**A Well-Earned Happiness**
I came home from work, changed my clothes, and had a cup of tea. It was too early to make dinner—I had time. Alex wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. I grabbed a book, lay down on the sofa, and stretched my legs with a sigh of relief. A full day in heels had taken its toll.
I worked as a primary school teacher. My appearance was neat—trimmed hair, smart blazers, and modest dresses. The school’s dress code for staff. Every day, I had to meet parents—some well-off, others struggling. I’d learned not to stand out among the less fortunate or fade beside the more affluent. Over the years, I’d mastered speaking clearly, never raising my voice. Children and parents respected me.
A few pages in, my eyelids grew heavy. I closed them and drifted off, only waking when the book slid from my hands and hit the floor. I rubbed my eyes, bending to pick it up, when the doorbell rang. Alex had a key, and it was still early. A second, timid ring followed.
I checked my reflection in the hall mirror, smoothed my rumpled hair, and opened the door.
On the doorstep stood Nicholas, Alex’s friend and colleague.
“Hello, Ellen.”
“Hello, Nick. Alex isn’t home yet,” I said.
“I know. I, well… I came to see you.” He shifted awkwardly.
“Come in.” I stepped aside, letting him in.
He took off his coat, hung it on the hook, stuffed his scarf into the sleeve, and toed off his shoes. I watched him, wondering what had brought him here. Had something happened to Alex?
Nicholas straightened his jacket, waiting for an invitation further in.
“Come to the kitchen,” I said.
After all, there was no better place for a serious talk.
He went in first and sat at the table. I turned on the kettle, which hissed to life immediately.
“Tea or coffee?” I asked, glancing back.
“Tea, thanks,” he replied.
I fetched a cup. The biscuit tin was already on the table. The kettle whistled sharply, steam billowing. I poured his tea, nudged the biscuits toward him, and sat opposite.
“Not joining me?” Nicholas asked, clearly uncomfortable.
“You’re not here for small talk. What’s happened? Is it Alex?” I ignored his question.
“Alex is fine.” He lowered his gaze, pretending to inspect a biscuit.
“Out with it,” I pressed.
“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while…” He picked up a biscuit, turning it in his fingers. “You’re a remarkable woman, capable, a fine homemaker…” He unwrapped it slowly. “I didn’t want to interfere, but you deserve to know the truth about Alex.” He popped the biscuit into his mouth, chewing deliberately.
“Well? Do I have to drag it out of you?” My patience frayed.
“It’s not easy to say…” He took a loud sip of tea.
“Say it.” My voice was firm.
“Alex is seeing someone else,” he blurted, coughing as crumbs caught in his throat.
I half-rose, reached across the table, and thumped his back. Then I sat and laughed.
“Did you not hear me? Don’t you believe me? Or did you already know?” Nicholas looked wounded.
“Phew, I thought something terrible had happened,” I said, still laughing.
Now it was his turn to be stunned.
“So what? Alex is a handsome man, in his prime,” I said. “And what’s it to you? You’re supposed to be friends—friends don’t betray each other. How many times have *you* strayed?” My gaze turned cold.
“Ruined your own marriage and now here to wreck mine?” I stood, anger rising.
“I came to open your eyes. You do everything for him—cook, clean, bake. You’re perfect. And he doesn’t appreciate you,” Nicholas stammered, his face flushed—from embarrassment or the hot tea, I couldn’t tell.
“Had your tea? Now leave. Alex will be home soon,” I snapped.
“I’ll go, but think about what I’ve said. Really think. Forewarned is—”
“Go on, off you pop, our *benefactor*,” I cut in.
Nicholas retreated to the hallway, craning his neck for the shoehorn. Finding none, he groaned, bending to wrestle his shoes on. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching impatiently.
Finally, he managed, grabbed his coat, and fumbled with the lock. The scarf trailed from his sleeve as he stepped onto the landing. He turned as if to speak, but I shut the door in his face.
Back in the kitchen, I dumped his half-finished tea in the sink and sank into a chair.
Alex and I had met at the Royal Theatre. During intermission, the queue for drinks was long. My friend and I joined the back.
“God, I’m parched. Think we’ll make it?” she fretted.
“Wait here,” I said and walked to the front.
Near the counter, I spotted two men. I approached and quietly asked if they’d buy me a bottle of water.
One nodded, ordered it, and handed it to me, refusing payment. I thanked him and rejoined my friend. We took turns drinking straight from the bottle by the wall.
On the way back to our seats, the man—Alex—kept glancing around until our eyes met. I quickly looked away. All through the second act, he kept turning to look at me.
After the play, as we left, he and his friend were waiting outside.
“Did you enjoy it?” Alex asked.
“Very much,” I said.
“I’m Alex, and this is James, my mate.”
We introduced ourselves. The streets were emptying, the day’s heat fading into cool twilight. At first, we walked together, discussing the play. Then we paired off.
Alex had been working for two years since uni; I’d just graduated as a teacher.
I couldn’t recall what we talked about that first night. But I remembered the joy, the flutter in my chest, walking beside him under the evening sky.
My friend and James didn’t last, but Alex and I never parted. We married that spring. His workplace gave us a room in staff housing. A year later, our son was born; two years after that, our daughter. Eventually, we got a two-bed flat in the same building. It was happiness.
When the housing market changed, we bought our place, sold it later, and—with some help from our parents—upgraded to a proper house. We were young, weathering every storm, arguing and making up, always happy. It felt like it would last forever.
Our son moved to London for work after uni, focused on his career. Our daughter married young but wasn’t rushing into parenthood.
Now, staring blankly ahead, I thought of how Alex and I had grown into each other, two halves of one whole. The kids were independent. We were still young—not even fifty.
And then Nicholas had to ruin it all. Jealous of what we had. Others were, too. Friends divorced, remarried—but we’d stayed happy.
Nicholas had split from his wife a decade ago. We’d been close as couples—his wife, Susan, was lively and kind. After the divorce, I refused to entertain his string of flings. He’d even tried his luck with me once. I shut him down firmly.
*Maybe he’s nursing a grudge. Or maybe it’s all in his head? How would he know? Was he there? Flirting isn’t cheating. Even if something did happen—so what? Men stray sometimes. It doesn’t mean it’s serious. No, I won’t overreact. I enjoy male attention too. That pupil’s father who confessed his crush last month—it was just harmless, nothing more. I won’t let this break us. The children adore him. I couldn’t live without him. I wouldn’t know how. Too many years together…*
I decided to say nothing to Alex. Not yet. I’d wait and see.
I threw together dinner just as Alex got home. Everything normal—except for Nicholas’s visit. My appetite was gone. I pushed my food around, then gave up.
“You alright?” Alex asked.
“Just tired.”
He thanked me for dinner and went to the living room. Soon, the TV murmured.
Washing up, I looked around our cosy kitchen—walls that had witnessed laughter and tears, fights and reconciliations. How many childhood secrets had these walls heard? And now—would it all be erased? Replaced?
For days, I wrestled with myself, pretending nothing had changed. Alex acted no differently. If he was late, he called.
Then, one day, I cracked. I went to his office. Why? I wasn’t sure. Kids behave differently at school, at home, outside. Maybe men do, too. Maybe I’d understand—or finally calm down. I cancelled my last lesson, to the pupils’ delight, and went.
She stepped into his office, her heart pounding, only to find him alone, holding a bouquet of roses and a reservation slip for their favorite restaurant—the same place they’d gone on their first date.
