Are you going to her again?
Poppy Bennett fixed her stare on her husband, Andrew Carter, who was fiddling with the laces of his shoes.
Just the kids, love, not her, Andrew muttered, pulling the straps tighter. How long do we have to keep rehashing this?
Poppys lips formed a thin line. She had a thousand things to say, but the words got lodged somewhere in her throat, turning into a painful knot.
Before we were married it seemed fine, Andrew continued, standing up and snatching his jacket from the coatrack. You knew I had children. I told you everything straight away. You said you understood. And now what? Tantrums? Interrogations?
Poppy clenched her jaw even harder. Andrew slipped the jacket over his shoulders and, without waiting for an answer, headed for the front door. The lock clicked, and she was left standing alone.
A few seconds passed before Poppy could even shift her weight. Her legs felt as if they’d been filled with lead. She collapsed onto the sofa in the living room and turned on a mindless sitcom, letting the background chatter drown out the thoughts swirling in her head.
Theyd been together three years, two of them married. Shed known from the start divorce, two kids, a boy and a girl. Andrew had mentioned them on their third date. Poppy had smiled then, said it wasnt a problem, that she understood, that children werent an obstacle.
Now those words seemed naïve, almost laughable.
She covered her eyes with a hand and drew a deep breath. Holding back tears was getting harder; her chest felt squeezed by an invisible slab.
Weeks turned into a routine that became unbearable. Twice a week Tuesdays and Saturdays Andrew would disappear to his exwifes flat, claiming he was just seeing the kids. In reality he stayed for dinner, lingered over a glass of wine, and chatted with Olivia, his former.
Poppy knew it was foolish. She trusted him, or at least tried to convince herself she did. Yet a vague gut feeling warned her that trouble was brewing, a nausea that wouldnt quit.
When Andrew left, Poppy was alone in their flat, spiralling into selfcriticism. She berated herself for not standing her ground, for giving in to his promises, for staying silent when she should have shouted.
She grabbed her phone and typed a quick message to her best friend.
Hes there again.
The phone buzzed with an incoming call it was Claire.
Hello? Poppy answered, trying not to let her voice shake.
Poppy, what on earth are you doing? Claire didnt mince words. How long are you going to put up with this? Hes cheating, plain and simple.
No, Claire, you dont get it Poppy began, but Claire cut her off.
I get it. He spends two nights a week at his exs, stays until dawn. And you expect him to be building LEGO sets with the kids?
Poppy ran a hand over her face, knowing Claire was right. Saying it aloud would mean admitting their marriage was a farce.
He says theres nothing going on, that hes only there for the children.
Darling, youre being hopelessly naive, Claire sighed. Normal men dont spend half an evening at their exs kitchen, eating her borscht and probably holding her hand when the kids arent looking. They pick up their own kids, take them to the park, then drop them back home.
Claire, enough, Poppy snapped, gripping the handset tighter.
Enough? Fine. But remember my words. If you ever decide to go back, dont say I didnt warn you.
The call ended. Poppy stared at the ceiling while a laugh track blared from the TV. She didnt care.
Andrew shuffled back close to midnight, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hallway. He slipped into the bathroom, then reappeared, lying down beside her, a faint scent of sweet, cloying perfume wafting from his skin.
She didnt ask why he was late; she had no energy left. Andrew, halfasleep, muttered, Sorry Im late, love. Sophie needed a craft for kindergarten, so I helped her. She made a pinecone cow it was adorable.
Poppy nodded in the darkness, though he couldnt see her.
That pattern persisted for months Tuesday, Saturday, departure, return, foreign perfume, flimsy excuses.
Then Andrew grew more withdrawn, his brow perpetually furrowed as he stared at his phone for hours. Poppy tried to pry, but he brushed her off with vague grumbles and slipped into another room.
A couple of weeks later he announced, Listen, were going on a double date Friday.
Poppy raised an eyebrow.
With who?
With Olivia and her new boyfriend.
Poppy felt a weight lift off her shoulders. So Olivia had someone else? So Andrew wasnt sneaking around with his ex? Were her fears unfounded?
A smile crept onto her face. She turned to Andrew, wrapped her arms around his neck, and said, Sounds lovely.
Friday arrived quickly. Poppy bought a new dress a lightblue, figurehugging number hoping to look her best, to show Olivia she was still worthy of Andrew.
They met at a cosy café on the other side of town, timber tables and soft lighting. Olivia was already there with a man in his early forties, tall, athletic, with an easy grin.
Hello, Olivia stood, extending a hand. This is Max.
Max shook Andrews hand, and they all settled at the table. Poppy sensed the evening would be smooth, just a chat and then everyone would head home.
But the double date turned into a disaster.
All evening Andrew behaved as if he were trying to win Olivia back, constantly interrupting Max, loudly reminding everyone how well he knew her.
When Max suggested ordering a peppery pizza, Andrew leapt in:
Olivia cant handle spice.
Im aware, Max replied calmly, we already discussed it. You cut me off before I could say it was for us. Lets get something else for Olivia.
Andrew pressed on.
Remember that beach trip with the kids? Misha dragged a jellyfish onto the shore, thinking it was a toy.
Olivia nodded, irritation flickering across her face.
Andrew, that was ages ago, she said, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
But he kept going, recounting story after story about the children, about choosing a pram together, about sleepless nights when their son had colic.
Poppy sat, gripping her water glass, each of Andrews words striking a raw nerve. She could see Olivias patience wearing thin, and the exwifes eyes flicking towards Max, begging him to intervene. Yet Andrew seemed oblivious.
It dawned on her then: Andrew hadnt let go of Olivia. He was still clinging to their shared past, to the kids, to the memories. She was the spare tire, the temporary replacement.
Her phone buzzed a bank security alert. She pretended to take a call from her mother, mumbling something urgent.
Sorry, I have to go, its important.
No one stopped her. Andrew didnt even turn. Poppy slipped out of the café, hailed a taxi, and raced home.
Back in the flat she hauled out a large suitcase and began packing. She could no longer endure his behaviour.
Andrew returned an hour later, looking disgruntled. He saw the suitcase at her feet.
Whats happening?
Poppy met his gaze, eyes dry, tears already spent between sweaters and jeans.
Im leaving, she said simply.
Where? What? Andrew frowned.
Anywhere but here, she replied, pulling on her coat. Tonights little outing opened my eyes. You still love your ex, or at least you cant let her go. I dont know which is worse.
What are you talking about? Andrew began, but Poppy raised a hand.
Dont. Dont lie. I saw how you acted. You tried to claim her as yours in front of Max. The whole evening you were proving shes still yours, and I was just an afterthought.
Andrew fell silent.
Im not a backup plan, Andrew, Poppy continued, gripping the suitcase handle. I wont be that. Im out.
Poppy, wait, he pleaded.
No, she shook her head. I love you, but this love is burnt out, fated to fail. Ill keep whatever dignity I have left.
She walked out the door. Andrew stood there, watching her go, saying nothing, offering no protest, no explanation.
Poppy caught a cab and headed for her parents house. As the city lights flickered by, she stared out the window, feeling a strange lightness. At last, she was free.
