«Daddy lives in another house too,» said the boy, and in that moment, I realised his «business trips» had all been lies.
«I wont wear that dress, I told you a hundred times!» Victoria stamped her foot, arms crossed. «It itches, and the collars horrid!»
«But darling, we bought it specially for Grandmas birthday,» Emma said, forcing calm into her voice while irritation simmered inside. «Shell be upset if you turn up in jeans.»
«Let her be upset! Im tenI choose what I wear!»
Emma shut her eyes and counted to five. The last thing she needed was another tantrum. The day had already been endlesswork chaos, rushing through shops, baking the celebration cake for her mother-in-law. And Michael, as usual, was away on business when she needed him most.
«Vicky, listen» she began, but six-year-old Oliver burst in, clutching a toy car.
«Mum, look what I drew!» He thrust a crumpled sheet at her. «Its our family!»
Emma glanced at the scribblesstick figures with wild grins: herself, Vicky with pigtails, little Oliver, and his father, oddly drawn twice, on either side of the page.
«Lovely, sweetheart,» she said absently. «Whys Daddy there twice?»
«Hes not,» Oliver frowned, as if explaining something obvious. «Thats Daddy in our house, and Daddy in the other house where he lives when hes not here.»
Something cold slithered down Emmas spine. She looked closertwo figures of Michael, one beside them, the other by a boxy sketch of a house at the pages edge.
«What other house, Olly?» she asked carefully.
«The one with flowers in the window and the cat,» he shrugged. «He took me there when you were at work. But its a secretDaddy said not to tell.»
Victoria, forgetting her dress outrage, gaped. «Ollie, stop lying! Dads on business trips, not in other houses!»
«Im not lying!» His lip jutted out. «We watched cartoons and had pizza. Aunt Lydia made us hot chocolate.»
«Whos Aunt Lydia?» The room tilted slightly.
«Dads friend. She lives there.» Oliver had already lost interest, zooming his car along the floor. «Can I go watch telly?»
Emma nodded, speechless. Victorias wide eyes flicked between her brother and mother.
«Mum, hes just confused,» she said uncertainly. «Dad wouldnt»
«Go to your room, Vicky,» Emma cut in softly. «Wear what you want. I dont care about the dress.»
Alone, Emma sank onto the sofa. Thoughts tangled, her pulse hammering in her throat. Michaelher Michael, with his fortnightly «business trips»? The man whod spun such convincing tales, bringing back souvenirs from far-off cities?
She remembered the first flicker of doubt six months ago. The late nights. The sudden surge in travel, though hed barely gone away before. Then the café receipt shed found in his coatdated when he was supposedly in Manchester. Hed brushed it off: came back early, didnt want to disturb them.
Shed believed him. Or made herself believe.
Emma stood abruptly, heading for the bureau where they kept paperwork. Bills, usually handled by Michaelmobile, broadband, utilities. She riffled through them, her breath hitching at an unfamiliar sheet. A phone and internet invoice, but for an address in Islington. Under the recipients name: Michael Carter. Her husband.
Her hands shook. Proof. Stupid to hope a child would fabricate such details. Little boys didnt invent secret flats and hot chocolate-serving aunts.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Michael: *»Miss you all. Counting the days. Love you.»*
Emma stared at the screen. Should she reply? Call him out? Wait to watch him lie to her face?
In the end, she typed *»Were fine»* and set the phone aside.
The next two days passed in a haze. She functioned mechanicallywork, school runs, bedtime storiesbut her mind circled back to Michaels double life. Oliver stopped mentioning the «other house,» while Victoria watched her with wary eyes, braced for an explosion.
She sent the children alone to her mother-in-laws anniversary dinner, pleading a migraine. Couldnt bear to sit at that table, smiling through the charade. Did his mother know? Was Emma the only fool?
On the third evening, a key turned in the lock. Emma sat at the kitchen table, cold tea untouched before her. The children were asleep.
«Home!» Michaels cheerful voice rang out as he strode in, flowers in one hand, suitcase in the other. «God, Ive missed»
He leaned in for a kiss. Emma pulled away. His brow furrowed.
«Whats wrong? You seem…»
«Oliver drew a picture,» she said flatly, holding his gaze. «Our family. With you in two houses.»
A flicker in his eyes. Then a dismissive laugh. «Kids imagine all sorts, you know that»
«Dont.» Her voice was steel. «I found the bills, Michael. The flat in Islington. Oliver told me about Aunt Lydia and her cat. Quite elaborate for a fantasy, dont you think?»
Slowly, he set the flowers down. The silence stretched, his face cycling through shock, guilt, resignation.
«I can explain,» he began.
«Explain what?» Her voice cracked. «That youve got a second family? That your business trips were just shagging some woman? That you took our son to meet your mistress?»
«It wasnt like that,» he muttered, running a hand through his hair. «I never meant for you to find out like this.»
«How *did* you mean me to find out?» A bitter laugh escaped her. «Or were you planning to keep lying forever?»
His silence was answer enough.
«And the child?» she whispered. «Oliver mentioned a little girl.»
«Sophie,» he admitted hoarsely. «Shes four.»
Four years. While Emma had raised their children, cooked his meals, waited faithfully, hed been building another life.
«Why stay?» Her voice was eerily calm. «Why not just leave?»
«I couldnt choose,» he spread his hands helplessly. «I love our kids. I love you. But I love them too. Its like two separate worlds»
«No,» she cut in. «I dont understand lying for years. Looking me in the eye, saying you missed us, when youd just come from *her*.»
He reached for her hand. She jerked back.
«Emma, I *did* miss you. I know how this sounds, but I love you all. I didnt want to lose anyone.»
«And now?» She gave a mirthless smile. «Now that your little games up?»
He stared at his feet. A car passed outside, headlights sweeping the kitchen. Somewhere, a clock ticked.
«I dont know,» he said at last. «Whatever I choose, someone gets hurt.»
«You chose already,» Emma stood. «When you decided to lie. When you brought our son into your deception.»
«It was an accident!» he said hastily. «I only took him oncejust to grab some papers. I thought Lydia wouldnt be home»
«And thats supposed to make it better?» She shook her head. «Heres whats going to happen. Youll pack a bag and leave. Tonight. No scenesthe kids are asleep. Go live properly in your other life, since you clearly want both.»
«Emma, please»
«No. Listen.» Her voice trembled only slightly. «I deserved better than this. Our children deserved a father who didnt treat them like part-time obligations. I want a divorce.»
He flinched as if struck. «You cant just throw away fifteen years!»
«I didnt. You did.» Her words were quiet, final. «When you decided two families were yours to have. When you bet Id never find out.»
His silence was confession enough. Not remorsejust defeat.
«Can I at least say goodbye to them?» he asked thickly.
«Theyre asleep,» she said. «Come back tomorrow. Tell them the truththey deserve that much. No more lies.»
His face paled. «Theyll hate me.»
«Maybe,» Emma said. «But itll be their choice. Not your deception.»
She watched as he stuffed clothes into a gym bag. At the door, she asked suddenly, «Why Oliver? Why take him and not Vicky?»
His eyes darted away. «Hes younger. Less likely to… understand. Vicky wouldve figured it out.»
«She did,» Emma said softly. «She just didnt want to believe it.»
When the door clicked shut, she slid down the wall, finally letting the tears come. Sobs racked her, but beneath the pain, an odd relief took root. No more pretending. No more waiting for phantom business trips to end.
Morning light woke her to Oliver clambering onto the bed.
«Mum, wheres Dad?» He wrapped his arms around her neck. «He was sposed to be back.»
«He had to go away, love,» she murmured into his hair. «Hell come see you later.»
«Was he cross about my drawing?» Olivers eyes welled up. «I didnt mean to tell the secret»
«No, sweetheart.» She stroked his cheek. «You did the right thing. Never be scared to tell me the truth, okay?»
Victoria appeared in the doorway, taking in the empty space where her father shouldve been.
«Hes really gone?» she asked bluntly.
«Hell visit,» Emma said gently. «But he wont live here anymore. He has… another family.»
«I knew,» Victorias lips tightened. «I saw a photo on his phone. A woman with a little girl. He said it was his cousin.»
Emmas heart clenchedso Victoria had carried this alone, shielding her.
«Come here,» she patted the mattress. «Were having a lazy day. Cartoons, then pancakes.»
«What about school?» Victoria frowned.
«One day wont hurt,» Emma managed a small smile. «I think weve earned it.»
The children burrowed under the duvet, pressing close. Emma held them, feeling something harden inside her. It would be hardmoney, loneliness, logistics. But shed manage. For them. For herself.
Life didnt end with betrayal. This was just a new chapterpainful, necessary. One where Emma wouldnt play the fool again.
«Mum…» Victorias voice was small. «Will we be okay without Dad?»
«Of course,» Emma kissed her forehead. «Were a proper family. No secrets, remember?»
Oliver, blissfully oblivious, chattered about a dream where hed ridden a dragon. Life went onaltered, but still theirs. And for the first time in years, Emma breathed freely, unshackled from suspicion.
The road ahead would be rough. But here, now, with her children in her arms, she knew shed done the right thing. Whatever came next would be built on truthnot lies.
