The last sip of wine trembled as the napkin Abigail flung down clipped the glass. “Have you lost your mind entirely? Inviting her *here*? Into our home?”
Christopher nervously adjusted his tie. “Abi, please calm down. It was nothing, just a quick work chat.”
“Work?” Her voice climbed an octave higher. “At ten PM? With champagne? With bloody *candles* on?”
“We were finalising a project…”
“What project, Chris? What project requires *that*… requires *Sienna*?”
Christopher glanced away. Plates from the lovingly prepared cottage pie he’d cooked remained on the table – his effort to please her now ashes amid this disaster. All because of one careless call.
Abigail pushed back from the table, pacing the kitchen. Forty-three but looking younger, always immaculate. Christopher often told mates he’d lucked out with his wife.
“Listen to me,” she stopped dead before him, hands on hips. “I’m not an idiot, even if you take me for one. That girl rings you every single day. You’re late, you come home smelling of her perfume.”
“Abi, you’re blowing this way out of proportion…”
“Am I?” She pulled her mobile out. “What’s this then? Fifteen missed calls from her *today* alone!”
Christopher blanched. He’d forgotten: Abi saw everything through their shared iCloud.
“She needed work details…”
“Details!” Abigail’s laugh was bitter. “On Saturdays? Sundays? Midnight? What work is that urgent?”
Christopher twisted the fork in his hands, silenced. Twenty-two years wed, and he’d never seen her like this. Not through money troubles, not through her mum’s illness. Now, she was fraying at the edges.
“Chris,” her voice dipped lower, thick with hurt, “I see it. You’ve fallen for her.”
“No,” he shook his head, the lie hollow even to his own ears.
“Don’t! Don’t lie to me, don’t lie to yourself! Twenty-two years, Chris. Think I don’t notice how you light up when she rings? Your eyes… they spark when you leave for work. But when you come home…”
She didn’t need to finish. Home felt dull, grey, compared to the office where Sienna worked. He became sullen, irritable.
“Abi, let’s talk this through properly,” he pleaded.
“Talk? Talk about *what*? How changed you are? How you don’t see me anymore? That we haven’t had a proper conversation in a month?”
He looked at her closely. When *had* he last asked about her day? Sienna filled his thoughts.
“Is she young?” Abigail’s question was faint.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“How old is she, Chris?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Abigail nodded slowly, her worst fears confirmed. “I see. And I’m forty-three. Too old for you now.”
“That’s rubbish.”
“Rubbish?” She moved into the hall, facing the mirror. “Look at me, Chris. See these lines? This grey I colour every month? And her… young, beautiful, no children, no baggage.”
“We don’t have children,” he reminded her.
“No,” Abigail agreed. “And that’s my fault. I couldn’t give them to you.”
“Abi, stop it…”
“I won’t! I *need* to say it! I’ve felt guilty fifteen years. Every time I see kids… I wonder: does Chris blame me? Does he want a woman who can give him that?”
Christopher rose to embrace her, but she stepped back sharply.
“Don’t. Answer me honestly: do you love her?”
Silence hung heavy. Christopher stared at the parquet; Abigail watched, waiting. Only the old grandfather clock they’d bought jointly years ago broke the quiet with its rhythmic tick.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.
“Don’t know? Or won’t admit it?”
“Abi, it’s complicated…”
“Not for me,” she sat back at the table, folding her hands. “You love me. Or you love her. There is no third option.”
Christopher slumped onto the chair beside her, his mind churning. Abigail – his partner through the best years, who believed in him, stood by him as he built his business. And Sienna, who’d crashed into his world six months ago and turned it upside down.
“What do you feel with her?” Abigail pressed. “What happens?”
“I… feel young,” he confessed. “Like I’m twenty-five again.”
“And with me?”
“With you, I feel… like a husband.”
“And that’s bad?”
“No, not bad. Just… predictable.”
Abigail nodded, as if the core truth was laid bare.
“So, I’m a burden.”
“Not a burden. You’re a wonderful wife. The best.”
“But not loved.”
He said nothing. How could he? Love her, yes – but differently? Respect her, value her… while his heart raced for Sienna?
“You know,” Abi stood and started clearing the table, “I understand. Truly. Years together… the routine, the romance gone. Then young, beautiful…”
“Abi, don’t talk like that.”
“How *should* I talk?” She spun around. “I see it. New clothes, the gym membership, your new haircut. All for *her*.”
He couldn’t deny it. Sienna *had* changed him – made him care again, buy new shirts, even new cologne.
“Tell me… does she know you’re married?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“And what does she say?”
“Says she doesn’t want to wreck a family.”
“Right,” Abi’s snort was bitter. “Doesn’t want to wreck it, yet rings daily, arranges meetings.”
“We genuinely work together…”
“Chris, *enough*!” Her palm slapped the table. “Enough treating me like a fool! I saw your face after that conference. Saw you grinning at her texts.”
Christopher lowered his head. Arguing was pointless. Abigail was right – he was in love. That dizzying lightness forgotten twenty-two years ago had returned.
“What now?” Abi asked, sitting across from him.
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” she met his gaze. “You choose.”
“Abi…”
“No. Hear me. I won’t cling. No scenes, spying, phone checks. But I won’t live suspended either.”
She turned sharply, starting the washing up, her movements jerky. “A week. I want your answer then.”
“And if I pick her?”
Abigail froze, a plate in her hand. “Then I’ll file for divorce.”
“Abi, don’t rush this… Couldn’t we try?”
“Try *what*? Pretend? Pretend you love me?” She faced him. “Chris, I’m forty-three. I want to live with someone who truly *wants* me.”
“I do want you…”
“No. You feel *sorry* for me. That’s worse than indifference.”
He wanted to object, but knew she’d hit the nerve. He *did* pity her. Pity and guilt.
“One week, Chris,” she repeated. “No contact with her. None.”
“Fine.”
He stayed in the lounge. Abigail went to bed. Left alone in the kitchen, his phone glowed. A new message from Sienna: *Miss you. How was it?*
He nearly replied, then remembered his promise. He put the phone down.
Next morning, Abi left for work without breakfast. He offered coffee; she shook her head.
“Think hard,” she said, pulling on her coat. “Twenty-two years is no joke.”
“I know.”
“Know? What I can’t grasp is throwing it away for what? Infatuation?”
“It’s more than that, Abi.”
“More? *Love*?” Her laugh
Leaving the familiar streets behind, Nicholas realised that true loss isn’t in the goodbye but in the silence that follows when you realise you’re driving toward a future that doesn’t include the person who once defined it.
Dinner Ends in Divorce
