Until the End
Emma glanced at the empty table once more. The clock had already struck nine, and still no call or message from Victor. “Working late again,” she thought, though she hardly believed her own lie.
Over the past month, these “delays” had become too frequent. At first, it was once every two weeks. Then, weekly. Now, it seemed her husband had given up on coming home on time altogether.
Emma remembered exactly how it had started. At first, Victor claimed there was a crisis at workan important project, a tight deadline. She believed him and waited up late.
Then the excuses grew more absurd. On Monday, he called to say he was stuck in the car park because a snowplough was blocking the exit. Emma stayed silent but watched him closely. She knew full well his office had an underground car parkno snowplough could reach it.
On Wednesday, hed had an “important meeting,” even though his firm rarely held in-person gatherings. When they did, it was over Zoom in the morning.
Yesterday, hed delivered his best excuse yet: hed stayed late at the office because his stomach was upset, and hed spent over an hour in the loo.
Emma wasnt stupid. She knew Victor was hiding something. She didnt want to drag the truth out of him by force. But what could it be?
“How are you feeling?” she asked, keeping her voice calm and concerned.
Victor, who had just walked in, collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh.
“Not great,” he replied, rubbing his stomach. “Had lunch from a dodgy buffetthink I mightve got food poisoning”
“Oh, awful. I cant imagine how rotten you must feel,” Emma said, her voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy as she studied his reaction. “Here, Ill get you some medicine. Works wonders.”
“No!” Victor sat up abruptly, then flopped back down, realising hed nearly shouted.
“Whats wrong?” Emma frowned.
“The lads at work gave me some tablets. Cant remember the name, but they helped.”
“Right. Well, if you say so,” Emma shrugged. “But next time, remember what you tookyou never know what youve swallowed”
“Good point,” Victor forced a tense smile. “Ill have a shower and turn in. Still feel a bit rough.”
“Of course,” Emma said, brushing his cheek before leaving the room.
The moment the bathroom door closed, Emma dashed into the kitchen. She stood by the table, gripping her husbands phone, her eyes scanning the screen. Messages, calls, Messengernothing suspicious. Then she thought to check the banking app.
*”Transfer: £850 to Angela P.”* Emmas whole body clenched. The sound of the shower shutting off sent her into a panic. She closed all tabs and hurriedly put the phone back.
“Dont panic, dont panic,” she whispered like a mantra. “Who the hell is Angela P.?”
She wracked her brain. A colleague? The accountant?
Sleep didnt come that night. Emma tossed and turned in the vast bed, which now felt cold and empty. Victor slept soundly beside her, oblivious to his wifes torment. At some point, she dozed off, but even then, disturbing images and broken phrases haunted her dreams.
She woke with a jolt.
“Angela!” The name flashed in her mind like a blade. Victors ex, the one he rarely mentionedjust a “teenage fling,” hed called her.
Emma sat up, a cold sweat trickling down her back. Now it all made sensethe lateness, the weak excuses, the “food poisoning.” And now this large sum of money
She clutched her head, trying to steady her shaking hands.
*”Teenage fling”*the words echoed in her skull.
She couldnt sleep. She lay there until daybreak, watching Victor, piecing together the puzzle.
It was clear Angela was his ex. But why were they still in contact after all these years? And why was he sending her money?
She crept out of bed without waking him. In the kitchen, she made coffee and grabbed a notepad. She needed a plan.
“What do I do?” The question pounded in her temples.
Confront Victor directly? But he lieda simple chat wouldnt drag the truth out of him.
Hire a private investigator? Too extreme. She wouldnt even know where to look.
Find Angela herself?
She knew she couldnt wait. Every day wasted might make things worse. But how could she act without Victor noticing?
She decided to start simplecheck his social media. Maybe there were cluesold photos, memories, mutual friends
She opened her laptop and scrolled through his profile. Most pictures were recentfamily, work, holidays. But right at the end, she found a few old ones. In one, a younger Victor, his hair longer, stood beside a girl. Emma studied the strangers face.
It was Angela. The ex Victor had dismissed as nothing serious.
She shut the laptop and took a deep breath. She knew now she had two choices: turn a blind eye and carry on, risking worse to come, or uncover the truth, no matter how painful.
The choice was obvious. She had to know. And she would find out, no matter what.
That evening, Emma sat in the living room, twisting her phone in her hands. Shed rehearsed her speech for a serious talk when the front door opened.
“We need to talk,” Victor said bluntly from the doorway. His voice was strained and weary.
“I was about to say the same,” Emma began, but he cut her off.
And in the end, Emma realised that sometimes, forgiveness wasnt about forgettingit was about choosing to move forward together, even with the shadows of the past.
