I know about your affairs, said his wife. David froze.
No, he didnt flinch. He didnt even turn palethough inside, everything tightened into a hard knot, like a letter crumpled before being thrown away. He just stood still.
Sarah was standing at the hob, stirring something in a saucepan. An ordinary poseher back to her husband, apron patterned with tiny blue dots, the scent of frying onions in the air. Cosy, domestic, familiar. But her voiceit was sharp and clear, as if she were reading the news.
David caught himself wondering if hed misheard. Maybe shed said something about the cucumberslike shed found a good place to buy them? Or perhaps she was talking about the neighbour upstairs whose car was on sale?
But no.
All of your affairs, Sarah repeated, still not turning to face him.
Thats when the cold really set in. Because her tone didnt carry the hysteria or wounded pride hed always dreadednone of the shattering tears or angry accusations. No smashed plates. Just a simple statement, as if she were telling him the milks run out.
Fifty-two years had David been alive. Twenty-eight of those with this woman. He knew every detailbirthmark on her left shoulder, the way she crinkled her nose tasting soup, the long, soft sighs on winter mornings. But this voicethis tonehed never heard from her before.
Sarah, he began, but his voice deserted him.
He cleared his throat. Tried again.
Sarah, what are you talking about?
At that, she turned. Looked at himlong and steady, as though he were a faded photograph she could barely make out.
For example, about Emma, she said. From your accounts department. Back in 2018, if Im not mistaken.
David felt the ground slip away. It wasnt just a phrasehe could feel the world falling out from under him, leaving him suspended.
God. Emma?
He could hardly remember her face. Some episodeat the office party, was it? Or after? Nothing serious. Hed promised himself: never again.
And about Grace, Sarah continued, calm as ever. The one who chatted you up at the gym. That was two years ago.
His mouth opened and closed, useless.
How did she know about Grace?
Sarah turned off the hob. Removed her apronneatly, unhurriedlyfolded it in half and sat down at the table.
Would you like to know how I found out? she asked. Or is it more important to you why I didnt say anything?
David said nothing. Not because he didnt want tobut because he was incapable.
The first time, Sarah began, was about ten years ago. You started staying late at work. Especially on Fridays. Youd come home all cheerful, eyes sparkling. You smelt differentof perfume.
She gave a wry, joyless smile.
I tried to convince myself I was imagining things. Maybe someone at the office had changed their fragrance? Spent a month fooling myself. Then I found that restaurant bill in your jacket pocket. Meal for two. Wine. Dessert. Somewhere you and I had never eaten.
David wanted to speakto make excuses, to lie, as hed done before. But the words stuck halfway up his throat.
Do you know what I did? Sarah looked him right in the eye. I went to the bathroom and cried. Then I washed my face, made dinner, and greeted you with a smile. I didnt say a word to our daughtershe was fifteen back then. Exams. First love. Why should she know?
She broke off. Ran her hand over the table, as if brushing away invisible dust.
I told myself Id get through it. That itd pass. Men are all like thismidlife, hormones, silly mistakes. So what if he comes back, as long as the familys whole.
Sarah, David managed.
Dont, she cut him off. Let me finish.
He fell silent.
Then there was a second. A third. I stopped keeping track. Your phonenever even locked. You really thought Id never look? I read your messages. All those silly texts: Miss you, sweetheart, Youre the best. Saw the photosarms around women, grinning. For the first time tonight, her voice broke. She steadied herself with a deep breath.
I kept asking myselfwhy? Why stay with someone who doesnt love me?
I do love you! David burst out. Sarah, I
No, she said, firm. You dont. You love convenience. A clean house. Hot meals. Your shirts pressed just how you like them. A wife who doesnt ask too many questions.
She got up and moved to the window. Stood, gazing into the dark.
Do you know when I finally decided? she asked, not looking round. A month ago. Our daughter came home for the weekend. We sat here, drinking tea. She said, Mum, youre different. Quiet. Like youre not really yourself anymore. And I thoughtmy God, shes right. I havent lived for myself for ten years.
David stared at her backrigid, tenseand for the first time, realised he was losing her. Not might lose, but actually losing her, right then.
I dont want a divorce, he rasped. Sarah, please.
But I do, she replied simply. Ive already filed. The hearings in a month.
But why? David’s composure cracked. Why now?
Sarah turned. She watched him for a long time, and gave a sad, tired smile.
Because I realised, you never betrayed me, David. You can only betray someone who matters to you. I was just there. Like air.
And that was the truth.
David sat, hunched and shrunken on the edge of the sofa. Sarah stood by the hall door. Between themtwenty-eight years of marriage, a shared daughter, a flat where every crack remembered them both. And nowa chasm, deep and unbridgeable.
You know, he said quietly, Ill be lost without you.
Youll get on with it, she interrupted, brisk and unconvinced. Somehow.
No! He jumped up and moved towards her. Sarah, I can change! I swear! Never again, I
David, she raised her hand, stopping him. Its not about them. Not at all.
Then what is it?
She paused, choosing words shed held back for yearsout of fear, or pride, or self-doubt.
Do you know how it felt? Every time you came home from another Emma or Grace, Id lie next to you and feel invisible. You rarely even tried to hide it. Didnt lock your phone, tossed your shirts with someone elses lipstick on the collar. Did you think I was mad? Or blind?
David swayedas if struck in the chest.
I never meant
Never meant to? She stepped right up to him. Her eyes were brightnot with tears, but with fury. Years worth. You just never thought about me at all. What was going through your head when you kissed someone else? My wife will never know? Or It doesn’t matter?
He was silent. Because the truth was worse than anything she could say.
He really hadnt thought of her. Sarah was just there. Hed assumed shed never leave. Shed always be.
Youd come home from your little dalliances and feel just fine. Your world hadnt changed. Wife still there. Family still together. All in order.
She looked away.
But I wasnt there. Not in your world. Not really.
David reached for herwanted to touch her shoulder, draw her in, keep her.
Sarah pulled away.
Dont, she said, exhausted. Its too late.
He grabbed for her hands.
Sarah, please! Give me a chance! I can changeI will!
She looked at their tangled fingers. At his pleading, frightened face. And suddenly she understood: he really was afraid. But not, not truly, of losing her.
He was afraid of being alone.
You know, she whispered, gently pulling free, I was afraid too. Afraid of being alone. Afraid to lose you, the familythis life. But do you know what I realised?
She picked up her handbag and keys from the table.
Ive already been alone. For years. Even with you here.
She walked to the door.
Three weeks passed.
David sat, alone, in the flatSarah had moved in with their daughter the day after that conversationand scrolled through his phone. Emma from accounts. Grace from the gym. Another two, three names he once thought meant something.
He called Grace.
Straight to voicemail.
He messaged Emmaread, ignored.
The others didnt even open his messages.
Funny, he thought. When he was a married man, they all wanted his attention. Now he had all the freedom in the world
No one wanted him.
There he sat, on the same sofa, in a flat that suddenly felt vast and strangeand for the first time in fifty-two years, truly alone.
He picked up his phone again. Found Sarah. Stared at the screen, hands trembling.
Typed out a message. Deleted it. Tried again. Deleted.
Then wrote, simply: Can we meet?
The reply came after an hour: Why?
David hesitated. What to say? Sorry? Too late. Come back? Ridiculous. Ive changed? A lie.
He typed the truth:
I want to start again. Can we try?
Three dots flickered, disappeared, returned.
The answer came:
Come on Saturday. To our daughters. Two oclock. Well talk.
David exhaled.
He had no idea what would come next. Whether shed forgive, or ever return. Whether he was even entitled to another chance.
He stared at his wedding ring.
And for the first time in years, knew he was ready to start anew.
If she would have him.
