— Emily? Hello… We thought you were only coming back on Friday,— stammered her mother-in-law, opening the door.
— Hello, Margaret. Had to cut my holiday short—got called in urgently at work. Thought I’d drop by… Are the boys here?
The woman nodded awkwardly.
— Oliver’s here, but Alex took his colleague… Laura. Didn’t you speak to him?
Emily tensed.
— He didn’t answer. Who’s Laura?
Margaret grew visibly flustered.
— She was in the car. Alex just dropped Oliver off for the weekend. I invited her in for tea… didn’t seem right to leave her outside.
— Right… Quite the little gathering you’ve got here,— Emily said coldly. — Tell me, how long’s he been dropping her home?
— They left about two hours ago…
Emily kept her composure, said goodbye, took her son, and left.
In the car, five-year-old Oliver chattered away, oblivious to the knives in his words:
— Dad and Aunt Laura took me on the carousel, we had ice cream, then went to Granny’s.
Emily forced a smile.
— I see… Dad and I will have a talk later.
Her thoughts rattled like rain against a window. Everything was clear before she even got home.
The spa trip had been a reward for outstanding work—her first break without her husband or child. But her stomach troubles had persisted, and the treatment was necessary. Alex had promised he’d manage. Emily had doubted but gone anyway… and regretted it.
Before she left, she’d noticed his smile had changed—smug, distant. She’d brushed it off.
Now it all fell into place.
Late that night, Alex finally called:
— Hey, my phone died… Everything’s fine. We’re staying at Mum’s.
— Oh, at Mum’s? Funny… because I’m at home. In our bedroom. Oliver’s in his room. Are you in the wardrobe?
He hung up. Forty minutes later, he was at the door.
— No scenes. You’d have found out anyway. I didn’t want you knowing about Laura,— he said calmly.
Emily listened in disbelief—he wasn’t apologising. He was explaining, coolly, how he’d brought his mistress to his mother’s, introduced their son, tested if she’d “fit into their lives.”
— Are you out of your mind?— she whispered.
— Didn’t think you’d be back early,— he shrugged.
She cried. He said nothing. Then went to bed.
Morning came—nursery drop-off, tears, distrust, the dull ache of betrayal.
Emily couldn’t take it. She went to Margaret’s.
— Why did you do this? I nursed you, helped you, broke my back at your cottage—and this is my thanks?
Margaret looked away.
— I’m sorry… I really didn’t know before you left. After that… I couldn’t go against my son.
That evening, Alex was back.
— Divorce is happening. We need to talk about splitting the flat.
— The flat my father left me? The one I owned before we married?
— I put money into it.
— Your mother’s money, not yours. Consider it her renovating her grandson’s home.
— I want my share!
— You’ll get your freedom. That’s enough.
Alex’s face twisted. He shouted. Oliver woke in tears. Then he stormed out.
The divorce went through. He couldn’t claim the flat.
A year passed.
Alex saw Oliver less and less. His new wife, Laura, wasn’t as “easygoing” as he’d thought. Margaret tried reaching out to Emily—with no luck.
Emily sold the flat, packed their things, and moved to Brighton—where, for the first time in years, she felt alive.
There, she started over. No Alex. No betrayal. Just her and her son.