Irina stood by the window, watching the heavy London snow fall over the city. The phone call with her husband was coming to an end – just another ordinary, everyday conversation, like countless others in their fifteen years of marriage.

Elizabeth stood by the window, watching the thick London snow fall over the city. Her phone call with her husband was drawing to a closejust another ordinary, everyday conversation, one of countless theyd shared in their fifteen years of marriage. George, as usual, was reporting on his “business trip” to Manchester: everything was fine, the meetings were going to plan, hed be back in three days.

“Alright, love, talk soon,” Elizabeth said, moving the phone from her ear to press the red end-call button. But then something stopped her. On the other end, she heard a womans voice, light and youthful:

“Georgie, are you coming? Ive already run the bath…”

Elizabeths hand froze mid-air. Her heart skipped a beat, then hammered against her ribs as if trying to escape. She quickly pressed the phone back to her ear, but all she heard was the dull toneGeorge had already hung up.

She sank into the armchair, her legs suddenly unsteady. Her mind raced: “Georgie A bath What bath on a business trip?” Memories of the past few months flashed through her headhis frequent trips, the late-night calls he always took on the balcony, the new cologne shed noticed in his car.

With trembling hands, she opened her laptop. Logging into his email was easyshed known the password since the days when trust and honesty were the foundation of their marriage. Tickets, hotel bookings A “honeymoon suite” in a five-star Manchester hotel. For two.

In his inbox, she found the correspondence. Rebecca. Twenty-six. Fitness instructor. “Darling, I cant do this anymore. You promised youd leave her three months ago. How much longer do I have to wait?”

Elizabeth felt sick. A memory surfacedtheir first date, back when George was just a junior manager and she was a junior accountant. Theyd saved for their wedding while renting a tiny flat, celebrating small victories and supporting each other through setbacks. Now he was a successful commercial director, she the head accountant of the same companyand between them stretched a chasm fifteen years wide, with a twenty-six-year-old Rebecca on the other side.

In the hotel room, George paced angrily.

“Why did you do that?” His voice shook with fury.

Rebecca lounged on the bed, wrapped in a silk robe, her long blonde hair spilling across the pillow.

“Whats the big deal?” She stretched like a contented cat. “You said you were going to leave her anyway.”

“I decide when and how that happens!” he snapped. “Do you have any idea what youve done? Elizabeth isnt stupidshell figure it out!”

“Good!” Rebecca sat up sharply. “Im tired of being your secret, hidden away in hotels. I want to go to restaurants with you, meet your friends, be your wife, for Gods sake!”

“Youre acting like a child,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“And youre acting like a coward!” She jumped up and marched toward him. “Look at me! Im young, beautiful, I can give you children. What can she do? Just count your money?”

George grabbed her shoulders. “Dont you dare talk about Elizabeth like that! You know nothing about herabout us!”

“I know enough,” she spat, wrenching free. “I know youre unhappy. That shes buried in work and chores. When was the last time you two were intimate? Or even went on holiday together?”

George turned to the window. Somewhere in snow-covered London, their marriage was crumbling. Fifteen years of shared life collapsing like a house of cards, all because of one careless phrase from a spoiled girl.

Elizabeth sat in the darkened kitchen, cradling a cold cup of tea. Her phone showed dozens of missed calls from George. She hadnt answered. What was there to say? “Darling, I heard your mistress calling you to her bath”?

Her mind replayed snapshots of their life together: George down on one knee in a crowded restaurant, slipping a ring onto her finger. The cramped one-bedroom flat theyd saved for in a quiet suburb. Him holding her when she lost her mother. Celebrating his promotion

Then came the endless overtime, the mortgages, the renovations

When had they last talked honestly? When had they curled up on the sofa watching films? When had they last made plans for the future?

Her phone buzzed again. A message this time: “Liz, lets talk. I can explain.”

Explain what? That shed grown old? That shed become lost in routine? That a twenty-six-year-old fitness instructor understood his needs better?

Elizabeth walked to the mirror. Forty-two. Wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, grey roots she dyed every month. When had the tiredness crept in? When had their lives become mere schedules, a never-ending chase for stability?

“George, where have you been?” Rebecca demanded when he returned to the hotel room after yet another failed attempt to reach his wife.

“Not now,” he sighed, loosening his tie as he slumped into a chair.

“Yes, now!” She planted her hands on her hips. “I want to know what happens next. You do realize you have to make a choice now, dont you?”

George looked at herconfident, vibrant, full of energy. Elizabeth had been like that fifteen years ago. God, how had he let this happen?

“Rebecca,” he rubbed his face, exhausted. “Youre right. Its time to decide.”

She beamed, rushing to him. “Darling! I knew youd do the right thing!”

“Yes,” he gently pushed her away. “This has to end.”

“What?!” She recoiled as if struck.

“It was a mistake,” he stood. “I love my wife. Yes, we have problems. Yes, weve grown apart. But I cantwontthrow away everything weve built.”

“You you coward!” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“No, Rebecca. I was the coward when I started this. When I lied to the woman whos shared fifteen years of my lifejoy, grief, victories, losses. Youre rightIm not happy. But happiness isnt something you find on the side. Its something you build.”

The knock came just past midnight. Elizabeth knew it was himhed caught the first flight back.

“Liz, please open the door,” his muffled voice pleaded through the wood.

She did. George stood on the thresholdunshaven, his suit wrinkled, guilt in his eyes.

“Can I come in?”

Silently, she stepped aside. They walked to the kitchenthe place where theyd once dreamed together, where theyd made their biggest decisions.

“Liz”

“Dont,” she raised a hand. “I know everything. Rebecca, twenty-six, fitness instructor. I read your emails.”

He nodded, speechless.

“Why, George?”

He was silent for a long time, staring out at the city.

“Because I was weak. Because I was scared wed become strangers. Because she reminded me of youthe old you, full of energy and dreams.”

“And now?”

“Now” He turned to her. “Now I want to fix this. If youll let me.”

“What about her?”

“Its over. I realised I cant lose you. I dont want to. Liz, I know I dont deserve forgiveness. But lets try again? Well see a therapist, spend more time together, become who we used to be”

Elizabeth studied her husbandolder now, greying, painfully familiar. Fifteen years wasnt just a number. It was shared memories, private jokes, the comfort of silence between them. It was knowing how to forgive.

“I dont know, George,” she cried for the first time that evening. “I just dont know”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she didnt pull away. Outside, snow blanketed London in white.

And somewhere in Manchester, a young woman wept, facing a harsh truth for the first time: real love wasnt passion or romance. It was a choiceone you had to make every day.

Meanwhile, in that quiet kitchen, two weary people tried to piece their lives back together. Ahead lay a long roadthrough anger and distrust, through therapy and painful conversations, through relearning each other. But they both knew: sometimes, you had to lose something to understand its worth.