Tom came home and, without even taking off his shoes or coat, blurted out, “We need to talk. Seriously.”
He walked in, still bundled up in his jacket, and said, “Emily! Weve got to have a proper chat…” Then, without missing a beat, his eyes widenedalready hugeand he announced, “Ive fallen in love!”
*Well then,* Emily thought, *midlife crisis has officially arrived. Welcome to the club.* She gave him a careful look, one she hadnt bothered with in years (five? Six? Maybe even eight?).
They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but for Emily, it was her entire life with Tom that flashed by. Theyd met the modern wayonline. Emily had shaved three years off her age, Tom had added an inch to his height, and somehow, against the odds, theyd matched each others search criteria.
She couldnt remember who messaged first, but she knew his opening line had been free of sleaze, lightly self-deprecating, and that had won her over. At thirty-three, with a clear-eyed view of the “dating market,” Emily knew her position wasnt exactly front-row. So for their first date, shed dressed smartly, slipped on rose-tinted glasses, worn her best lingerie, and packed homemade biscuits and a Jane Austen novel in her handbag.
Surprisingly, the date went smoothlyproof that dressing right worked! Their romance burned bright and fast. They had fun together, and after six months of steady dates (plus relentless parental pressureher mum had nearly given up on grandchildren), Tom finally proposed. They introduced each other to their families, planned a small wedding, and booked the first available date, terrified someone might change their mind.
Life was good. A steady, comfortable rhythm, no wild passion, but warmth and respectwasnt that happiness? Tom, a typical bloke, shed his short-lived “emotionally intense romantic failure with golden hands” act within weeks of marriage and settled into being exactly who he was: a steady, hardworking man in a well-worn tracksuit.
Emily, meanwhile, loosened the tight corset of her “mysterious-listening-sexy-housewife-intellectual” persona gradually, though pregnancy sped things up. Within a year, shed happily swapped it all for a cosy dressing gown.
The fact that neither of them mourned their lost personasand neither felt shortchangedconvinced Emily theyd made the right choice. Raising two kids and keeping their little ship afloat wasnt always smooth sailing, but they never capsized. When storms passed, they drifted back into calm waters.
Happy grandparents helped where they could, careers inched forward, they travelled, pursued hobbies, and made time for each otherliving, by all accounts, an average, contented life.
Twelve years in, Tom had never once been caught flirting, let alone cheating. Emily wasnt the jealous type, so he couldve gotten away with it, but the idea of him trying was laughable. Early on, after a few awkward attempts at compliments, hed admitted defeat and switched tacticsnow he just *looked* at her, eyes widening like an owls.
Over the years, Emily learned to read his emotions by the roundness of his eyeswild admiration, quiet approval, stunned surprise, utter confusion, or full-blown frustration. So when she pictured him batting eyelashes at some *other* woman, eyes bulging comically wider with each compliment
Her throat went dry. She forced a nervous smile and asked, “So whats her name, then?”
Toms eyes practically rolled up his forehead. Fidgeting, he stammered, “Howhow did you evenwait, you *knew* it was a *rat*? No, youre actuallyLook, I couldnt help it, shes *amazing*just look at her! So soft, so beautiful shes *just like you*.”
From his pocket, he produced a tiny greyish-brown rat with pink-tipped ears, a twitching pink nose, and shiny black eyes.
Emily heard nothing else. She stared at her husband, his new little friend, their mutual adoration, and felt a rush of reliefbecause hed fallen in love with a rat one that looked *exactly* like her.
