Are you going back to her again? Emmas eyes bored into James as he slipped his shoes on.
Just the kids, Emma. Not her, James muttered, tying the laces. How long do we have to keep arguing about this?
Emma stayed silent, her lips a thin line. She wanted to scream, but the words lodged in her throat, turning into a painful knot.
Before we were married you were fine with it, James said, pulling his coat from the rack as he stood. You knew I had children. I told you everything from the start. You said you understood. And now? Tantrums? Interrogations?
Emma clenched her teeth harder. James threw the coat over his shoulders and, without waiting for a reply, walked to the door. The lock clicked, leaving her alone.
She stood frozen for a few seconds, legs feeling like lead. She collapsed onto the sofa in the sitting room and turned on a mindless telly drama, the background noise a thin shield against her thoughts.
They had been together three years, two of them married. Shed known from the beginning there would be a divorce, two kidsa boy and a girl. James had mentioned them on their third date. Emma had smiled then, said it wasnt a problem, that she understood, that children werent an obstacle.
Now those words seemed foolish and naive.
She pressed her palm to her eyes, inhaled deeply. Holding back tears grew harder, a pressure on her chest as if an invisible slab pressed down.
The situation had become unbearable. Twice a weekTuesday and SaturdayJames left for his exwifes house. He claimed it was to see the children, yet he stayed for dinner, lingered with Claire. Emma knew it was stupid, she trusted himor at least tried to convince herself she did. An uneasy premonition gnawed at her, making her feel sick.
When James left, Emma was left alone in the flat, spiralling into selfreproach. She berated herself for not standing firm, for giving in to his promises, for staying quiet when she should have shouted.
She grabbed her phone and typed a frantic message to her friend: Hes there again.
The phone buzzedSarah calling.
Hello? Emma answered, fighting to keep her voice steady.
Emma, what the hell are you doing? Sarah didnt mince words. How long can you put up with this? Hes cheating you, its obvious.
No, Sarah, you dont get it Emma started, but Sarah cut her off.
I know exactly. He spends two nights a week at Claires, stays until midnight. And you expect him to be playing Lego with the kids?
Emma ran a hand over her face, aware that Sarah was right. Admitting it out loud would mean accepting that her marriage was a farce.
He says theres nothing between them. He says hes only there for the children, Emma whispered.
God, youre so naive, Sarah sighed. Emma, I beg you, open your eyes. Normal men dont spend half an evening at their exs. They pick up the kids, take them for a walk, and bring them home. Your husband is in Claires kitchen, eating her borscht, probably holding her hand when the kids arent looking.
Sarah, enough, Emma snapped, gripping the phone tighter.
Enough? Fine. Remember what I told you. Youll keep feeding him, and when it finally snaps, dont say I didnt warn you.
The call ended. Emma stared at the ceiling, the TVs laughter echoing uselessly.
James returned just before midnight, the hallway echoing as he stripped off his coat and slipped into the bathroom. He lay down beside her, and Emma instantly smelled a foreign perfumesweet, cloying.
She didnt ask why he was late; she had no strength left. James, already settling in, spoke first.
Sorry Im late. Lily needed a craft for nursery. I helped her make a pinecone cowlooked ridiculous, but she loved it, he mumbled, eyes closing.
Emma nodded in the darkness, though he couldnt see.
The pattern continued for monthsTuesday, Saturday, departure, return, that unfamiliar fragrance, excuses.
Then James grew sullen, withdrawn. He could sit for hours staring at his phone, brow furrowed. Emma tried to ask what was wrong, but he waved it off, muttering incomprehensible things before retreating to another room.
A couple of weeks later he dropped a bombshell.
Listen, weve got a double date on Friday.
Emma raised an eyebrow. With whom?
With Claire and her new boyfriend.
A weight lifted from Emmas shoulders. Claire had a man? James wasnt with his ex? Had she been fearing nothing? A smile cracked across her face. She turned to James, slipped her arms around his neck.
Of course, Im coming.
Friday arrived quickly. Emma bought a lightblue dress that clung to her figure, determined to look her best, to show Claire she was worthy of James, that she was the right choice.
They met at a cosy café on the other side of town, wooden tables bathed in soft light. Claire was already there with a man in his early fortiestall, athletic, with a disarming grin. He introduced himself as Max.
Hello, Claire said, standing to greet them. Emma, this is Max.
Emma looked polished, slim, wellkept. Max shook Jamess hand, and they all settled.
Emma felt hopeful; the evening should have been smoothconversation, laughs, then parting ways.
Instead, the double date turned nightmarish.
All evening James acted as if he were trying to win back his exwife. He constantly cut Max off, demonstratively proving he knew Claire better.
Max suggested ordering a spicy pizza. James interjected:
Claire doesnt like heat.
I know, Max replied calmly. We discussed it. You interrupted before I could say it was for us. Well get something else for Claire.
James didnt stop.
Do you remember, Claire, when we took the kids to the seaside? Mikey brought a jellyfish ashore, thought it was a toy, James blurted, ignoring Max entirely.
Claire nodded, irritation clear on her face.
James, that was ages ago, she tried to steer the conversation away.
But James kept ramblingstories about the children, their past holidays, choosing a pram, sleepless nights with a colicky son. Emma sat, gripping her glass of water, each of his words a fresh wound. She could see Claires patience evaporating. Claire tried to halt him with a look, shifting topics, but James seemed deaf to it.
Emma realised then that James had never let go of Claire. He clung to their shared history, to the kids, to memories. SheEmmawas an afterthought, a placeholder.
Her phone buzzed: a banks automated call. Emma pretended to speak with her mother, feigning urgency.
Sorry, I have to go. Its important.
No one stopped her. James didnt even turn. Emma fled the café, hailed a taxi, and sped home.
At the flat she flung open a large suitcase, dumping out clothes. She could no longer stomach Jamess behaviour.
James arrived an hour later, angry, his face a storm. He saw the suitcase at her feet.
Whats happening? he demanded.
Emma met his gaze, eyes dry, the tears already dried between sweaters and jeans.
Im leaving, she said simply.
What? Where? James snapped.
Anywhere but here, Emma replied, pulling on her coat. Tonights meeting opened my eyes. You still love your ex, or at least you cant let her go. I dont know which is worse.
What are you talking about? James began, but Emma raised a hand.
Enough. Dont lie. I saw how you behaved. You tried to claim her from Max. All night you proved shes still yours, that theres still a connection. I was the extra.
James was mute.
I wont be a backup, James, Emma continued, gripping the suitcase handle. Im done. Im leaving.
Emma, wait, he pleaded finally.
No, she shook her head. I love you, but this love has burnt out. Ill at least keep what dignity I have left.
She crossed the threshold. James watched, unmoving, his eyes following her until she disappeared. He made no move to stop her, no attempt to explain.
Emma hailed another taxi, headed for her parents house. As the city lights blurred past, she thought of one thing: at last she was free.
