Nothing Can Be Fixed
Life for James Whitmore had split into two uneven parts: before Emily and after. But now, standing before the locked door of his own home, he realized there was a third phase”after the after.” And it was empty.
At thirty-seven, James was a renowned expert in the beauty industry, owned a house and a flat, and had long since stopped worrying about money. Yet none of it saved his marriage.
They met when he was twenty-two. Emma was just seventeen, fresh out of school, with timid dreams of university. She was stunningly beautiful, and he was instantly smitten. But when, a year later, she told him she was pregnant, his first reaction was fear.
“Maybe not yet?” James asked carefully, avoiding her gaze. “Youve only just started studying”
“Ill think about it,” she replied softly.
But it was too late to thinkwhether from inexperience or intent, Emma had missed all the deadlines. Her parents came to meet the father of their grandchild, polite but cold, demanding nothing. Yet as they left, her father muttered under his breath, “Dont worry, well raise the child ourselves.”
Guilt and a dormant sense of responsibility pushed James to propose. He married without joy, only a vague feeling it was the right thing to do.
The first years were a struggle. He was still studying; she stayed home with the baby. When he started working, money was tight, and they relied on grandparents for help. Emma never complained. Before even finishing university, she found part-time work.
“Why?” James asked, baffled. “Those pennies wont even cover mascara! Our daughters only two, already in nursery or with her grandparentsbarely seeing her own mother!”
“Then earn more!” Emma snapped back, steel in her voice. “Go into private practice!”
“With my experience? They wouldnt even hire me as a cleaner!” he shot back.
She never asked for anything for herself, but her reproaches became frequent: James didnt help around the house, didnt spend time with their daughter, didnt provide enough. A classic young family, scraping by in London.
After graduating, Emma landed a full-time job and shot up the career ladder. Late nights, business trips, corporate events. The house grew empty. James, in contrast, spent more time with their daughter, consoling himself: “Itll passher work frenzy will ease, and things will settle.” But they never did. Emma seemed to avoid being home.
One evening, embracing her as she cooked, James whispered,
“Lets have another. A son.”
Emma froze, then carefully stepped away.
“Start earning properly first. Then well talk.”
It was during those cold, distant years that Emily entered his lifea young, cheerful, undemanding assistant from a nearby department. She adored him, laughed at his jokes, was warm and easy. She became his escape. He seriously considered leaving, held back only by thoughts of his daughter.
Years later, when James was finally earning well, the unexpected happened. His wife brought up a second child herself.
“On one condition,” James said firmly, confident in his finances. “Family comes first. Work second. Ill provide.”
Emma agreed. She conceived almost immediately and transformed. The house smelled of baking again; warmth returned. James was relieved, yet still flew off to the seaside with Emily under the guise of work trips. His mistress knew nothing of the pregnancyhed convinced her he and his wife slept in separate rooms.
Then Emily began acting strangetoo much perfume, unexplained tears, suspicions over his phone.
“How are things at home?” she asked casually once.
“Same as always,” he brushed off.
Then came the visit. Emma arrived at his workplacefor the first time in yearsto drop off forgotten documents. Emily saw her rounded belly. The moment Emma left, hysterics erupted.
“You knew! You knew and said nothing!” Emily screamed, loud enough for three floors to hear.
“What are you on about? Calm down!”
“I wrote to your wife! A month ago! I told her everything!”
James demanded proof. She refused, but he wrestled her phone away. The messages stunned him. Emily had written: *”James and I have loved each other for so long He deserves real love and warmth Dont stand in our way”*
Emmas reply was two words: “Alright, Emily.”
That was all.
Now James understood Emilys recent behaviorshed expected a reaction, but hed known nothing. Because Emma had acted completely normal, living with her cheating husband for over a month without a hint of anger.
Horrified, he ended things with Emily and suggested she find another jobhed never expected such betrayal. She sobbed, begged, but he wouldnt lose his family.
That evening, he confessed. Emma sat drinking tea in the kitchen.
“You knew?” he asked, heart pounding.
Emma looked up, surprised. “Knew what? About that girl? You were actually with her? I thought it was a scam or a crush. Didnt expect it was serious. If it is, youre free to pack your things.”
She asked him to move out. James refused”Were having a baby!”swore it was over with Emily. He stayed in the guest room. Emma asked no more questions but never fully reconciled, speaking only when necessary. She gave birth prematurely, with complications. James took leave to help, showered her with gifts, devoted all his time to family. He adored his son.
A year and a half later, he thought the nightmare was overEmma had forgiven him. Then she announced she was returning to work.
“We had an agreement!” he snapped. “Family first! Olivers still tinywait till hes three! We have the money!”
“That agreement,” she said coolly, “belonged to our life before Emily.”
James surrendered. Emma went back to work. A nanny appeared. Life became endless chaos, calls, petty fights, brief truces.
Then, last year, he bumped into Emily. Memories flooded back; they had coffee. She was still single, still sweet. Guilt and foolish pride made him offer her a joba friend needed an assistant. She accepted.
A week later, they were back where they started.
The end came six months later. At a birthday party, Jamess drunken friend raved about his new assistant:
“Emilys brilliantgolden hands, easygoing, efficient! Dunno how I managed without her! Cheers, James, for this gem!”
Clueless about their affair, he sang her praises in front of everyoneincluding Emma. She smiled, nodded, said nothing. A week later, she handed James a stack of printouts: messages, screenshots, photos.
“Move out,” she said simply. “If you wont, Ill take the children and go.”
He left. Within a week, he knew he wanted nothing more than to return. He brought toys for the kids, enormous bouquets for Emma. She accepted the gifts for the children with chilly politeness; the flowers went in a vase by the door, like a forgotten umbrella.
One night, he found her alone. The children were asleep.
“Just tell me what to do to make you forgive me. Ill fix everything. I dont want anyone but you. Emilys gone.”
Emma looked at him blankly.
“You still dont get it, do you? Emily doesnt matter. You broke us years ago when you asked if I wanted an abortion. You married me out of guilt, tolerated me, while I wanted to be loved. All this time, I tried to be good enoughlook good, earn well, keep house. But you, James, only ever wanted someone easy and warm. Im tired of trying. Go.”
He stepped outside, and it hit him. His wife hadnt been stewing in resentment all these years. Emma had simply stopped loving him long ago. Her silence after Emilys letter wasnt forgiveness. It was a sentence, delivered quietly, without drama. Shed just been waiting for him to read it.
