Every morning, Emily woke to the soft patter of rain against the windowpane, grey clouds looming on the horizon. Even the weather seemed to mirror her mooduneasy, uncertain, haunted by shadowy suspicions.
For three weeks now, her husband, Richard, packed his sports bag and announced:
“My parents aren’t well, love. I need to pop down to see them for a couple of days.”
The first time, Emily responded with understanding. Barbara, her mother-in-law, had recently had surgery to remove her gallbladder. Arthur, her father-in-law, was struggling with high blood pressure. At sixty-five, health troubles were nothing uncommon.
“Of course, go,” she said. “Give them my regards. Tell them I’m thinking of them.”
Richard would leave late Friday and return early Monday, worn-out and withdrawn, as though he’d just come off a gruelling shift. When Emily inquired after his parents, he replied in monosyllables:
“They’re better. Still weak though.”
“What exactly is wrong with your mum?” Emily asked.
“Oh, everything hurts. She’s just getting on,” he’d wave her off.
The story repeated itself the following week.
“They’re not well again?” Emily asked, surprised.
“Mum took a tumble, bruised herself. Dad’s anxious. Need to help out,” Richard explained, stuffing clean shirts into his bag.
“Should I come too? I could help out.”
“No need. It’s cramped enough as it is. Better stay at home,” he insisted.
So Emily agreed. Relationships with Richards parents had always been marked by polite distance. She never imposed herself or offered unsolicited advice. Barbara was a reserved woman, not particularly warm. Their communication was cordial but lacked real closeness.
A third trip happened the next weekend.
“This time, whats going on?” Emily queried as she watched Richard folding jeans and a jumper into his bag.
“Dads worse. His blood pressure is all over the place. Mum cant manage alone.”
“Did you call the GP?”
“We did. But you know what they’re like these days. Prescribed some pills and left.”
Richards tone was persuasive, but something felt offtoo rehearsed, lacking genuine concern for supposedly ill parents.
“Richard, maybe they should be in hospital if it’s that serious?”
“They’re scared of hospitals. Feel safer at home,” he replied, zipping up his bag and kissing Emilys cheek.
“Dont worry. Ill try to be back quickly.”
After Richard left, Emily found herself alone with her uneasy thoughts. She tried to recall when she last spoke to Barbara on the phoneit was a month ago, when Barbara rang to wish Emilys friend a happy birthday.
Barbara had sounded cheerful then, chatted about Emilys work, and shared tales of gardening. No mention of health problems. Quite the oppositeBarbara boasted about her tomato crop and her plans for winter.
“Odd,” Emily murmured, staring out at the autumn rain. “If shes so unwell, why hasnt she phoned? She always rang when anything was wrong.”
Come Monday, Richard returned more sombre than ever.
“How’re your parents?” Emily asked.
“Dad’s better. Mum’s still frail.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Which doctor?”
“The GP. You said you had one round.”
“Oh, right. Told us to keep an eye. If she gets worse, hospital.”
Richard quickly changed clothes, then sat at his computer. Clearly, he didnt want to continue the conversation.
That evening, when Richard disappeared into the shower, Emily took his phone. She’d never checked his mobile before, but something quietly urged her to look.
No calls to his parents at all. Not a single outgoing or incoming call to Barbara or Arthur in the past fortnight.
“But if hes staying with them, why call?” Emily whispered. Still, when Richard was away, his parents usually rang Emily at least once. Ask how she was, whether she needed anything relayed to Richard. This timenothing.
The fourth trip was the following Friday.
“Still your parents?” Emily asked.
“Yeah. Mum’s got a fever. Think she’s caught something.”
“Richard, maybe I should come with you and help out?”
“Why trouble yourself?” he responded sharply. “You’ve enough on your plate.”
“Its no trouble. They’re your parents. That makes them mine, too.”
“Emily, dont. It’s cramped. Youll only catch something.”
Richards arguments seemed convincing, but he avoided her gaze. He packed his things hurriedly, as if about to miss a train.
“Which train will you take?” Emily asked.
“Just the usual one. Seven oclock.”
“Ill walk you to the station?”
“No need. Ill manage.”
Richard kissed her and left. Emily was left in their flat, surrounded by unanswered questions and odd coincidences.
Saturday morning was spent in contemplation. Her mind tangled with doubt, leaving her restless. On one hand, it felt unfair to accuse Richard of lying without proof. But on the otherso many oddities had mounted over the past month.
“Am I just being a suspicious wife?” Emily scolded herself. “Maybe his parents really are sick, and Im inventing trouble?”
By lunchtime, shed made up her mind. If Arthur and Barbara were ill, surely they’d welcome some care from their daughter-in-law. Emily decided she’d bake a homemade pie, buy some fruit, pack a hamper, and go to visit Richard’s parents.
“Ill surprise them,” she thought. “And surprise Richard, too.”
The kitchen was lively with activity. Emily whipped up a pie using her mums signature recipe. While it baked, she popped out for fruit and juice.
By three o’clock, everything was ready. The fragrant pie cooled on the table, a bag of oranges and bananas stood by the door. Emily changed into a nice dress, added a touch of makeup, and headed for the station.
On the train, Emily smiled to herself, picturing Richards baffled joy at her unannounced arrivalhed open the door, see her with a bag of gifts, blink in astonishment, then break out into a grin.
“Emily? Where did you come from?” hed say.
“I thought Id check on you alland look in on the sick,” shed reply.
The journey to Barbara and Arthurs house took an hour and a half. They lived in a small town outside London, in a two-storey home with a garden. Richard had grown up there, knew every corner.
Emily walked to the familiar gate and pressed the bell. Within a minute, Barbara appeared at the door.
“Emily? What brings you here?” Barbara asked, surprised.
She looked finerosy cheeks, bright eyes, no sign of illness. She wore a tracksuit, her hair tidily pulled back.
“Hello, Barbara,” Emily greeted, somewhat flustered. “I came to visit you. Richard said you were ill.”
“Ill?” Barbara laughed, genuinely baffled. “What illness? Were as fit as fiddles! Where did you get that idea?”
Emily felt her face flush, her heart pounding, and her bags suddenly seemed far heavier.
“But Richard… he said he was looking after you. That you weren’t feeling well.”
“Looking after us?” Barbara shook her head. “Emily, we havent seen our son in over a weekprobably even longer!”
Arthurs voice called from inside, “Barbara, whos at the door?”
“Emilys dropped by!” Barbara replied.
Arthur appeared, a strong, seventy-year-old man with grey hair, wearing work trousers and a checked shirt. Hed apparently just been tinkering in his workshop.
“Oh! Our daughter-in-law! What brings you here? You dont pop in often,” he said, delighted.
“Arthur, wheres Richard?” Emily asked, bluntly.
“No idea,” he shrugged. “Maybe at work? Or at yours?”
“He told me he’d come here. Said you were ill, needed care.”
Arthur glanced at Barbara, perplexed.
“Emily, were fine. Richard hasnt been here for ages. When did we last see him, Barbara?”
“St. Peters Day, in July,” Barbara recalled. “He came for Arthurs birthday.”
“That’s right. Hasnt called since then,” Arthur confirmed.
Inside, Emily felt hollow. Every explanation, every trip to supposedly sick parents had been a lie. A clear, deliberate lie.
“Are you alright?” Barbara asked, concerned. “You look pale. Come in, have some tea.”
“Thank you, but I must go,” Emily murmured.
“What, so soon? Youve brought pie and everything!” Barbara pressed.
“Another time,” Emily said, handing over the bags. “These are for you. Please enjoy.”
“And Richard? Why isn’t he with you?” Arthur puzzled.
“I don’t know,” Emily replied, honestly.
Barbara and Arthur walked Emily to the gate, exchanging confused glances. Emily headed for the bus stop, her legs numb.
Fragments of thought raced through her mind: Where had Richard spent his weekends? With whom? Why use his parents as cover? Worst of allhow long had this been going on?
The bus to the station took half an hour. Emily gazed at the grey September scenery, trying to bring her thoughts into line. Every one of Richards trips now felt like mockery; each excuse, a shameless manipulation.
“So, while I worried about his parents, he…” Emily couldnt finish the thought.
On the train home, she pulled out her phone, meaning to ring Richard. Then changed her mind. What would she ask? Where are you? With whom? Why lie?
Better to waitlook him in the eyes when hes spinning his next tale.
Emily got home by eight in the evening. The flat was empty and quiet. She sat on the sofa and waited.
Richard returned late Monday morning, as usual. Keys jingled in the lock, the door swung open. He came in, tired and dishevelled, clutching that same sports bag.
“Hi,” he muttered, walking through to the bedroom. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine,” Emily replied calmly. “And yours?”
“Rough. Parents are really unwell.”
“Oh? What exactly is wrong?”
“Mum’s got a fever, Dad measured his blood pressure all night. Its been stressful.”
Richard talked without meeting her gaze, packing dirty clothes into the laundry, pulling out medicine from his bag.
“Richard,” Emily called softly. “Look at me.”
He met her eyes, anxiety flickering.
“Where were you all those days?” Emily asked, directly.
“Where else? At my parents. I told you.”
“Your parents are healthy. They havent seen you in a week.”
Richard froze, shirt in hand.
“What are you on about?”
“I went to see them yesterday. Wanted to help. Barbara laughed when I asked about illness.”
His face paled.
“You visited them? Why?”
“Because I believed you. I thought they were actually sick.”
“Emily, you dont understand…”
“What dont I understand?” she cut in. “That you’ve lied for a month? Used your parents as cover?”
“Its not a lie…”
“What is it then?” Emily stepped closer. “Richard, where did you spend your weekends? With whom?”
He turned to the window.
“I cant explain right now.”
“Cant, or wont?”
“Emily, trust me. It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?” she asked coldly.
“Well… you think there’s someone else. Another woman.”
“Isn’t there?”
Richard was silent. A minute passed, then another. At last, he sighed heavily.
“There is,” he admitted quietly.
Emily nodded. Oddly, she felt no ragejust emptiness, and utter clarity.
“Alright.”
“Emilyits not serious! Just… it happened…”
“It happened a month ago?”
“No. Earlier. I didnt know how to tell you.”
“So you lied about your parents?”
“I wanted to figure things out. Understand what I needed.”
“And did you?”
Richard said nothing.
“I’m asking: did you work out what you need?”
“I dont know,” he confessed.
“I do,” Emily replied. “I need someone who doesnt lie. Who doesnt use their parents to cover up an affair.”
“Its not an affair…”
“Call it what you want. Fact is, you spent a month deceiving me.”
Emily walked into the bedroom and fetched a small suitcase.
“What are you doing?” Richard asked, alarmed.
“Packing,” Emily said, folding her essentials into the suitcase. “Ill stay with a friend. Until we sort things out.”
“Sort what out?”
“Youyour feelings. Methe paperwork for divorce.”
“Emily, please, dont rush! Let’s talk calmly!”
“What about?” Emily closed the suitcase. “How you led me on for a month? How I worried about your healthy parents?”
“I didnt mean to hurt you…”
“And you hurt me much worse.”
Emily took her documents from the safe, slid her phone and charger into her bag.
“If you need to explain something, call me. But I doubt you’ll justify a month-long lie.”
“What about our home? Our family?”
“Family is built on trust,” Emily replied. “And the house, well split through solicitors.”
Emily stepped to the door.
“Wait,” Richard pleaded. “Cant we try again? Ill cut all ties, well start fresh…”
“Start with what? More tales about sick parents?”
“I wont lie. I promise.”
“Richard,” Emily paused at the threshold. “You promised to be a faithful husband. See where promises got us.”
She left the flat and closed the door behind her. The landing was quiet, somewhere above music played faintly.
Outside, steady drizzle fell. Just like a month ago, when it all began. Emily raised her collar and headed for the Underground.
Her phone rang as she descended into the station. Richards name flashed on the screen. Emily silenced it and tucked it away.
Her decision was made. She could no longer live with someone whod used his apparently ill parents as cover for an affair. Trust was broken, the family gone.
Ahead lay solicitors, the division of property, and a new life. But at least it would be honestno more lies about sick parents, no more secret weekends with another woman.
The tube carried Emily from her past toward an unknown, but truthful, future.
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