She Needs a Married Man

April 12
We settled onto the sofa after a long day, Ethel nudging, Shall we at least go to the cinema this weekend? The thought of spending time together felt like a promise to revive the closeness we once had. I glanced at my phone, eyes never leaving the screen, and replied, Sorry, love, Im tied up. Mums roof is leaking again and winters on its way. Ill be stuck there all weekend, sorting it out. I didnt even look up from the social feed.

She smiled politely, hiding the disappointment that flashed in her eyes. Inside, a cold knot formed, but she brushed it away.

Friday evening, as I walked my motherinlaw to her house, she caught sight of my new trousers and the shirt shed given me for my birthdayan expensive piece from a highstreet store. Youre heading up on the roof, arent you? she asked, eyeing the outfit. Wont the mud and tar ruin it? I fumbled, Ill change there, mums got work overalls in the shed. No need to worry about the clothes. I snatched the car keys and was out the door.

She kissed me goodbye, the ritual wed kept through five years of marriage, and I hugged her a little too quickly, eager to leave. When the door shut behind me, I felt a sudden, unnameable shift between us.

That night I collapsed onto the bed, the scent of my aftershave still clinging to the pillow. In the past two months Id grown distantless affectionate, longer at work, quieter at home. The signs pointed to one thing: a betrayal. A new woman must be in my life. I tried to deny it, telling myself it was merely work stress, the autumn blues.

Ethel whispered to the pillow, Its just fatigue, love. Hes just tired. She recalled how, just yesterday, Id told her I loved her, that she was the best thing that ever happened to me, words Id repeated almost mechanically. She knew people change, but she held onto the belief that I, her James Whitaker, would not stray after five years, after dreaming of children and a quiet old age together.

Saturday morning she headed to the supermarket early, the shop still quiet. She filled a cart with my favourite roast beef, fresh veg for a salad, and even a pricey cut of salmon wed only splurged on for special occasions. She spent the afternoon cooking a hearty stew, meatballs enriched with a splash of cream, just as my motherinlaw, Margaret, had taught her. She packed everything into containers, deciding to deliver the feast to Margarets cottage because Id told her Mum would be out all day and Id be up on the roof until nightfall.

The drive out of town took about forty minutes on the A1, then a few rougher miles on country lanes to the small village where Margaret lived in a cosy, slightly ramshackle house with a big garden. When Ethel turned into the familiar leafy gate, there was no sign of my car in the driveway. She peeked through the gate and saw the cottage roof newly shingledmetal tiles gleaming in the autumn sun, fresh gutters installed. Margaret, in an old robe, was humming while tending the garden.

Ethel slipped back into her car and drove away, the food never reaching the table. The hurt and betrayal clenched her heart; I had lied, brazenly and selfishly. She tried to rationaliseperhaps the roof work had finished early, perhaps Id gone to pick up suppliesbut the brandnew roof told a different story; it hadnt been replaced yesterday or the day before.

Sunday evening I returned, weary but with a faint scent of a strangers perfume clinging to my jacket. What a day, I muttered at the doorway, slipping off my boots without meeting her gaze. She nodded from the kitchen, noting every detail. Lets visit Mum next weekend, shall we? Id like to talk to her, catch up. I hesitated, then grudgingly agreed, rubbing the back of my necka nervous habit of mine.

The week passed. I went to work as usual, came home, avoided her eyes, and turned my back to the wall in bed. Saturday dawned bright and warm. We drove in silence, my hands drumming on the steering wheel, adjusting the rearview mirror constantly. Ethel stared out at the golden fields, rehearsing how to confront me.

At Margarets kitchen table, the woman bustled as alwayslaying out salads, slicing bread, pulling pickles from the pantry. I sat stiff, barely touching my food. Ethel broke the silence, Mum, hows the new roof? James said you had it redone just last weekend. Must have cost a pretty penny.

A heavy hush fell. Margaret frowned, looking first at me then at Ethel, confused. What roof? We had it replaced back in June when you two were on holiday. I even called you about the colour of the tiles

I tried to interject, Mum, youre mixing things up, but my voice trembled. Margaret blurted, Oh dear, Im sorry, lovegot my roofs tangled. I meant the old one, James patched it a little over the weekend

Ethels eyes narrowed. No more lies, James. Ive pieced it together. She turned to me, her voice steady. Are you seeing someone else?

I mumbled incoherently, eyes fixed on my plate, fists clenching under the table. I stood, legs barely supporting me, but forced myself upright. I didnt expect this from you, Ethel. Weve always been open If theres someone else, I should have told you. I could have divorced without drama.

Margaret, flustered, rose and shouted, James, men do slip up! Youll be fine. Everyone cheats now and then. Forgive him, dear.

Ethel shook her head. Thats not something I can forgive. James, stay with your mother; Ill collect your things in the coming days. Dont come back.

I lunged, grabbed her wrist at the gate, pleading, Please, Ethel! It was a lapse, an illusionI didnt mean any of it! She means nothing to me!

She pulled away, tears glistening, but refused to cry aloud. You lied and betrayed me. Whether it was an eclipse or Mercury retrograde, it doesnt matter. You broke our family, and I wont forgive.

She walked to the bus stop, never looking back. I stood there, head bowed, while Margaret muttered about youthful passion and the way things sort themselves out.

The next day I packed my belongingsclothes, a razor, the comicbook mug Id kept since the first year we lived togetherinto boxes. I delivered them to Margarets cottage, where she tried once more to sway Ethel, tears softening her cheeks. Think it over, love. He can come back. Youve been together five years!

Ethels reply was firm. Im filing for divorce on Monday. No more ties. Please, dont call.

I lingered at the doorway, a crumpled Tshirt hanging on my back, while she walked away for good.

The divorce was swift; there were no children, no joint assetsour flat had been hers before we married, so there was little to split. I asked for a meeting through a solicitor; she declined.

Three months later, over a coffee at a café near work, I ran into Olga, an old acquaintance. Heard about James? she asked, eyes gleeful for gossip.

Id rather not, I replied, but she continued, He was dumped straight after the divorce. Turns out he wanted a married mansome adrenaline, a mystery. Hes now living with his mum, lost his job. A sad sight, honestly.

I shrugged, sipping my tea. Thats no longer my problem.

I stepped out onto the chilly autumn street, the weak sun hanging low. Life moved on, free of lies, free of betrayal, and, most of all, without James Whitaker.

Lesson learned: Honesty is the only foundation any relationship can stand on; once broken, trust cannot be rebuilt, and the cost is always borne by those we love most.