**Someone Else’s Husband**
*He’s leaving again.*
“Emily, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“Did your wife call? Go, then. I’m used to it.”
Every time, it hurt to watch James walk out the door. She so badly wanted him to stay—just one night. They could have gone to a café, curled under a blanket watching films, sipping the coffee she brewed just right. But it was only ever a fantasy.
James never hid the truth. Married. A son. Staying for the boy, not the wife. *Just wait until he finishes school,* he’d say. *Then I’ll leave her for you.*
Emily didn’t care about his wife. Why should she? If his marriage was broken, that wasn’t her fault. A man who didn’t love his wife—that much was obvious. But James was a good father, unwilling to hurt his son.
Two more years. When the boy went off to uni, then—*then*—there’d be nights under blankets, films, a proper life. Maybe even a daughter of their own. Someone who’d look just like her.
But when those two years passed, the excuses didn’t stop.
“Sarah’s mum’s taken ill. She’s moved in with us. I just can’t right now, you understand?”
She nodded, exhaling. How much longer? Until she was old and grey?
Then—the missed cycle. A test. Two lines.
Maybe it was a blessing.
Sitting in the clinic, she waited, twisting her hands. The door opened. A heavily pregnant woman shuffled out, leaning on—*him.* James.
He didn’t see her.
Inside, the doctor frowned. “You’re very pale. Are you all right?”
“Fine. Just checking.”
He confirmed it. “Thirty-five’s a bit late for a first child, but it’s manageable. Earlier, I had a patient—forty, her son nearly grown, and now expecting a little girl. Some couples just decide late.”
Emily smirked, silent. A storm raged in her head. *Liar.* All his promises, while his *unloved* wife carried his child. How long had he planned to string her along?
“Little fox, I can’t make it tonight.”
“That’s fine. I’m busy anyway.”
“Doing what?”
“Clubbing with Lucy. Sick of waiting around.”
“Clubbing? You’re too old for that.”
“And you’re *someone else’s husband.* No right to tell me what to do.”
She hung up. So she wasn’t allowed a life, but he could father children, play happy families, and drop by for distractions whenever he pleased?
Only now did she see how pathetic she’d been. A backup plan. Her years slipping away, while he couldn’t care less.
Well, she’d have her own child now.
James showed up unannounced, drunk and weeping. His wife had lost the baby—a little girl. Stillbirth. The grief had unhinged her. He didn’t know what to do.
“Be there for her, obviously. It’s *your* grief too. Why lie to me if things were fine with her?”
“God’s punishing me for you—”
“Don’t be stupid. This is *your* mess. You lied to her, to me, to yourself. Go home.”
She shut the door, crying—for herself, for his wife. Soon, she’d hold her own child. She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing one.
He called, came by drunk, but she never let him in. He never knew about their son. *Mark.* Registered under her name. Father: *unknown.*
He looked just like James.
*Someone else’s husband.*
They say 10% of men leave their wives for mistresses. Half go crawling back. And countless women wait forever for promises that never come.
