The Terrible Truth About My Husband
In a quiet village nestled in the Yorkshire Dales, where the warmth of summer faded into the cool evening breeze, Emily sat on the porch of her old stone cottage with her friend Charlotte, sipping chilled lemonade. A heavy unease weighed on Emily’s heart, and she could no longer stay silent.
“Charlie, I can’t bear it any longer,” she began, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. “James has been acting so oddly lately—I can hardly stand it.”
“Oddly? How so?” Charlotte set her glass down, her brow furrowing.
“He slips away to take calls in another room. He’s been staying overnight at his mother’s, claiming she’s unwell,” Emily’s voice trembled. “But the worst of it happened last week when we were driving back from the market.”
Charlotte leaned closer, curiosity sharpening. Emily drew a shaky breath and confessed all that had been tormenting her. As her friend listened, her expression darkened with dread.
The heat lingered, and James was already an hour late. Emily tried his phone repeatedly, but it was switched off. Pacing the garden, her mind conjured the worst.
“What if something’s happened to him?” she blurted, clutching her mobile.
“Like what?” Charlotte asked calmly.
“I don’t know! A car accident, or—don’t make me imagine it, I feel sick enough already!” Emily snapped.
“Hey, don’t take it out on me,” Charlotte replied gently.
“Sorry,” Emily sighed. “You were right about James acting strangely. He says his secrecy is work-related, but last week he insisted his mother was ill and needed him. Then yesterday, she rang while we were in the car. He put her on speaker, and she shrieked that he hadn’t visited in a month!”
Emily fell silent, her eyes brimming with tears. Charlotte frowned.
“He claims she’s forgetful, but she sounded perfectly well. And she asked him to pass on greetings to some ‘Lizzie.’ When I asked who that was, he brushed it off, saying she meant me.”
“Maybe she just got the name wrong,” Charlotte offered.
“Maybe,” Emily muttered, but doubt gnawed at her.
Just then, James’s car rolled into the drive. Emily leapt up, knocking over her chair, and rushed to him.
“Where have you been? I’ve been frantic! Your phone was off!” she cried, pulling him into a hug.
Charlotte gave James a curt nod as she passed. “Evening,” she said coolly. Their mutual dislike was plain.
“You know I switch it off at the office—I must’ve forgotten to turn it back on,” James said airily. “What’s for supper?”
“You work so much, darling. Don’t you think it’s time we spent more of it together?” Emily teased.
“Sorry, love—career comes first,” he laughed, though his tone felt distant.
A week later, they took their spaniel, Oliver, for a walk by the river. James threw a stick, but the dog returned it to Emily.
“Does he even see me as his master?” James grumbled.
“Don’t be silly. I raised him from a pup. You’re never home—he barely knows you,” Emily replied.
James opened his mouth to retort, but his phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he stepped away.
“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up,” he called.
Emily wandered far along the bank with Oliver, but James never reappeared. Returning home, she found him and his car gone. His phone was off again. A cold dread settled in her chest. She rang Charlotte.
Living just down the lane, Charlotte arrived with her husband and son in tow. Over tea, Emily poured out her fears.
“Could he be hiding an illness?” Charlotte suggested.
“He’s never had so much as a cold,” Emily dismissed.
“Then I’m sorry, but it sounds like an affair,” Charlotte said bluntly. “Why else vanish, switch off his phone?”
“Has he tired of me so quickly?” Emily whispered. “How do I know for sure?”
“Ask him outright,” Charlotte shrugged.
James returned at dawn, creeping into bed, thinking Emily slept. But she was wide awake.
“Where were you? Is there someone else?” she demanded.
James burst out laughing, wiping tears from his eyes.
“An affair? You’re more than enough trouble!” he chuckled.
Emily was stunned. His laughter felt like a slap. Lying awake, she wondered—what did she really know of him? They’d met at a festival, but where he worked, who his friends were—it was all a mystery. She knew he had a mother, yet she’d never met her.
“Who is he?” she thought suddenly.
Grabbing her laptop, she searched online. James’s social media was barren, but she found a woman with the same surname—Elizabeth. The profile was old, yet it mentioned her marriage to a William. Without hesitation, Emily messaged: “Is this your husband?” and attached James’s photo.
The reply came instantly: “Yes. Has something happened? He told me he was helping a friend.”
Emily laughed bitterly and typed: “Your husband’s fine, asleep in my bed. His friend is well too. He’ll be home soon.”
At last, she understood—she was the other woman. Now it all made sense: his laughter, his disappearances, his lies. James had been living a double life, and she had been part of the deceit.
At sunrise, she shook him awake, her gaze icy.
“Pack your things and leave,” she said firmly. “You’re no longer welcome here.”
James stammered excuses, but Emily shut the door. Her heart ached, but she knew—the truth had set her free. Now, she would start again, without lies or betrayal.