Emily sat alone at the dinner table once again. The clock had just struck nine, and still no call or message from Andrew. “Stuck at work again,” she thought, though she didn’t quite believe it herself.
Over the past month, these “delays” had become far too frequent. At first, they were rare—once every couple of weeks. Then weekly. Now it seemed he’d stopped coming home on time altogether.
Emily remembered how it all began. Andrew would claim there was a crisis at work—an urgent project, a tight deadline. She trusted him and waited up late.
But the excuses grew more absurd. On Monday, he called to say he was trapped in the office car park because a snowplough was blocking his exit. Emily said nothing, though she knew full well his office had underground parking where no snowplough could reach.
On Wednesday, he blamed an impromptu meeting, even though his company rarely held in-person gatherings—and when they did, it was always via video call in the morning.
Then yesterday, he claimed he’d been stuck at his desk with… an upset stomach, spending over an hour in the loo.
Emily was no fool. She knew he was hiding something. But shouting wouldn’t force the truth out of him. What could it be?
“How are you feeling?” she asked when he finally walked in, keeping her voice steady.
Andrew sank onto the bed with a tired sigh. “Not great,” he mumbled, rubbing his stomach. “Must’ve been that dodgy takeaway at lunch…”
“Oh, awful. I bet you feel rotten,” Emily said, watching his reaction carefully. “Let me get you something for it.”
“No!” He nearly jumped up, then caught himself. “The lads at work gave me something. Can’t remember the name, but it worked.”
“Really? Well, you should know what you’re taking,” she said lightly.
“You’re right,” he forced a smile. “I’ll shower and turn in. Feel knackered.”
“Of course.” She brushed her fingers over his cheek before leaving.
The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Emily snatched his phone from the nightstand. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through calls, messages, apps—nothing suspicious. Then she checked the banking app.
“Transfer: £5,000 to Lucy H.”
Her breath caught. The shower stopped. With a shaky hand, she closed the app and slipped the phone back.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the counter. Who the hell was Lucy H.?
The name tugged at her memory. A colleague? Someone from accounts?
Sleep didn’t come that night. The bed felt vast and cold as Emily tossed beside Andrew, who slept soundly, unaware of her torment. Snippets of dreams taunted her—whispers, blurred faces, a gnawing dread.
She jolted awake.
Lucy.
Andrew’s ex. The one he’d mentioned only in passing, dismissing her as “just a teenage fling.”
Emily sat up, sweat cooling on her skin. It all made sense now—the late nights, the excuses, the sudden “illnesses.” And now this money.
She pressed her palms to her temples. A “teenage fling” who still had a hold on him.
By dawn, she’d pieced together a plan. First, she’d dig through his social media. Old photos, tagged friends—anything.
On his profile, most posts were recent: family holidays, work events. But buried deep in his albums, she found a faded picture of a younger Andrew, arm around a grinning girl.
Lucy.
Emily shut the laptop. Two paths lay ahead: ignore it and risk worse, or confront the truth, no matter how painful.
The choice was clear.
That evening, she rehearsed her speech as she paced the lounge. The front door creaked open.
“We need to talk,” Andrew said, his voice hollow.
“I was about to say the same,” she began, but he held up a hand.
“Let me go first.” He slumped onto the hallway stool. “You won’t like this. I don’t expect forgiveness, but don’t judge me yet.”
Her pulse hammered.
“Remember Lucy? My first proper girlfriend. We dated just before uni.” His voice wavered.
Emily felt the noose tighten. Here it came—the confession that would shatter them.
“Right after I started uni, she got pregnant. I was a coward. Scared. Selfish.” He swallowed hard.
She wanted to shake him, to scream. But the pieces fell into place: the baby, the guilt, the money.
“I gave her cash to… take care of it. Then I ghosted her.” His hands clenched. “It went wrong. Complications. She begged for help, but I turned her away.”
“She… terminated it?” Emily asked, then immediately hated the hope in her voice.
“Yeah. After that, she never married. Kept getting sick. Three surgeries. Then… well, cancer. They’ve given her three months. Maybe less.”
The room spun.
Andrew kept his head bowed. “After her parents died, she had no one. I couldn’t walk away again.”
Silence thickened the air. Anger, jealousy, pity—all warred inside her.
“You blame yourself,” she whispered.
“Every day.”
“But it wasn’t just you. Things happen.”
“I made them happen.”
Emily studied him—his slumped shoulders, the way his fingers dug into his knees. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.
“Wait. You said she’s alone.”
He nodded. Her stomach dropped.
“So you’re going to her.”
Andrew met her eyes, raw with pleading. “I have to.”
“You’re choosing her.”
“No. I’m choosing to fix what I broke. But I won’t lie to you anymore.”
She stepped back, arms crossed. “What if I say no?”
“Then I’ll keep lying. And it’ll kill us slowly.”
Tears blurred her vision. She loved him. But the man before her was a stranger, haunted by a past he’d hidden for years.
“I don’t know if I can forgive this,” she said.
“I’m not asking you to. Just to understand.”
The door closed behind him.
Hours crept by. Emily paced, sat, paced again. She raged—then remembered the anguish in his eyes, the way he’d confessed without excuses.
He hadn’t betrayed her. He was trying to right an old wrong.
Her phone glowed on the coffee table. She picked it up.
“I understand,” she typed. “I love you. Let’s help Lucy.”
A reply came minutes later.
“Thank you.”
She closed her eyes, tears spilling. The right choice was rarely the easy one.
