Shes just manipulating my husband, Emily fumed.
She stared at her phone, feeling that familiar flare of frustration bubbling up inside.
Tom had rung for the third time that evening.
Em, love, Im really sorry, his voice was tired, apologetic, painfully familiar. I know wed planned for the theatre, but Well, Lucy says Bens running a high feverforty degrees. She cant manage him alone. You do get it, dont you?
Of course, Emily understood.
She understood all too well.
Tom, we bought the tickets, she said quietly, despite wanting to scream. Weve been waiting for this play for six weeks!
I know, sweetheart, I know. Ill make it up to you, I swear. But its Ben, I cant just ignore him.
After hanging up, Emily dialled her friend.
Claire, can you believe it? she paced the lounge, gesturing wildly. Again! Its the third time this month. Either his sons ill, or his exs cars broken down, or theres some other nonsense!
Em, maybe her son really is sick? Claire suggested, treading carefully.
Oh, I know he is! Emily slumped onto the sofa. Kids do get ill, thats normal. But whats not normal is that his ex always calls him for help. Doesnt she have parents? Friends?
Well
No, not well! Emily shot up. She manipulates him! Toms kind-hearted, clueless sometimes. She knows hell drop everything and rush over. And she takes full advantage.
Claire sighed on the other end.
Are you sure the problems her?
Who else would it be? Emily fell silent.
Im not sure. Just think about it. If a woman calls her ex-husband and he always abandons plans to help, whos allowing that?
Emilys mouth opened, then shut, as an uncomfortable realisation pinched inside.
Claire, dont talk nonsense, she snapped. Toms just a responsible father. He cant let his child down!
Alright, fine, Claire conceded. Just saying, is all.
But that just saying stuck under Emilys skina tiny, prickly thorn. Impossible to shake.
Tom got home late. He looked exhausted, rumpled, guilt written across his face.
Im so sorry, Em, Im an idiot. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his face into her neck. Ill buy new tickets, best seats in the house, promise.
Emily said nothing. She gazed out the window, thinkinghow many times had he made promises like this? Five? Ten? Twenty?
It was always the same: You do understand.
I do, Emily thought. Though what it is Im supposed to understand, I havent the foggiest.
The small things began to pile up.
At first, they were barely noticeablelike dust on a shelf: invisible, until you run your finger over it and, suddenly, there it isa grey film.
She noticed Tom had started hiding his phone. Previously, hed leave it anywherethe table, the sofa, even the bathroom. Now, he kept it with him everywhere. Even if he only popped to the kitchen for water, the phone came too.
Tom, why are you carting your phone about? Emily asked one evening, forcing a casual tone.
Hm? Oh, just a habit. At work theyre always ringing.
Fair enough.
Then, by accident, Emily saw his calendar on his phone. Shed wanted to put in their rescheduled theatre date. But there, she found: Pick up Ben from nursery, 4:00pm, Take car papers to Lucy, Ring L. about vaccinations.
L.Lucy.
Tom, she said one dinner, idly stirring tea long after the sugar dissolved, do you know when my dissertation defence is?
He looked up.
Dissertation? Um, May, isnt it?
March. In two weeks.
Oh. Right. Sorry. Mind like a sieve.
Mind like a sieve. Yet Lucys schedule, down to the minute, was etched in his memory.
And then there was the money.
Emily stumbled across a bank statement Tom had left on the table. Three transfers of £200 each. Recipient: L. Harper.
Tom, she called, holding up the statement. Whats this about?
He didnt even look flustered. Just sighed.
Helping Lucy out. Her mums unwell, needed money for medicine. Then Bens after-school clubs. Shes on her own, you know.
Six hundred pounds, Tom. In three months.
So? Hes my son! Do you expect me to watch them struggle?
Emily put the statement back.
No, of course not. Its just odd you forgot to mention it.
I didnt forget! I just knew youd start all this!
That all this had the sting of accusationas if Emily was some neurotic, petty, jealous fool.
And then there was the incident in the car.
Shed hopped into the passenger seat and noticed a kids drawing on the back. A house, flowers, sun, and three people. Dad, mum, Ben.
No sign of her.
Emily picked it up, turned it over. Childish handwriting: To Daddy, from Ben. Our family.
Tom, she called softly.
Whats up?
Wheres this from?
He glanced back.
Oh, Ben did it. Brilliant, isnt it? Talented lad.
Emily stared at the picture. Then Tom. Then the drawing again.
It says our family.
Yes. Hes little. In his mind, family is me, Lucy and him. Thats just how kids see things.
Emily placed the drawing where she found it. Sat upright, buckled her seatbelt, and didnt say a word the entire way.
Then Lucy started dropping by in person.
First, she came for some of Bens things left at Toms. Then to discuss summer holidays. Then, just passing through, thought Id pop round.
Lucy was polite, calm, always smiling.
Emily, hi! shed beam, as if they were friends. Hope Im not disturbing you. Is Tom about?
And after every visit, Tom seemed distant, distracted. Staring into space, answering in single words.
Whats wrong? Emily would ask.
Just tired.
She began to feel like the odd one out. Like she just didnt fit.
Then, one evening, she overheard a phone conversation. Tom was in the bath, probably thinking the door was closed. But it was just ajar, and Emily caught:
Lucy, please dont cry I said Id help Of course I will. Im always here, arent I?
His voice low, gentle. Almost intimate.
Emily stepped away. Sat on the sofa. And suddenly, everything was clear.
He wasnt being manipulated.
He allowed this to happen.
Because it was convenient for him.
Emily kept it all inside for three days.
No accusations, just silence. She watched him with detachment, like a scientist studying an unusual insectcalm, clinical.
Heres what she noticed.
Tom knew Lucys routine better than hersEmilys. He knew when Ben was at nursery, when he had clubs, when Lucys GP appointments were. All marked in his calendar. But hed forgotten about Emilys dissertation date.
He was always messaging someone, his phone constantly buzzing with texts. Hed dash to read and reply, his face softening, as if he were doing something he shouldnt.
One night, his phone rang while he was in the shower. Emily saw the screen: Lucy.
Her hand moved without thinking. She answered.
Tom? Lucys voice was hushed, tearful. Tom, can you come? Im feeling so awful. I dont know who else to call.
Emily stayed silent.
Tom? Are you there? I just cant manage alone anymore. Please. Youve always been there for me.
Emily hung up. Put the phone back. Sat down, and suddenly laughed.
Good grief. What a fool shed been. A naive, blind fool.
Tom came out of the bathroom, towelling off, hair damp.
Lucy called, Emily said calmly.
He froze.
You answered?
I did. Emily stood. Looked at him. She was crying. Said she felt terrible. That youve always been there for her.
He stood in silence. Searching for words, scrambling for excusesshe could read it on his face.
Listen, he began, Lucys going through a rough patch. Shes got no one else. Only me. I cant just leave her!
Leave her? Emily almost laughed. Tom, you divorced her four years ago. Shes not your wife anymore. Shes your ex. You left her long ago.
But we have a child together!
Does that mean, Emily stepped closer, whenever she says the magic word Ben, you come running? You send her money on the sly? You remember her plans to the dot?
Youre exaggerating!
Me?
Emily felt something snap. She grabbed her bag and started packing.
You know, I spent so long convincing myself Lucy was the problem. That she was manipulating you. That she used Ben against you. That she was some evil temptress who just couldnt move on.
She turned around.
But the truth is, Tom, she isnt the problem. You are. You let her do it. In fact, you want it this way. It suits you. Youve two lives: an ex-wife who needs you and a new woman who waits and puts up with it. You never choose. Because this is easiest for you.
Emily, dont go.
Im not going, she said softly. Im leaving. Leaving this triangle where Im always in last place. Im not fighting your ex-wife. Im stepping out of your game.
Tom stood in the middle of the roomdripping, confused, pathetic.
Em, please. Lets talk.
Theres nothing to discuss. Emily put on her coat. You chose long ago. I was too foolish to see it. But now I do. Clear as day.
She opened the door.
Goodbye, Tom. Say hi to Lucy. Tell her she can phone whenever she likes now.
The door closed quietly behind her.
A month later, Emily was sat in a café with Claire.
So, how are you? her friend asked gently.
Im fine. Emily smiled. Really, fine.
And it was true. The first week had been tough; her chest ached, shed wanted to call, to message, to return. But she didnt. Shed taken a tiny studio flat, picked up extra shifts, and passed her dissertation defence.
Tom phoned. Many times. Sent long, rambling textsapologising, justifying, promising.
Em, forgive me. I get it now. You were right. Lets start again.
Emily didnt reply. She knew better than to try again. Because Lucy wasnt the problem. Tom was. And unless he realised that, nothing would ever change.
And hows he? Claire asked.
Who? Emily blinked.
Tom, obviously.
Oh. Emily shrugged. No idea. Were not in touch.
Claire was quiet for a moment.
Do you regret it?
Emily thought. Regret? No. Oddly, no. Instead, she felt relief. Like shed finally put down a heavy rucksack shed been carrying for ages.
I made my choice. She finished her coffee. For me. For good.
Claire smiled.
You did the right thing.
Oh, come on, Emily waved her off. Just grew up a bit, thats all.
Tom ended up alone.
Lucy, oddly enough, stopped calling. Turned out, without Emily as the audience, the game had lost its point. And when Tom tried to rekindle the old closeness, Lucy met him with a frosty rebuff.
You chose her back then, Lucy said matter-of-factly. Live with that. Ive sorted myself out. I dont need your help anymore.
Tom tried to win Emily back. Turned up at her flat, waited outside work, sent long texts. But she never waivered.
Tom, let me go, she told him one last time. Let yourself go too. Were just not meant to be. You wanted two lives at once. I want one lifebut a real one.
Emily walked through the city at dusk, thinking how strange everything was. Shed been so afraid of being alone, of losing Tom. When she finally lost him, she realised shed lost nothing at all.
Because those who cant make a choice can never give you anything real.
And she deserved nothing less than real.
