My Husband Said He Was off on a Business Trip, But I Spotted His Car Outside My Best Friend’s Flat!

23April2025 London

Ive always prided myself on being punctual, the sort who never lets a train slip past the platform. This morning I told Emma I was heading off on a threeday business trip to Manchester, saying Id leave the car at home because the suspension was making a racket. Take the train, love, she said, adjusting my coat collar. Dont push it on the motorway theyve warned of black ice. I nodded, kissed her cheek, grabbed my briefcase and stepped out, the lock clicking shut behind me as if sealing a promise.

The lift groaned down to the ground floor, and the hallway fell into that peculiar silence that settles when the louder half of a household walks out. Emma drifted into the kitchen, poured herself a cooling cup of tea and stared at the clock. Saturday, noon, no pressing plans. She mulled over the idea of popping over to Sophies flat for a girlsnight, but her phone stayed untouched. The weather was that dreary November drizzle that makes London feel like a perpetual puddle, so she slipped on sensible boots and headed out.

She caught a bus to the shopping centre, browsing through aisles until a soft, dustrose cashmere scarf caught her eye. The purchase lifted her spirits. On her way back she took a shortcut through the culdesac in front of Sophies new development a row of tidy terraced houses with manicured flowerbeds, even in November. She thought, Ill just glance at the windows; if theres a light, maybe Ill say hello. If not, Ill be on my way home.

The entrance gate swung open to reveal an array of polished cars. A black BMW, a bright red Mini, and, oddly enough, a silver Toyota Camry that looked exactly like my own the same dent on the rear bumper that Id nicked a month ago when I squeezed into a supermarket car park. The registration plate read VOR377, the one Id always joked brought luck in business.

Emmas breath caught. The car was parked right outside Sophie’s front door. She stared as if the world might rearrange itself and erase the number. It cant be, she mumbled, its just a common model. She walked closer, feeling the chill of the November air seep into her fingers as she traced the plate. The Camrys hood was still warm, as if someone had just turned it off.

Her phone rang my voice came through, bright as ever, Hey love, Im on the train now, its a bit noisy but well catch up later. I hadnt mentioned any stopover, but the background hiss of a moving carriage made the lie sound plausible. Emmas eyes narrowed, the earlier light in them dimming.

She turned to the fifthfloor windows of Sophies flat. The curtains were drawn tight despite the daylight, a habit Sophie had for privacy. Emma felt a thread of trust snap in her mind, leaving a hollow ache where ten years of companionship had lived.

She knocked on the intercom, waiting for a response that never came. A young mother with a pram drifted past, and Emma slipped in, the lift grinding upward, her reflection in the mirrored walls pale, eyes rimmed with the rosecoloured scarf now feeling like a noose.

At door 54 she pressed the buzzer. Who is it? a wary voice asked. Sophie, its Emma. I thought Id drop by for a cuppa, she called out, forcing a cheery tone. A long silence followed, then Sophies muffled answer, Im not really up for visitors Im feeling a bit under the weather. Emma persisted, Just a minute, I brought some medicine for your migraines. The door creaked open a fraction, revealing Sophie in a silk dressing gown, her face flushed and frazzled.

Emma, Im not dressed, she said, voice shaky. You cant just barge in like this. Emmas tone hardened, Either you open fully or Ill be shouting until the neighbours call the police. Sophies eyes widened, the chain on the door clattered as she let it swing wide.

Inside, the smell of my aftershave mixed with stale coffee and something sweet lingered. Beside the hallway stood a pair of polished black mens shoes the same ones Id left by the front door before departing for Manchester. A leather jacket hung on a peg, unmistakably mine. Emma pointed at the shoes. Whose are those? she asked, the question sharp as a blade.

Sophie, I I have a plumber fixing a leak, Sophie stammered, eyes darting to the shoes. Hes a good man, makes a decent living, £1,500 a week. Emma laughed dryly, A plumber with a £1,500 salary and a pair of shoes that match my husbands taste. Interesting.

She stepped further into the living room, where two halffilled glasses of red wine and a bowl of fruit rested on the coffee table. A mens shirt lay draped over the sofa. James! Come out, Emma shouted, voice echoing in the cramped space. The plumber can clock out now.

Silence. Sophie began to sob quietly. Emma, please, dont well explain everything. Emma moved toward the closed bedroom door, voice low, Ill count to three. If he doesnt appear, Ill smash that vase and turn this place upside down. She counted, One

The bedroom door swung open. I stood there in jeans, shirt off, looking as bewildered as a cat caught with its paw in a jam jar. Emma, youve got it all wrong, I began, the classic line of a man caught in a lie.

She stared at me, the man who had shared a bed, split a mortgage, and spoken of starting a family. Seriously? Youre on a train to Manchester, but youre actually in Sophies flat, in a Camry that I just saw outside her door? I tried to explain, Its a hologram, a ghost of me

I took a step forward, hands outstretched. Lets talk somewhere private, not here, not now. Emma cut me off, No, well talk here, and Sophie will hear too. Shes my best friend, and you owe her the truth.

She plonked herself into the armchair, boots still on, mud from the street staining the immaculate carpet. So, tell me about this plumber club of yours? she asked, eyes cold.

Sophie curled into her gown, mumbling, Six months I guess.

Emma repeated, Six months, huh? While I was consoling you after your divorce, you were already?

Sophie, it was an accident! she cried, hysteria cracking her voice. I was lonely, he understood me. Youre always working, always serious. I needed a spark.

Spark, Emma echoed, and mine just burned out? James, you said everything was fine. A baby, a cottage, savings. Youve been lying for half a year?

I hung my head, the weight of my deceit pressing down. I didnt mean to hurt you. I got tangled up. Sophie was easier. I wanted a bit of fun, a break from the pressure.

Fun? Emma snapped, rising, fury sharp as a winter wind. Ill give you a present. Ill write to your mother, Margaret, who always praised Sophie as the perfect daughterinlaw. Shell love to hear that her favourite is now

Dont! I lunged, panic rising. My mother

Do I have a heart? Emma asked, tone icy. Ive given you ten years of loyalty, tended your ulcer, listened to your boss complaints, and you celebrated a night in another womans bedroom?

I fumbled for my phone, fingers trembling. I sent a message to Margaret, then turned to Emma. You have an hour to collect your things. Leave the keys in the letterbox. If I see a single sock of yours in the flat, Ill burn it in the hallway.

James, this is my flat too! I protested.

No, she said, the lease is in my name, my parents money. Youre just a tenant. Ill have the court sort it out. Now, out.

I stared at the doorway, the world shrinking to a single exit. Emma smiled thinly, gesturing toward Sophies living room. Stay if you like, theres wine and fruit. Maybe youll find that spark after all. Just remember, Sophie cant cook, and youre on a diet. Love will digest everything, wont it?

Sophie wailed, He cant stay! My mothers arriving next week, she wont understand this!

Your problem, Emma replied, heading for the stairs. Deal with your mums, diets, and sparks.

In the hallway, I eyed my black shoes, my jacket hanging on the coat rack. I tossed the jacket onto the floor, wiping my feet on it. Oops, slipped, I muttered, as if that explained anything.

I pushed the flat door open with a loud slam and descended the stairwell, knees trembling, adrenaline fading into a dull ache that was oddly freeing. Outside, the silver Camry still sat under the streetlamp, a silent testament to my betrayal.

I walked to the curb, ran my fingers over the cars edge, feeling the deep scratch that ran across the paint a souvenir of the trip I never took. A souvenir from a business trip, I whispered. The alarm blared, echoing through the empty courtyard. I didnt look back; I headed for the bus stop, pulling the rosecoloured scarf tighter around my neck.

Back at my flat, I gathered what I could of my belongings the essentials, the rest tossed into bags for the rubbish heap. I changed the lock, using a spare set Id bought a year ago when Id lost the original keys. The night grew quiet, the phone buzzing with calls from Emma, Sophie, and my mother. I silenced it, poured a glass of the wine Id saved for a special occasion, and watched the city lights flicker on the Thames.

The next morning I woke to an empty house, the familiar snore gone, the kitchen silent. Ten years of routine felt like a hollow echo, but the air seemed cleaner, the sky brighter. I brewed a cup of tea, stepped onto the balcony, and watched London stir awake.

A week later I filed for divorce. The paperwork was swift; there were no children, no shared assets beyond what I could barely claim. James tried to win me back, leaving bouquets at my office, swearing the affair was over. Sophie sent long apologies, claiming shed lost both a friend and a lover. I read them, deleted them, and let the past drift like the noisy carriage that had left me behind.

Six months on, I earned a promotion, booked a twoweek seaside break at a proper resort, and at the airport I spotted James again, older, looking disheveled, arguing with a woman about missing tickets. I smiled, slipped on my sunglasses and walked toward my gate, stepping into a new chapter where deceit, betrayal and cheap drama had no room.

The lesson I take from all this: honesty isnt just a virtue; its the very foundation of a life worth living. If you trade it for a fleeting spark, youll end up alone on a cold platform, watching the world pass you by.