Id just learned that my wife, Margaret, had discovered a second family in the nextdoor town.
Whats that all about? Margarets voice was low, steeltinged. Oliver, tell me whats happening.
I was leaning against the glossy hood of a brandnew, midnightblack motor car, fresh off the lot. Its polished paint caught the light like a freshly polished kettle. The scent of fine leather and new plastic drifted up to the thirdfloor kitchen window where Margaret stood.
Surprise! I spread my arms as if I were embracing the whole world. A gift for us. For our anniversary well, almost I thought Id get a head start. Like it?
Margaret descended the stairs slowly, as if the steps had taken her down on their own. She didnt remember opening the heavy frontdoor, her feet moved automatically, and a single, cold thought thudded in her mind like a needle: the money. The very money wed been tucking away for almost five years, penny by penny, for the first mortgage payment on a flat for Evelyn, our daughter, so shed have a place of her own when she went to university.
Oliver, are you out of your mind? she pressed her hand to the icy metal of the cars hood. The vehicle was sleek, beautiful, and completely foreign to us. We agreed this cash was untouchable.
Marwhat are you on about? I tried to smile, though it faded a little. Well earn more. Im now a department manager, the salarys bigger. And its shameful driving that old clunker after ten years of faithful service. Look at this beauty!
I opened the passenger door. The interior, upholstered in lightcolored leather, beckoned with comfort and luxury. For a heartbeat I wanted to sit, breathe in the scent of a fresh start, but I held back.
Shameful? You felt ashamed driving the car thats taken us from A to B for a decade? And Ill never be ashamed of looking my daughter in the eye when she asks why we cant help her buy a flat.
Evelyns still two years from university, I waved off her concern. Well keep saving. Dont be a killjoy, enjoy it. Lets take it for a spin and wash the purchase.
I tried to embrace her, but Margaret pulled away. Irritation flashed across my eyes; my grand gestures werent meeting the cold wall shed built.
Im not going anywhere, she snapped. Dinner isnt ready yet.
She turned and headed back to the hallway, feeling my bewildered, angry stare on her back. Inside, while she stirred soup, I stood by the car, kicked the tyre in frustration, slipped into the drivers seat and roared away. Where I went to wash the purchase didnt matter to her. The bitterness in her throat was sharp, but tears wouldnt come. It was a hollow emptiness after twenty years of marriage, two decades of joint decisions, shared expenses, and shared trips. Now Id just presented a fact as if her opinion didnt exist.
I came home late, well past midnight, quiet and a little guilty, and placed a bag of her favourite biscuits on the kitchen table.
Margaret, Im sorry. I got carried away. But understand, its for you too, so you can travel in comfort.
I dont drive, Oliver. I wasnt planning to learn.
You will! Ill teach you myself, I sat beside her, taking her hand. Dont get worked up. A car is just a thing. Were a family. The important thing is were together.
She sighed. Maybe I was right. Maybe she was overreacting. Money was just paper, and I was there, trying to make amends. She managed a weak smile, and I perked up, launching into an enthusiastic description of the engines power, the clever navigation system, the heating that could warm the coldest of mornings. She listened halfheartedly, nodding, thinking that perhaps a wise wife should endure, forgive, and support.
The next day, Saturday, I insisted on a family outing outside the city. Evelyn, now seventeen, squealed with delight, poking at every button in the new cabin. I sat in the front, trying to look pleased. The car glided smoothly, almost silently. Past the suburban estates, the woods, the fields, we stopped at a picturesque lake for a picnic. I kept refilling her tea from a thermos, wrapped her in a blanket, and Margaret seemed to thaw a little, almost believing everything was fine again.
That evening, after wed parked the car, Margaret decided to tidy up the interior. She shook out the floor mats, cleared crumbs from the biscuits, and opened the glove compartment to stash some wipes. Her fingers brushed something hard tucked behind the owners manual a receipt. A plain shop receipt for childrens toys.
Space Station Builder £85, it read. Fairy Charm Bracelet £38.
The date was a week old. That day I had been on a work trip to the nearby town of Coventry, about a hundred miles away, checking on a new construction site. Margaret frowned. Who was buying such expensive toys? The builder seemed aimed at a tenyearold boy, the bracelet at a girl, perhaps even an adult. None of my colleagues had kids that age. Maybe a gift for a bosss son? But why spend so much, and why keep silent?
She slipped the receipt into her coat pocket. Her heart hammered with an uneasy feeling. Something was false, like the whole car episode a sudden, unilateral decision.
That night she lay awake beside me, watching the ceiling, replaying the past few years. My trips had become more frequent. I used to call every evening, recounting my day in detail. Lately I sent only brief texts: All good, tired, going to bed. She blamed it on my new role, the extra responsibility. What if it wasnt?
In the morning, while I was in the shower, she took my phone. She knew the password Evelyns birthday. She scrolled through contacts: bosses, friends, one odd name: Stephen Carpenter Plumber. She opened the conversation and felt a chill.
Messages were short, businesslike, but something pricked her eyes.
Stephen, have the pipes arrived? Id written.
Yes, all set. Kirills thrilled, has been assembling for two days.
Who was Kirill? The plumbers son?
Another message: Hows the weather? Cold enough?
Reply: Sunny here. I miss you terribly.
Sunny. Thats how Id called her in the early years, and Evelyn when she was a baby. Then I stopped. Id started calling her simply Margaret or daughter. Yet in that chat the word felt warm, alive. A nausea rose in her throat.
She kept scrolling. Coming Saturday? Kirills swimming meet. Ill try to make it. Buy a honey cake on the way, my favourite.
It wasnt a plumber at all. It was a woman, and she had a son named Kirill. Id been buying cakes, attending meets, gifting pricey toys.
She slipped the phone back just as I stepped out of the shower.
Whats wrong with you? You look pale, I said, drying my hair.
My head hurts, she lied. Probably the pressure.
The whole day she moved through a fog, mechanically preparing lunch, chatting with Evelyn, answering my questions. One thought kept looping: who was this woman calling herself Stephen Carpenter and asking for a honey cake? How long had this been going on?
She decided she needed answers, not a scandal. She called in sick to work on Monday, then rang her sister, Linda, who lived in Coventry.
Linda, hey. Im dropping by today for a few hours. Somethings come up.
Sure, come over. Everything okay?
Oh, nothing serious. Just errands.
She jumped into the hated new car, feeling the steering wheel foreign under her hands. I had taught her to drive a few years back, though she never liked it. The GPS, which Id bragged about, still held a history of trips: Home, Work, and several addresses in a neighbouring town. One address repeated most often: Green Street, House 15, a typical council block.
The drive took an hour and a half. She saw nothing, just the road stretching ahead, unsure what shed do when she got there. Would she knock? Cause a scene? No, that wasnt her style. She just needed to see.
She arrived at Green Street, a quiet courtyard with a ninestorey block. She parked the car out of sight, climbed down to a bench, put on dark sunglasses and waited.
Hours passed. Mothers with prams, retirees, hurried teenagers, all drifted by. She felt foolish, wondering why shed waste time on this covert watch. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe someone important to me really lived there.
Then the lift doors opened. He stepped out it was me, in jeans and a plain Tshirt, not my usual suit. I was laughing, talking with a woman beside me, a blonde about my age, holding a lighthaired tenyearold boy who smiled just like mine.
We walked together to a playground. I scooped the boy onto my shoulders, spun him around. He laughed loudly. The woman adjusted her hair, looking at me with a tenderness I hadnt shown Margaret in years. They sat on the swings together, looking like a normal, happy family on an ordinary weekday.
I felt my throat close. She snapped a photo with her shaking hand, the picture blurry but unmistakable three people on a swing, evidence of my shattered life.
She didnt remember how she got back to the car. The world through the windscreen turned into a smeared blur. She collapsed onto the sofa, staring at a single point. The house shed built over twenty years felt like cardboard. Her love, her loyalty, her whole existence lay in ruins.
I returned from work at my usual time, cheerful, handed Evelyn a chocolate bar, kissed Margaret on the cheek.
How are you, love? Feel better? I asked, heading to the kitchen.
She handed me the phone, the photo still open.
My smile faded, my face went pale. I stared at the screen, then at her.
Its not what you think, I 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, I stammered.
Complicated? she laughed dryly. Complicated is raising a child in the 90s on one salary. Complicated is caring for a sick mother, splitting time between home and hospital. What youre doing isnt complicated its vile.
Evelyn wandered in.
Mum, dad, whats happening? You both look strange
Go to your room, love, Margaret said softly. Were talking.
I sat, looking older, slumped.
I never meant to hurt you.
Never meant to? she repeated. You bought a car with the money wed been saving for Evelyns future, just to ferry another woman and another child! You didnt just hurt me, Oliver. You killed me. I only want to know one thing how long?
I lowered my head, silent.
Oliver!
Twelve years, I whispered.
Twelve years. Evelyn would have been five then. Id started another family while our daughter was still a baby. Margaret closed her eyes. Scenes flashed: us in the park, me pushing her on the swings; us at the seaside, teaching her to swim. Somewhere else, a different girl, a different boy, sharing the same moments.
I met Sophie on a site. Shes an engineer. Things spiralled. I didnt plan it, I swear. Then she said she was pregnant. I couldnt leave her.
And me? Evelyn?
I never left you! I love you! I love them too! I looked at her, tears brimming. Margaret, I dont know how this happened. Im lost.
Leave, she said quietly.
What? Where am I going?
Anywhere, she said, nodding toward the unknown. Where it isnt hard. Where theyre waiting and love you. Pack your things.
Margaret, lets talk. Dont do this in a rush. We can we can
Weve said everything, Oliver. Go.
He gathered a small bag of essentials, tried to speak, but I turned away. When the door shut, I walked to the car, slid into the sleek machine and drove off, probably toward Green Street.
Evelyn entered the room, eyes red from crying.
Did Dad go? Forever?
I held her tightly, my arms crushing her small frame.
I dont know, love. I dont know anything.
We sat like that, embracing in the silence of an empty flat. Outside, night fell. I stared at the dark courtyard; the midnightblack car that had symbolised his lies was gone, leaving a deeper void. At fortyfive, with a universitygoing daughter and a shattered life, I didnt know what to do next. Yet for the first time in years, I felt not pain or anger but a cold, strange calm. One chapter had closed, and now I had to start writing a new one, on my own.
