I realised my former husband was having an affair because he suddenly took to sweeping our street.
It sounds absurd, but that’s truly how it came to light. He was an electrician, working from home in his workshop out back. His days were filled with cables, tools, and a steady stream of customers. Household chores simply werent his domainnot for any particular reason other than he disliked them. If he found himself with a few spare moments, he preferred a bit of telly, the comfort of a pint with mates, or the smoky joy of tending to the barbecue. His was a gentle, placid nature. He disliked raucous crowds, never raised his voice, didnt strike you as the type to draw suspicion.
Our lane was an old dirt road, wide and flanked by towering oaks. It was forever strewn with leaves, dust, and puddles of dried mud. The sweeping was nearly a daily battle. Usually, I did it early, as the kettle boiled for morning tea and toast. Then one day, a new neighbour moved in next door. There was nothing remarkable about itthe house was often let, with an ever-changing carousel of tenants.
A few months after she arrived, my husband began to say, Dont bother, loveIll sweep this morning.
At first I thought it was sweet. I used that time to tidy elsewherescrub the dishes, freshen the loo, straighten the sitting room. I didnt watch him; there was no need.
But he made a habit of it.
And always at exactly the same timeseven oclock sharp, never earlier, never later. Odd, as hed never kept set hours for anything outside his work. One morning, curious, I glanced through the sitting room window.
There he stood, broom in hand, not sweeping at all. Laughing, chatting. Opposite him, our neighbourEmily. Just chance, I told myself. But the next day, it happened again. And again the day after that. Whenever he went out, so did she, as if theyd arranged it beforehand.
I started to notice more. It wasnt just mornings. One Saturday, he announced he was popping out for a pint with the ladsa usual enough thing. Yet as he pulled on his coat, I saw our neighbour step out at the very same moment, calling over, Evening, neighbour! Off out?
He replied as if nothing was amiss. She smiled, How funny, Im headed that way myself. They strolled off together.
The following weekend, he claimed he was off to play footballa rare event for him. Minutes after he left, Emily emerged as well, phone pressed to her ear, heading in the same direction.
I had no proofno notes, no photographs, not a scrap of evidence. Only patterns. Timings. Coincidences that no longer felt coincidental.
Eventually, I confronted him. I didnt mince words, I simply said, I know youre seeing the neighbour.
He looked thoroughly startled. At first, he denied it, but I pressed on: Ive seen you. Each day. Dont lie to me.
He fell silent, gaze lowered. At last, he confessed, Yes. Im with her. Ive fallen in love.
I told him to leave the house at once. There were no children, nothing left to negotiate. The final ironyhe moved in next door, straight into her home.
They didnt last long there. Perhaps two months, no more. Then they disappeared. No one ever learnt exactly what happened; they left the village and I never heard of them again. The neighbours muttered, the relatives gossiped, but I had no wish to know anything further.
