She learned that her husband had a second family in a nearby town.
Whats that? Megans voice was low, but it rang with steel. Oliver, Im asking, whats this?
He stood by the entrance, gleaming like a freshly polished kettle, leaning against the hood of a deepblack, glossy car. New, straight off the showroom floor. The scent of expensive leather and plastic drifted even up to the thirdfloor kitchen window.
Surprise! Oliver spread his arms as if he were embracing the whole world. A gift. For us. For the anniversary. Well, almost I thought Id get it early. Like it?
Megan slowly walked down the stairs. She couldnt recall how she had descended, how she had opened the heavy frontdoor. Her legs moved on their own while a single thought hammered in her mind, cold and sharp as a needle: money. The very money they had been saving for almost five years, penny by penny, for the first deposit on a mortgage for Lucy, their daughter. So Lucy could have her own place when she went to university.
Oliver, are you out of your mind? She came close, touching the icy metal of the hood. The car was sleek, beautiful, and alien. We agreed. That money is untouchable.
Megan, what are you saying? His smile faded a little. Well earn more. Im now a department head, my salary is higher. And driving our old clunker is simply embarrassing. Look at this beauty!
He opened the passenger door. The interior, trimmed in light leather, promised comfort and luxury. For a moment Megan wanted to sit inside, to inhale the scent of a new life, but she forced herself back.
Embarrassed? You were embarrassed to drive the car that served us faithfully for ten years? And I wont be ashamed to look my daughter in the eye when she asks why we cant help her with a flat?
Lucys still two years from university! Oliver waved it off. Well save. Dont be such a killjoy, be happy. Lets take it for a spin! Give the purchase a wash.
He tried to hug her, but Megan stepped away. Irritation flashed in his eyes; he wasnt used to his broad gestures meeting such a cold wall.
Im not going anywhere, she cut him off. Dinner isnt ready.
She turned back toward the entrance, feeling his bewildered, angry stare on her back. Inside, stirring soup, she looked out the window. Oliver was still by the car, then, irritated, he kicked the tyre, got behind the wheel and roared away. Where he went to wash the purchase alone mattered little to her. The bitterness in her chest was so sharp, so bitter, it made her want to cry, yet no tears camejust an icy emptiness. Twenty years of marriage. Two decades of joint decisions, of discussing every big expense, every trip. And now he presented this as fact, as if her opinion never existed.
He returned late, past midnight, quiet and a little remorseful, placing a bag of her favourite scones on the kitchen table.
Megan, Im sorry. I got carried away. But understand, its for you too. So you can travel comfortably.
I dont drive, Oliver. And I never intended to learn.
You will! Ill teach you myself, he sat beside her, took her hand. Dont get angry. A car is just a thing. Were a family. The important thing is were together.
Megan sighed. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was overreacting. Money is material, but he was there, trying to make amends. She gave a faint smile, and Olivers spirits lifted as he launched into an enthusiastic description of the engines power, a clever navigation system, and the heating that could melt the coldest night. Megan listened halfheartedly, nodded, and thought perhaps a wise wife should endure, forgive, and support.
The next day, a Saturday, Oliver insisted on a family trip out of town. Lucy, seventeen, squealed with excitement, poking at the buttons and levers in the new cabin. Megan sat in the front seat, trying to look pleased. The car indeed ran smoothly, almost silently. Outside, suburbia gave way to countryside: villages, woods, fields. They stopped by a picturesque lake for a picnic. Oliver was jovial and attentive, constantly refilling Megans tea from a thermos and covering her with a blanket. Slowly, Megans chill melted, and she began to believe everything might be alright again.
That evening, when they returned and Oliver went to park the car, Megan decided to tidy the interior. She shook out the floor mats, cleared crumbs from biscuits. Opening the glovebox for wet wipes, her fingers brushed a hard object tucked behind the owners manual. It was a receipt. An ordinary shop receipt for childrens toys. Megan unfolded it, scanned the lines, and froze.
SpaceStation set, 1pc £74
Fairy charm bracelet, 1pc £33
The date was a week old. That day Oliver had been on a work trip to a nearby regional centre, about ninety miles away, saying there was a new major project he needed to oversee personally. Megan frowned. Who would buy such pricey toys? The set was clearly for a boy ten to twelve; the bracelet for a girl, or perhaps a woman. None of his friends or colleagues had children that age, she thought. Maybe a gift for a colleagues son? But why spend so much? And why keep it secret?
She slipped the receipt into her coat pocket. Her heart pounded. Something about it felt false, like the whole car episodesudden, unilateral decisions.
That night she lay awake beside her peacefully sleeping husband, staring at the ceiling. She recalled the past few years: his trips grew more frequent. He used to call every evening, detailing his day. Now he sent brief texts: All good, tired, going to bed. She blamed it on his new role, on responsibility. She thought he was just exhausted. But what if not?
In the morning, while he showered, she finally did something shed never done in twenty years. She took his phone. She knew the passwordLucys birthday. She quickly scrolled through contacts. Nothing suspicious: bosses, colleagues, friends. Except one: Sergei Petrovich, Plumber. Megan wondered why Oliver kept a plumbers number from another town. She opened the messages. A chill ran down her spine.
Sergei, did the pipes arrive? Oliver wrote.
Yes, all set. Kirill is thrilled, assembling for the second day.
Who was Kirill? The plumbers son?
Another text: Hows the weather? Frozen yet?
Reply: Sunny here. I miss you terribly.
Sunny. Thats how Oliver used to call her in the early years of their romance, and how he called Lucy when she was a baby. Then he stopped, using only Megan and daughter. In this exchange, that word sounded alive, warm. Megan felt nausea rise.
She kept scrolling. Coming Saturday? Kirill has a swimming competition.
Ill try to make it.
Pick up a cake on the way, my favourite, honeyspiced.
The plumber was a woman, with a son named Kirill, and Oliver was buying them cakes, attending competitions, gifting expensive toys.
Megan placed the phone back just before Oliver emerged from the bathroom. His eyes, still wet, noticed her pallor.
You look pale, he said, towel around his hair.
Head hurts, she lied. Probably the blood pressure.
All day she moved like a ghost, mechanically preparing lunch, chatting with Lucy, answering Olivers questions. One thought kept looping: who was this woman calling herself Sergei Petrovich and asking for honey cake? How long had this been going on?
She decided she needed answers, not a scandal. She needed clarity so the world could regain its sharp edges, now blurred like watercolor in rain.
On Monday she called her workplace, claiming she was ill, then phoned her sister, who lived in the same regional centre.
Hey, Len, Im popping over today, just for a few hours. Something came up.
Sure, come over! Everything alright? her sister asked worriedly.
Nothing, just business.
She got into the new, hated car. Her hands on the wheel felt foreign. Oliver had taught her a few years ago, though she never liked driving. The navigation system still held a history of trips: Home, Work, and several addresses in the neighbouring town. One address repeated often: Green Street, 15. An ordinary residential block, according to the map.
The drive took an hour and a half. Megan drove, eyes glazed, unsure what she would do when she arrived. Knock on the door? A confrontation? It didnt suit her nature. She just wanted to see.
She turned onto Green Street. Quiet, leafy courtyard, a typical ninestorey block. She parked the car around the corner, out of sight from the windows. House 15, entrance 2. She sat on a bench opposite, put on dark sunglasses, and waited.
An hour passed, then another. Residents with prams, elderly neighbours, teenagers hurrying about. Megan felt foolish. What was she doing here? Why waste time on this humiliating stakeout? Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe there really was someone important to Oliver in that town?
Then the entrance door opened. Oliver stepped out, in jeans and a plain tee, not his usual suit. He laughed, chatting with a woman standing beside him. She was a pretty blonde, about his age. In her arm was a tenyearold boy, lighthaired, grinning at Oliver.
They walked leisurely to a playground. Oliver lifted the boy onto his shoulders, twirled him; the child laughed loudly. The three of them swung together. The woman adjusted her hair, speaking softly, while Oliver looked at her with a tenderness Megan hadnt seen in years. They looked like a normal, happy family on a weekday outing.
Megan could hardly breathe. She felt the air thin out. Instinctively she took a photo, hands trembling, the image blurry but unmistakablea proof of her shattered life.
She didnt recall the drive back. The world beyond the windshield turned into a smeared blur. At home she collapsed onto the sofa, staring at a single point. The house shed built over twenty years felt like cardboard scenery. Her love, her loyalty, her whole existence turned out to be a lie.
Oliver returned at his usual hour, cheerful, handing Lucy a chocolate bar, kissing Megan on the cheek.
How are you, love? Feeling better? he asked, stepping into the kitchen.
Megan silently handed him his phone, the photo open on the screen.
He looked, his smile draining away. He went pale, stared at the image, then at her face.
Its not what you think, he finally managed.
What do I think, Oliver? her voice was unnervingly calm. I think you have a second family. I think you have a son. I think youve lied to me for years. Am I wrong?
Its complicated.
Complicated? she scoffed. Complicated is sending a child to school on a single salary in the nineties. Complicated is caring for a sick mother, torn between home and hospital. This isnt complicated. Its cruel.
Lucy entered the room.
Mum, dad, whats wrong? You look strange
Go play, love, Megan said, keeping her voice even. Were just talking.
Oliver sat down, looking older, slumped.
I never meant to hurt you.
Never meant to? she repeated. You bought a car with the money we saved for Lucys future, just to drive another woman and another child! You didnt just hurt me, Oliver. You killed me. Now I only want one answer. How long?
He lowered his head, silent.
Oliver!
Twelve years, he whispered.
Twelve years. Lucy had been five then. He had started another family while their daughter was still a baby. Megan closed her eyes. She saw their whole life flash: her and Lucy in the park, him pushing her on the swings; a seaside holiday where he taught her to swim. And somewhere, in another town, another boy, another woman, another set of swings.
I met Svetlana an engineer on a project. It just happened I didnt plan it. Then she said she was pregnant. I couldnt leave her.
Could you leave me? Could you leave Lucy?
I never left you! I love you! I love them too He looked at her with tearfilled eyes. Megan, I dont know how this happened. Im lost.
Leave, she said softly.
What? Where am I going?
To them, she nodded toward the uncertain direction. Where it isnt hard. Where they wait and love you. Pack your things.
Lets talk first, dont be rash. We
Weve said everything, Oliver. Go.
He gathered a small bag of essentials, tried to speak, but Megan turned away. When the door shut behind him, she walked to the window. He slipped into his shiny new car and drove off, probably toward Green Street.
Lucy entered, eyes red from crying.
Mum, did he go away forever?
Megan hugged her tightly, until her arms ached.
I dont know, love. I dont know.
They sat together in the silent, empty flat, the night falling outside. The oncebright courtyard was now dark. The black car that had symbolised his deceit was gone, leaving a deeper void. At fortyfive, with a daughter now a university student and a life in shards, Megan felt a strange, cold calm. One chapter had ended. She would have to write the next herself.
She realized that truth, no matter how painful, frees the soul, and that clinging to lies only chains you to someone elses story. The lesson was clear: honesty may break the heart, but it also clears the path for a life rebuilt on ones own terms.
