Emily had always thought of herself as a clever woman. She held a respectable position at a wellknown firm in the City of London, lived in a cosy flat in Mayfair, and even kept a cat a fluffy, headstrong orange tabby called Misty who matched her independent spirit.
At thirtytwo, Emily was convinced that her life had turned out quite well: her career was on an upward trajectory, friends appreciated her blunt humour, and men often seemed to take notice. Everything changed, however, when Edward entered her world.
Edward arrived at the company as the new finance director tall, with a touch of silver at his temples, always in a perfectly tailored suit. His voice was soft, yet each word carried such weight that colleagues fell silent whenever he spoke.
Emily, as head of the marketing department, frequently crossed paths with him at meetings. At first she merely noted his sharp intellect and business acumen, but soon she found herself looking forward to those encounters.
Then came the company dinner.
Over a bottle of red wine they chatted, laughed at the bosss feeble jokes, and at one point his fingers brushed carelessly against her wrist. A cold shiver ran down Emilys spine.
Youre not like the others here, he said, fixing her with an intense gaze that stole her breath.
She knew he was married, that he had two children and a large house out in the countryside. Yet when he began sending her messages, inviting her for lunch walks and later for dinner at upscale restaurants, she allowed herself to forget all of that.
I cant leave her now, he explained one evening, his hand gently stroking hers. The kids, the mortgage, the joint business But you understand that what we have is real, isnt it?
Emily nodded, eyes closed. His fingers were warm, his voice persuasive enough to make her want to believe every word. She imagined him finally telling his wife the truth, the two of them finding a new flat for her, and the two of them disappearing from the shadows.
Everything will change soon, he whispered, planting a kiss on her temple. Just give me a little more time.
And she gave it.
At first the time stretched over months, then over years.
Emily learned to live in that odd limbo between soon and never. She learned not to be the first to call, not to send unnecessary messages, not to ask how his weekends with the family had gone. She learned to smile when he bragged about his daughters school awards, and to stay silent when he complained that his wife no longer understood him.
Youre the only one who truly knows me, he would say, and Emily took it as a compliment rather than a sentence.
She bought elegant lingerie for their rare meetings, taught herself to cook his favourite dishes, and listened patiently to his musings about work. Sometimes, lying beside him, she realised she could not name his favourite colour or his opinion on opera, yet she knew exactly how he sighed when weary and how his brow furrowed when angry.
When will it be? she would ask, and he would always conjure a new excuse.
One day the crisis at work, the next his fatherinlaws ill health, then the argument that his teenage son was too young for such upheaval. Emily clenched her teeth, her belief waning, though she was too afraid even to admit it to herself.
Then tragedy struck.
Edwards wife was involved in a car accident. It was not fatal but serious broken bones and a long road to recovery. Emily thought this would finally make him see how miserable his marriage truly was. Instead, he began disappearing from the hospital, cancelling their rendezvous, and sending fewer messages.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, Emily asked him to meet her in a hotel room so he could explain.
He started, haltingly:
Im needed by her now. She needs me more than ever. Wait a little, once she gets back on her feet and then
Then hung in the air like the last straw Emily clutched to in desperation. She wanted to shout, What about me? Dont I matter? but her lips trembled and her voice refused to cooperate.
Edward stood by the window, his back to her, a silhouette framed against the dim glow of the city. He spoke of broken limbs, of physiotherapy, of his wife barely managing to sit up.
She cant even hold a spoon herself, he whispered, and for the first time Emily heard something chilling in his tone: care, love, responsibility.
You care for her, he saidnot a question but a fact.
He turned, his eyes filled with such anguish that Emily finally saw a side of him shed never witnessed not the bored husband complaining about a tedious marriage, not the man moaning that his wife didnt understand him.
Shes the mother of my children, he said, as if that explained everything.
And then the pieces fell into place.
Wait a little, Emily repeated, a bitter smile playing on her lips. You told me yourself that it was over with her, that there was nothing left between you two.
Edward lowered his gaze and began to stumble over his words.
It is so, he admitted, but
Emily walked slowly to the door.
You know, Edward, I once thought I was needed by you, she said without turning. But in truth you needed neither your wife nor me you simply liked the convenience.
Silence thickened the room like tar. Edward froze, as if her words had become sharp shards lodged in his chest.
You only wanted to have it all, Emily continued, finally facing him. Her voice trembled, yet she held back tears. A wife who makes a home, raises children, gives you peace. And me to feel wanted, youthful, someone to vent to about that very wife.
He tried to interject, but Emily raised her hand sharply.
No, listen! You never loved either of them. You loved only what they gave you. You returned to your wife because she was your comfort zone. You ran to me when you craved excitement.
Edwards face went pale. His fingers clenched the edge of the table.
Youre being unfair he began, but Emily only let out a bitter laugh.
Fairness? You speak of fairness now? Then answer me honestly: if that accident hadnt happened, how long would this farce have lasted? A year? Five? Ten? Would you have kept juggling two women until old age, convincing each she was the one?
He fell silent. That silence spoke louder than any accusation could.
Emily inhaled deeply, brushed a strand of hair back as if gathering her thoughts.
The most infuriating part, she said, her voice suddenly hushed and exhausted, is that Im not angry at your wife. Im angry at myself. At believing the story of the unhappy married man. At closing my eyes to the truth. At letting you use me.
She gathered her bag and moved toward the door. At the threshold she paused.
I wish you, Edward, one thing: to love truly, even once. To finally understand how painful it has been for both of us.
The door clicked shut, this time for good.
Epilogue
A year later, Emily happened upon Edward in HydePark. He walked arminarm with his wife, who leaned on a cane and moved slowly beside him. Edward supported her gently under the elbow, whispering something in her ear. On his face was an expression Emily had never seen during their years together a wary, tender concern.
In that moment she finally let go.
She realised she had never been needed by him. She had merely been the temporary amusement, the fleeting consolation for a man who loved only himself.
Now the chapter was closed.
Emily straightened her shoulders and headed toward a new life one where she would be valued not for what she could give, but simply for who she was.
