October 15th, 2023
The call with my wife was nearly overjust another mundane check-in, one of countless conversations in our fifteen years of marriage. Emma stood by the window, watching thick London snow blanket the city outside. James, as always, was reporting in from his «business trip» in Manchester. Everything was fine, meetings were on schedule, hed be back in three days.
«Alright, love. Talk soon,» Emma said, pulling the phone from her ear to end the call. But thensomething stopped her. On the other end, clear as day, a womans voice, young and lilting:
«Jamie, are you coming? Ive run the bath for us…»
Her hand froze mid-air. Her heart stalled, then hammered as if trying to break free. She pressed the phone back to her earnothing but the empty drone of a disconnected line.
Slowly, she sank into the armchair, legs buckling beneath her. Her mind reeled: *Jamie? A bath? Since when do business trips involve baths?* Fragments of the past months flickeredfrequent trips, late-night calls taken outside, the unfamiliar perfume lingering in his car.
Trembling, she opened his email. The password hadnt changedstill the one theyd set back when trust was unshakable. Train tickets, hotel bookings. A *honeymoon suite* at a five-star in central Manchester. For two.
Then the messages. *Megan*. Twenty-six, personal trainer. *Darling, I cant do this anymore. You promised youd leave her three months ago. How much longer?*
Emmas stomach twisted. She remembered their first dateJames just a junior consultant, her a trainee accountant. Saving for a wedding, crammed into a tiny flat in Croydon. Celebrating promotions, weathering setbacks. Now he was a director, she the head of finance, and between them? A chasm fifteen years wide, and a girl named Megan.
In the hotel, James paced like a caged animal.
«Why did you do that?» His voice shook with anger.
Megan lounged on the bed, wrapped in silk, her blonde hair spilled across the pillows. «Whats the big deal? You said you were leaving her.»
«I decide when and how! Do you realise what youve done? Emma isnt stupidshe *knows* now.»
«Good!» Megan sat up sharply. «Im sick of being your dirty secret. I want dinners, meeting your friendsbeing your *wife*.»
«Youre acting like a child.»
«And youre a coward,» she spat. «Look at me. Im young. I can give you children. What can she do? Just count your money?»
He grabbed her shoulders. «Dont you *dare* speak about her like that.»
«I know enough,» she wrenched free. «I know youre miserable. When was the last time you even touched her? Or went on holiday together?»
James turned to the window. Somewhere in snowy London, his marriage was crumbling. Fifteen years, undone by one careless sentence.
Emma sat in the dark kitchen, cold tea untouched. Dozens of missed calls from James. What was there to say? *Darling, I heard your mistress calling you to the bath?*
Memories flickeredJames on one knee in a cramped restaurant, their first flat in Croydon, him holding her when her mother died. Then the slow driftwork, mortgages, endless chores.
When had they last talked properly? Watched a film tangled together on the sofa?
Her phone buzzed. A text: *Em, we need to talk. I can explain.*
Explain what? That shed aged? That Megan understood him better?
She studied herself in the mirror. Forty-two. Wrinkles, greys she dyed monthly. When had the tiredness set in?
The knock came at midnight. She knew it was himfirst flight back.
«Em, please,» his voice muffled through the door.
She opened it. James stood thereunshaven, rumpled suit, eyes full of regret.
«Can I come in?»
Silently, she stepped aside.
«Em»
«Dont,» she cut in. «I know. Megan. Twenty-six. Personal trainer. I read your emails.»
He nodded, words failing.
«Why, James?»
He stared at the floor. «Because I was weak. Because I got scared wed become strangers. Because she reminded me of *you*the you from fifteen years ago.»
«And now?»
«Now,» he met her eyes, «I want to fix this. If youll let me.»
«What about her?»
«Its over. I cant lose you, Em. I know I dont deserve forgiveness. But lets try. Couples therapy. More time together. Find our way back.»
Emma looked at himolder, greyer, achingly familiar. Fifteen years wasnt just a number. It was shared jokes, silent understandings, the weight of forgiveness.
She didnt know. For the first time that night, she cried.
He held her, and she didnt pull away.
Outside, snow kept falling.
Somewhere in Manchester, a young woman learned a brutal truth: love isnt just passion. Its a choicemade every day.
And in that kitchen, two people began the long, painful work of rebuilding.
*Lesson learned: Sometimes you have to nearly lose something to remember its worth. The snow fell heavier, blanketing the city in silence, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Emmas tears slowed, her sobs quieting against his chest. They sat on the sofa, shoulders touching, not speaking, just existing in the fragile space between ruin and repair. Morning would come with harder conversations, decisions yet unmadebut for now, they were still here, still trying. And that, for tonight, was enough.
