**A Knot Too Easy to Untangle**
Summer holidays had arrived, and Emily had packed the kids off to her parents’ cottage just outside town with her husband, James. They visited every weekend—sometimes she went alone. The village was only four miles away, so if James was working over the weekend, Emily could hop on the bus straight from the office on Friday evening.
She might not have gone every single weekend, but first, she missed the children terribly, and second, her father had recently suffered a stroke, and her mother needed help in the garden. This Friday, she was off to the cottage right after work.
“Jimmy, I’m heading straight to the kids after work,” she called out. “There’s food in the fridge—sort yourself out. And come fetch me Sunday, yeah? Bit odd you’re working Saturday, but if you must…”
“Absolute nightmare at the office,” James grumbled. “Boss says he’ll pay overtime.”
Emily was head accountant at her firm, and that Friday, she’d rushed to finish a report—so rushed, in fact, that she’d cocked it up royally and sent it straight to upper management without a second glance.
Saturday afternoon, her phone rang. It was her boss, Charles Edwards.
“Emily, what on earth have you done with this report? HQ’s on my back—fix it now, or no bonus for you.”
“I’m at the cottage, Charles. Can it wait till tomorrow? And honestly, how bad could it—” He cut her off.
“I don’t care where you are. Fix it.” His voice was so loud her mother, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow.
“Oh dear, who’s shouting like that?”
“My boss, Charles. Messed up a report yesterday—was in a hurry. Right, I’ll have to dash to the office. Apparently, it’s life or death.”
She hugged her thirteen-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter goodbye. “See you next weekend, loves.”
Back in town, she headed straight to the office, called security to let herself in, and fired up her computer. After a thorough look, she spotted two glaring mistakes—how had she missed them?
“God, how obvious can you get? No wonder they’re fuming. Must’ve been the rush—didn’t want to miss the bus.”
Evening had fallen by the time she resent the report, locked up, and trudged home.
“James should be back soon—bet he’ll be shocked to see me,” she mused, strolling leisurely. “Odd, him working weekends lately. Distant, glued to his phone, snapping at nothing. We should talk—kids aren’t home, perfect time.”
Approaching their flat, she fished out her keys, then noticed the kitchen light on.
“Jimmy’s home already!”
Her heart fluttered oddly as she climbed the stairs. At their door, slow, romantic music drifted out—the kind James always groaned at when she played it. Strange. Very strange. She eased the door open, only to trip over a pair of sandals in the hallway—familiar, but whose? No time to dwell.
Quietly setting down her bag, she peeked into the dimly lit living room, where only a wall lamp glowed. The bedroom was empty, the music still playing. Then—two silhouettes on the balcony, cigarettes in hand.
“Katie. That’s Katie.” The realisation burned. Those sandals were hers. Her stomach lurched—this was her best friend.
What was Katie doing here? She’d been dropping by a lot lately—tea, wine, the occasional chat. Emily’s hands trembled as she crept closer to the half-open balcony door.
“Jimmy, when are you going to tell Em about us?” Katie’s voice floated in.
James sounded irritated. “Katie, not this again. We agreed you wouldn’t push. I haven’t decided anything yet…”
Through the sheer curtain, Emily saw James in his boxers, Katie in his shirt, smoke curling between them.
“And when exactly will you decide?” Emily yanked the curtain aside, voice sharp.
James dropped his cigarette; Katie yelped—probably burnt her foot.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Katie shrieked. “You weren’t supposed to be back till tomorrow! Actually, good—saves you finding out later.”
James just stood there, mute. Emily, stunned by Katie’s sheer nerve, held her ground.
“Em, you could’ve called,” James mumbled.
“Oh, I need permission to come home now?” she shot back.
Katie glared, shameless. But then James snapped, “Get dressed and go.” With a huff, she stomped off, slamming the door behind her.
“Em, Katie’s nothing serious—just a bit of fun. I’d never leave the family.”
“You think we still have a family?”
“Come on, love, blokes do this sometimes. Besides, you’ve let yourself go—no salon trips, no holidays like before…”
“Maybe because we have children? And my dad’s had a stroke? And your salary’s halved? Oh, wait—now I see where the rest went.” She scoffed. “You make me sick. We’re done talking.”
Her head spun. She wanted to vanish under the duvet, erase this nightmare. Betrayed twice over. But she grabbed her keys, bolted downstairs, and burst into the rain, barely feeling it soak through her dress.
**Coming to Her Senses**
Emily ran blindly, tears mingling with the downpour. She’d never imagined catching James with someone else—let alone her best friend. The cold couldn’t numb the fury. Nowhere to go—no buses to the cottage this late.
“Office. Sleep there.” She stumbled into a puddle, jolting back to reality.
A fitting end to this vile day. She trudged to the office, buzzed security, and dripped into her cubicle, boiling the kettle.
“Need dry clothes… but what?” A knitted cardigan hung on her chair, but she remembered the cleaner kept a spare overall in the cupboard. She shrugged it on—long sleeves, thank goodness.
After tea and biscuit from her drawer, she draped her wet clothes over the radiator and curled up on the lobby sofa under her cardigan. Exhaustion pulled her under.
She woke to someone shaking her. Charles loomed over her, furious.
“Emily, have you lost the plot? Why are you camping here?”
She blinked up at him, then burst into tears.
“Bloody hell, don’t cry! What’s happened?” He fetched water.
Once she’d calmed, she spat it out: James, Katie, the whole sordid mess.
“Right, you’re coming to mine. My wife’ll sort you out,” he ordered. “Meet me at the car.”
Margaret, Charles’s wife, welcomed her warmly—Charles had called ahead. She’d once forgiven his own straying, and they’d rebuilt.
Over breakfast the next morning, Margaret asked, “So—take him back or tell him to sod off?”
“Never want to see him again,” Emily muttered.
Margaret sighed. “Won’t be that simple—you’ve kids. I’ve been there. Time might soften things.”
Emily said nothing. “Thanks, both of you. I’m off to the cottage.”
An hour later, her mother took one look at her and knew. She didn’t pry. Charles called later: “Take two weeks off. Sort yourself out.”
Emily confessed everything.
“Mum, I’m divorcing James. I can’t forgive this.”
The kids had overheard—they were on her side. James called daily, begging forgiveness, then visited, claiming he missed the children. They eyed him warily till Emily said, “He’s still your dad. He loves you.” Relief washed over them as they hugged him.
He kept coming, helping her parents, talking to the kids, apologising to Emily. She’d gathered divorce papers but hadn’t filed them. Something held her back. Half a life wasn’t easy to erase—especially when part of her still loved him.
She’d decide properly once back in town. Some knots just can’t be undone in one tug.
