When had the tired eyes started? The rigid routines, the relentless chase for stability?
«Davey, where did you go?» Chloe glared when he returned after another failed call to Emily.
«Not now.» He slumped into a chair, loosening his tie.
«Yes, *now*!» She planted her hands on her hips. «What happens next? You know you have to decide, right?»
David studied herconfident, glowing, full of life. Emily had been like that, once. God, how had he done this to her?
«Chloe,» he rubbed his face. «Youre right. Its time to choose.»
She beamed, rushing to him. «Darling! I knew youd»
«Yes.» He gently pushed her back. «This ends now.»
Her face fell. «*What?*»
«It was a mistake.» He stood. «I love my wife. Yes, weve drifted. But I wont throw away fifteen yearsnot for this.»
«Youyou coward!» Tears spilled down her cheeks.
«No. The coward was the man who started this. Who lied to the woman whos shared every high and low with me. Youre rightIm unhappy. But happiness is built, not found in someone elses bed.»
The knock came near midnight. Emily knew it was himhed caught the first flight back.
«Em, please open the door.» His voice was muffled through the wood.
She did. David stood thereunshaven, rumpled, eyes heavy with guilt.
«Can I come in?»
Silently, she stepped aside. They moved to the kitchenthe place where 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 Im weak. Because I panicked when we grew apart. Because she reminded me of *you*the you full of fire and dreams.»
«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 deserve forgiveness. But lets try? Counselling, more time together… relearning each other.»
Emily studied himolder, greyer, achingly familiar. Fifteen years wasnt just a number. It was inside jokes, shared silence, the quiet art of forgiveness.
«I dont know, David.» For the first time that night, she cried.
He pulled her close, and she didnt resist. Outside, snow blanketed London.
Somewhere in Manchester, a young woman wept over a harsh truth: love wasnt just passion or romance. It was a daily choice.
And here, in the kitchen, two middle-aged people began piecing their lives back togetherthrough hurt, through therapy, through stumbling conversations. The road ahead was long. But they both knew: sometimes, you only value what you almost lose.
