**Diary Entry 12th March**
Bloody hell. Ten years married, and she thinks Ive got a mistress? I told her, «Whats got into you? I dont need anyone else!»
Emma couldnt shake the feeling. She swore on her life that her husband, James, was cheating. The uncertainty gnawed at her. One evening, she finally worked up the nerve to ask him outright.
«Is it true or not?»
He just laughed. «Whats got into you? Weve been married ten years! What mistress? Youre all I need!»
He sounded sincere. Not a flicker of guilt in his smile, his words, his eyes. Yet something still didnt sit right.
Emma wasnt the type to leave things to fate. She needed proof. She scoured the internet for advice and started with his phonenothing unusual. Just idle chatter with a couple of old schoolmates. Hardly scandalous.
James never even bothered with a passcode. «Nothing to hide,» he always said. No secret messages, no deleted chats. A bloody saint, he was.
Sometimes, she wondered if she was imagining it all. But every time he came home late from work, that sick feeling returned.
Her best mate, Lucy, would say, «Youre overthinking! James adores youhed never stray! Youre ruining things with these suspicions!»
Emma didnt listen. Her gut told her different. And sharing her husband? Not a chance.
Once, she even stalked him to the office, just to check if he was really working or off gallivanting. He spotted her and blew his top. «Embarrassing me in front of my colleagues!» Took ages to smooth things over, but he forgave quickly.
By all accounts, life was grand. Nice house in Surrey, two kids, steady jobs. But noEmma had to go looking for trouble.
They say if you go searching, youll find something. Only, she hadnt yet.
Emma frettedtypical for a woman of thirty with two kids, terrified of being left high and dry. Outwardly calm, but inside, a storm raged.
No lipstick on his collar, no foreign perfumes, no sudden changes in routine. But she *knew*.
If not for sheer luck, she might never have uncovered the truth. Real or imagined? Time would tell.
When their youngest started Year 1, Emma decided to learn to drive. Evening lessons after work, passed her test in three months. James was so proud, he bought her a little Fiatsmall, but perfect for her tiny frame.
Hed never admit it, but he got it so she wouldnt ask to borrow his Audi. «You need more experience first,» hed say.
Then, one Sunday, she woke early, decided to surprise everyone with a chicken and aubergine pietheir favourite. No flour. Freezing outside, snow piled high, but shed got the hang of winter driving. Quick trip to Tesco, then back.
The Fiat wouldnt start. She tiptoed back insideeveryone still asleepthen pinched his keys. Just a quick errand, hed never know.
While the Audi warmed up, she wiped the windows. Reached into the glovebox for tissues, knocked something loose. A phone. Not his.
Her stomach lurched. Maybe hed nicked it by accidenthe was always misplacing things. But her finger hovered over the power button. She pressed it.
First thing she saw? A text from some *Sophie*.
«*My love, I miss you! Come over soonIm waiting!*»
Emmas breath caught. No passcode, so she scrolled. Messages stretching back *months*.
Turns out, James «worked late» till five but came home at seven. Every. Bloody. Day. Hed stop at Sophies first. The things he wrote to herwords Emma had never heard in ten years.
Photos showed a woman in her forties. What the hell did he see in her?
Just as Emma stormed out, she spotted James striding towards her. Shed left a note saying shed gone shoppinghe mustve seized the chance to text Sophie.
Now she remembered: all those evenings he «forgot his wallet,» slipping out to the car.
He saw her at the wheel and marched over. «Who said you could take it?»
Emma buckled up, slammed into reverse, and floored it. The Audi screeched into the fence. Oddly satisfying.
She jumped out, glaring. «Go on, then! Run to *her*! See how much she wants you homeless and carless!»
For good measure, she chucked his keys into a snowdrift and stormed inside.
The boys were up, confused. Minutes later, James tried the door. She bolted it.
«Go to *her*! Dont come back!»
Off he trudgedslippers, dressing gown, jacket. Thought Sophie would take him in.
She opened the doorthen a mans voice called, «Hurry up, love!»
Sophie had *two* men. Weekdays for James, weekends for someone else. She gave him a sheepish look and shut the door in his face.
So James slunk to his mums, two streets over.
Margaret took one look and sighed. Fed him, listened to his tale of the «wicked wife» whod kicked him out over nothing, then patted his shoulder.
«Dont fret, love. Who knew Emma would turn out like this? Your luck will changeyoure only thirty-five! Youll find love again.»
So he stayed. Even felt relievedfree at last! Until Emma filed for child support. Then reality hit.
At least his mum didnt abandon him. Small mercies.
**Lesson learned:** If you go digging for dirt, wear glovesyoull need them when everything blows up in your face.
