What are you on about? Weve been married ten years! What lover? Ive got enough of you!
Emily could do nothing but feel it in her skin that Mark was cheating. The gutwrenching uncertainty gnawed at her, and one day she finally gathered the courage to confront him outright.
She asked, Is it true or not? but his answer came back the same:
What are you on about? Weve been married ten years! What lover? Ive got enough of you!
It seemed as if Mark were speaking plainly, honestly. She didnt spot any flaw in his grin, his words, or his eyes, yet something still nagged at her.
Emily wasnt the sort to leave things to fate, so she decided she must get to the bottom of it. How? She scoured the internet for tips and decided the first step was to check his mobile. Nothing out of the ordinary appearedjust idle chatter with a couple of old school friends, which didnt raise any alarms. Just a chat, she thought.
Mark never set a password on his phone. There was nothing to hide, no secret chats or covert messages. He was an open book, like an angel in human form.
Sometimes Emily convinced herself she was overreacting, but every time Mark stayed late at work, a cold feeling settled in her chest.
A friend of hers constantly chanted:
Its all just your imagination! Mark loves you and would never look elsewhere! Your suspicions are ruining everything!
Emily didnt listen. Her gut told her otherwise, and she refused to share him with another woman.
One afternoon she mustered the nerve to follow him to his office, hoping to catch him in the act. As soon as Mark saw her, his face flushed with embarrassment. Youre making a scene in front of everyone, he snapped. He apologized profusely later, and the rift seemed to close quickly.
On the surface their life seemed perfect. A house that was always full, two growing children, a routine that most would envy. Yet Emily kept looking for excitement, hunting for a fifthwheel thrill as they say. Those who seek will find, the old saying goes, but luck had yet to smile on her.
She was, like many women in their thirties, terrified of ending up alone with two kids. Outwardly calm, inside a storm raged. No telltale signs appeared on Markno lipstick on his shirt, no foreign perfume, no sudden makeoveryet Emily sensed something was off.
If not for a twist of fate, Emily might never have uncovered the truth. Was it imagined or real? The story would soon reveal itself.
When their younger son started Year 1, Emily decided she wanted to learn to drive. She enrolled in a local driving school, attending evening lessons after work. Three months later she passed her test and earned her licence.
Mark was so proud that he bought her a small, sensible caran old Austin Mini, perfect for her petite frame and easy to park. He never admitted it, but the real reason was simple: he didnt want his wife to ask for a spin in his new Audi. He thought it was too early for her to be on the road; you need a bit of experience first, hed say.
One Saturday, Emily woke earlier than usual and decided to treat the family to a special dinnereggplant and chicken pie, a favourite of theirs. She realized she was out of flour. Outside, a sharp frost had settled over London, but shed already mastered winter driving, so she set off for the shop. She got to the car, turned the key, and nothing happened. She trudged back home, the house still silent, everyone still asleep. She moved quietly, careful not to wake anyone.
Walking in the biting cold wasnt appealing, so she took a daring step: she would borrow Marks car without asking. A couple of kilometres wouldnt be noticed, she thought. She snatched his keys, slipped back outside, and while the engine warmed, she rummaged in the glove compartment for a tissue. Her hand brushed something, and a phone clattered onto the floor.
She lifted it upcertainly not Marks. She knew his phone like the back of her hand. This was a different handset. Bad thoughts flashed through her mind: perhaps Mark had inadvertently picked it up, as he liked to joke. Curiosity got the better of her; she pressed the power button.
The first thing that blinked onto the screen was a message from a woman called Sarah:
My love, Ive missed you so much! Come to me quickly, Im waiting for you!
Emilys eyes widened. There was no password, so she skimmed through the conversation. The exchange was long enough to fill an afternoon.
The messages revealed that Mark worked until fivep.m. and didnt get home until seven. Emily had never bothered to check his exact schedule. Almost every day, after work, hed head to Sarahs flat for about an hour before returning home as if nothing had happened. He sent her affectionate texts that his own wife never heard.
The photos attached showed a middleaged woman, about forty, smiling beside him. Emilys anger flared.
She was just about to step out of the car when she spotted Mark emerging from the hallway. He had left a note saying hed gone to the shop, clearly unaware that his wife was already inside his vehicle. He probably thought hed send Sarah another message in the meantime.
Emily recalled how Mark often went out in the evenings, forgot my wallet, had to run an errand, and always seemed to return quickly, giving her no reason to suspect. Now the pieces fell into place.
Mark saw his wife in the drivers seat and sped toward her.
Who do you think gave you permission? This isnt how we agreed!
Emilys fury boiled over. She slammed the handbrake, shifted into reverse, and gunned the engine. The Mini screeched into the garden fence with a harsh clang, sending a surge of adrenaline through her.
She climbed out, staring at Marks bewildered face, and shouted:
Go back to your Sarah! Ill see how long you manage without a house or a car! Stay out of sight of my eyes!
To drive the point home, she tossed his Audi keys into a heap of junk and stormed back inside.
The boys, still halfasleep, had no idea what was happening. A few minutes later Mark tried the front door, but Emily had slammed it shut, bolting it fast.
Go back to your Sarah! Forget this road! she roared down the hallway.
Defeated, Mark slipped on his slippers, shrugged on a dressing gown, and trudged off to Sarahs flat. He imagined a cosy night, but the door opened to a cold, empty hallway. A male voice called from within:
Darling, you there? Ive been waiting for you!
It turned out Sarah only saw Mark on weekdays; weekends she never heard from him. She, too, had another lover, so weekend visits were pointless.
Mark left, his heart heavy, and made his way to his mothers house two streets away. Mrs. Margaret Clarke, his mother, opened the door and instantly understood. She welcomed him, fed him, and listened to his tale of a bad wife whod driven him out. She patted his shoulder and said:
Dont worry, love. Who would have guessed Emily would turn out like this? Therell be brighter days, even a celebration on your street. Youre only thirtyfive; youll find love again, Im sure of it.
So Mark stayed with his mother, intending to restart his life. He felt a strange relief at finally being free, until Emily filed for maintenance. Only then did he realise that beginning anew would be far from easy. At least his mother hadnt abandoned him.
If you enjoyed this tale, follow the page for more stories and leave your thoughts in the comments.