**Diary Entry**
I couldnt help but glance at the phone when it buzzed in my hand. A notification lit up the screen: *”Thanks, Johnny! Dont know what Id do without you,”* followed by a pink heart. The senders name*Lottie*stared back at me.
*Lottie? Johnny?* I racked my brain. My husband, James, had never mentioned anyone by that name. Or had he deliberately kept her hidden? My chest tightened, but I forced myself to stay calm. Jumping to conclusions wouldnt help. Still, jealousy coiled inside me like a snake.
“Whos Lottie?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
James, sipping his tea, blinked. “What?”
“Lottie,” I repeated, showing him the phone. “Care to explain?”
His eyes flickeredjust for a secondbefore he shrugged. “Oh. Thats Charlotte.”
I froze. “Charlotte who?”
“My ex. Its nothing, honestly.”
I set the phone down and crossed my arms. “Your ex calls you *Johnny* and sends heart emojis? You think thats normal?”
Another shrug, as if it were trivial. “Yeah. She needed a loan. I lent her some money.”
“You gave *your ex* money?!”
“Whats the big deal?”
“The *big deal*?” I scoffed. “Seriously? You think its fine to dip into *our* savings for some woman named *Lottie*?”
Finally, he met my eyes. “Emma, youre making a mountain out of a molehill. Weve known each other forever. Why wouldnt I help her?”
I laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Youre married. To *me*. Yet youre still wrapped up in her life.”
He sighed, exasperated, as if explaining to a child. “We ended on good terms. Shes not a stranger.”
“And what am I, then?”
Silence. I shook my head, exhaling sharply.
“How long has this been going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your little *friendship*.”
He looked away. “Weve always stayed in touch. Even before you. I just never mentioned it. Didnt want to upset you.”
My hands clenched. “So for two years, you *hid* it?”
“I didnt *hide* it. There was no reason to bring it up. Im not cheating. Why are you overreacting?”
I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to shout. “How often do you *help* her?”
“Now and then. Small things. Fixing her laptop, wiring a plug.”
“So my *husband* runs errands for another woman like some handyman?”
“Dont be ridiculous!” he snapped. “I lent her money, thats all! Is that a crime? Id do the same for you!”
I stared at him, cold resolution settling in. “If you cant see whats wrong with this, we clearly have different ideas of what marriage means.”
I walked out. I couldnt bear to look at him.
The day blurred into a haze of anger and hurt. I tried to stay logical, but one question echoed in my mind: *How did I miss this?*
James didnt act guilty. He stopped hiding his chats with Charlotte but treated it like it was nothing.
Over the next fortnight, the truth became obvious. He worked late often. Every few days, Charlotte had some *urgent* problem.
“Going to Charlottes tonight,” he said casually over dinner. “Her washing machines broken.”
I set my fork down. “Are there no repairmen in London?”
“Come on, is it so hard to help someone?”
“For you, no. For me, *yes*.”
“Here we go again! Is this all well talk about?”
“Yes, *again*,” I said flatly. “Because your ex always needs *something*. At least you dont share kids.”
He sighed but kept eating.
“If it were our neighbour or my mum, would you react like this?”
“The difference is, they wouldnt call you every other day.”
“Emma,” he said tiredly, “youre acting like Ive had an affair.”
“I dont know if you have. But this isnt normal. And I wont tolerate it.”
He rolled his eyes. “You dont trust me.”
“Have you given me reason to?”
Silence hung between us.
Three days later, Charlotte texted again.
“Charlottes buying a fridge,” James announced. “Needs help moving it.”
I turned slowly. “So youre dropping everything to play delivery man?”
“Whats the issue?”
“James, are you *trying* not to see the problem?”
“Christ, youre dramatic.”
“No, *youre* the one making this a circus. And I wont be part of it. If youre so desperate to help Charlotte, go move in with her. Save on petrol.”
“Youre serious?”
“Deadly.”
“So youre kicking me out?”
“No. Im giving you a choice. Be in *this* family, or walk away. But I wont have you here half-heartedly.”
I left before he could manipulate me further. Maybe he thought honesty meant admitting where he was going. But to me, it wasnt honestyit was betrayal.
Twenty-four hours passed since our last argument. I sat in the kitchen, staring at my phone. No calls. No texts. He was gone. Maybe to her.
Ten days of silence later, I realised something: sometimes, walking away isnt a loss. Its the lesson that teaches you never to settle for less than you deserve.
