Emily is now certain that women who divorce their husbands young and live independently are far happier. She believes this, looking at life from her own perspective and experience.
“Some might disagree,” she tells her friend Charlotte, “but this is how I see it now.”
“Perhaps,” Charlotte replies hesitantly, “but every woman has her own path. We can’t speak for everyone. Some are unhappy in their first marriage but find happiness in their second—or even third.”
“I won’t argue,” Emily says, “but I stand by my opinion. In my case, I went through so much stress, and now, with old age ahead, he trampled all my feelings. I don’t trust anyone anymore.”
Emily, her husband James, his mother who lives next door, and their fourteen-year-old son Oliver had just celebrated New Year’s Eve at home. Everything seemed fine—Emily had set the table the night before, and James’s mother had helped. They welcomed the new year as a family. They woke late on the first of January, having stayed up late with fireworks crackling outside. James’s mother had left earlier.
The year began harshly for Emily. After lunch, James vanished. He got into his car and drove off without a word. Just disappeared.
By nightfall, she couldn’t sleep. Worry gnawed at her.
“What if James was in an accident?” Her head throbbed with swirling thoughts.
She waited for a call—any news—but the phone stayed silent. His number was unreachable. She barely slept and woke with a headache and high blood pressure. She put the kettle on. A while later, as Oliver still slept, a message arrived from James: “Don’t look for me. I’ve left you.”
Her hands trembled. Her heart raced. She didn’t know what to do.
“Should I show his mother?” she wondered but decided against upsetting her. Then another thought struck—
“Or is she in on this?” She marched next door and rang the bell.
“Look what your son sent me,” she snapped, holding out her phone.
“Emily, this can’t be! He never said a word. Didn’t you notice anything?” His mother looked genuinely shocked.
“No. I wondered if you were helping him.”
“Me? Never! If I’d known, I’d have talked sense into him. But it’s too late now.” Her hands shook. “But listen—I’m on your side. I’d never accept that…” She muttered a curse.
Emily realized his mother knew nothing. At least James was alive—she’d imagined worse.
Breakfast held no appeal. She couldn’t believe James, her James, had betrayed her. Sneakily. Too cowardly to say it outright.
“I’ll call again. Maybe he’ll answer.” She dialed his number—again.
A woman answered.
“Who is this?” Emily asked.
“His wife,” the woman replied. “And you?”
Emily hesitated. She wouldn’t admit being his wife.
“I’m a friend’s wife. I need to speak to him. Could you give me your address?” The woman obliged.
Emily decided to visit. She fed Oliver breakfast and prepared to leave.
“Mum, where’s Dad?” Oliver asked. “Has he come back?”
“No, love. I don’t know where he is.” She avoided his eyes—he was a teenager. She didn’t want him acting rashly.
“Charlotte, happy new year. Bad news—James left me.” The call stunned her friend into silence.
“James left? Is this a joke?”
“I wish. He’s with another woman. I’m going to see them today.”
“Should I come with you?” Charlotte offered.
“No. I’ll handle it.”
“Call me when you’re back. I’ll come straight over.”
Emily took the bus to a suburban area, found the address, and entered the unlocked house. James and the woman sat eating lunch.
He spotted her first, bolting up in shock.
“Who’s this?” the woman asked.
James stayed silent. Emily answered, “I’m his legal wife. We have a son. And you are?”
The woman paled. James finally snapped out of it.
“Who invited you here? Get out!”
The woman turned to him. “You told me your wife died two years ago. Why lie?”
James groveled. “I was scared to lose you, Lucy. I meant to tell you when the time was right.”
Emily watched, stunned.
“How could you say that about the woman you live with? If you love someone else, be honest. Divorce first. But claiming I’m dead? That’s beyond cruel. You buried me alive. Morally.”
She turned to Lucy. “How long has this been going on?”
“A year. We’re in love.”
Emily’s breath caught—a year of secret meetings, and she’d noticed nothing.
“What excuses did he make for not moving in sooner?”
“He said his elderly mother was sick, needed care. She’s passed now, so he’s free.”
Emily laughed bitterly. “He’s buried us all, then. I’m standing right here, very much alive. And his mother? She only learned this morning her son left. Enjoy your life. I’ll file for divorce myself.”
She left, head high. Let them sort it out.
Charlotte called as Emily returned home.
“Where are you? I’m worried.”
“At home. Come over.”
Minutes later, Charlotte arrived and gasped. “You look awful.”
“Charlotte, imagine—he told her I died two years ago. And buried his own mother in the process!” She laughed, jagged with nerves. “Who does that?”
Charlotte sat in stunned silence. “I never thought James could…”
Emily filed for divorce. James did “the decent thing,” leaving the flat and most belongings to her and Oliver, taking only the car.
She told his mother, “Your son buried us both. Left me the flat and stuff—like I married him for things. What about the years we shared? The hardships?” His mother was speechless. She never expected this from her only son.
Emily remembered—barely a year ago, James was hospitalized after major surgery. She’d nursed him day and night, enduring nights in the male ward.
“And soon after, he started with this Lucy. Forgot I spoon-fed him. Told her I was dead.” She shook her head. “No, he’s lost his mind. Betraying me, his mother, his son. If you leave, leave properly. Why these lies? Why fake my death? Sneaking off like a coward. That’s what he is—a coward and a traitor.”
She told Oliver the truth. She agonized over how, but he cut in, “Mum, don’t stress. I get it. He left. Fine. We won’t cry over him. We’ve got each other.” He hugged her. “We’ll be okay.”
“You’re so grown up,” she whispered, kissing his cheek.
Now, Emily and Oliver live on, his mother still next door. She doesn’t treat Emily as an ex—still cares for her. She doesn’t speak to James. He never visits.
He truly buried them all.
