**Diary Entry December 22nd**
*What a strange twist of fate,* I thought, staring at my husband across the train compartment, his face ashen. Beside him stood a woman I recognised instantly from the photos on his phonetall, auburn-haired, her green eyes sharp as frost.
«Andrew, you didnt mention taking the train to Manchester,» I said, keeping my voice steady. My fingers curled around the novel in my lap, my pulse thudding.
«Ithe lorry route changed last minute,» he stammered, shifting awkwardly. The lie hung between us, brittle as ice.
*Of course.* Just as my own «business trip» to Edinburgh had been a fiction. Across from me, Jamesmy own secretcleared his throat. The four of us sat in stunned silence, the rhythmic clatter of the train filling the space where words should have been.
The attendant had shrugged when she found our tickets all booked for the same seats. «System glitch,» shed muttered. But it felt like something elsesome cruel joke or divine intervention.
James was the first to speak. «Well. This is awkward.»
Andrew laugheda dry, hollow sound. «Understatement.»
We talked. Not pleasantly, not easily, but honestly. Four years for him and Clara, three for me and James. Both affairs had started around the same time, both born from the same quiet despair. The comfortable routines of marriage had become a cage: breakfasts in silence, evenings lost to telly or separate corners of the house.
«We used to talk for hours,» I admitted, tracing the rim of my paper cup. «Remember that night your old Ford broke down on the M25? We sat on the kerb for three hours, just talking.»
Andrews expression softened. «I do. Then life got in the way.»
Clara had never heard him mention a future together. James had never asked me for one. The realisation settled heavily: wed both been clinging to fleeting distractions, too afraid to admit what we really wanted.
By the time the train slowed into Edinburgh Waverley, the decision felt inevitable. James kissed my cheek and left without looking back. Clara squeezed Andrews hand before disappearing into the crowd.
On the platform, Andrew exhaled sharply. «Fancy a proper holiday? Maybe that cottage in the Cotswolds we always talked about?»
I smiled. «With a dog. A big one.»
Six months later, we signed the papers. The cottage had a garden, a sturdy oak in the yard, and room for Andrews lorry in the drive. The doga boisterous Labradorchewed through two pairs of shoes in the first week.
Sometimes, over wine by the fire, we laugh about that train. The sheer absurdity of it. But mostly, were grateful. It forced us to see what wed nearly lostnot just a marriage, but the person who still knows your quirks after sixteen years, who remembers how you take your tea, who forgives the unforgivable.
Funny, isnt it? It took a collision of fateand a booking system errorto remind us that love isnt just about beginnings. Its about choosing each other, again and again.
