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

James said he was off on a work trip, but I found his car parked outside my best friends flat.

Did you remember your charger? And the stomach tablets? You know how they feed you on these trips youll need them, and I wont be there to look after you.

Ive got them, Ive got them! Emily, why are you treating me like a child? Im not heading to the Arctic, just up to York for three days. Ill file the report, attend a couple of meetings, then Im back. Let me go, the cab has been waiting five minutes, the meters ticking.

James fumbled with the zip on his travel bag, the fabric catching, the metal snapping louder each time until it finally closed. He looked frantic, as if he feared missing the last train of his life. Emily stood in the hallway, her shoulder leaning against the doorframe, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Ten years of marriage. Ten years of seeing him off on these trips, each one tightening her chest a little more.

Give me a ring when you get to the hotel, she said, tugging his coat collar. And dont push too hard on the motorway they warned about black ice.

Im on the train, love, remember? I left the car at home; the suspensions rattling, I dont want to risk it. Kiss, he whispered, a breath of fresh perfume and mint gum, grabbing his bag and bolting out. The lock clicked, sealing him off from the cosy flat. Emily exhaled, listening to his footsteps fade down the stairs as the lift rumbled away.

Silence settled over the flat the particular kind that arrives when the loudest person in the house has just stepped out. Emily drifted into the kitchen, poured herself a cooling cup of tea. Three days. Time for herself, perhaps a book shes never managed to finish, a face mask, maybe a catchup with friends.

Speaking of friends, James had just reminded her of Sophie. Sophie had been Emilys schoolyard confidante, sharing exams, first crushes, Emilys wedding, and Sophies rough divorce two years earlier. Sophie lived a few blocks away, in a new apartment block with tidy courtyards.

Emily glanced at the clock. Saturday, noon. No pressing errands. Maybe pop over to Sophies for a girls night while James was away? She reached for her phone, then changed her mind. Sophie had been complaining of migraines and work fatigue, saying she wanted to sleep in on the weekend. Better not disturb her with a call; a stroll to the nearby shopping centre and a little treat might be enough.

She slipped on sensible boots the weather was a damp November drizzle and stepped out. The city breathed its busy life around her.

The bus took her to the mall. She wandered the stores, bought a soft cashmere scarf the colour of dusty rose. Her mood lifted. As she left the mall she thought of cutting through the courtyards of Sophies block. Just walk by, she told herself. If theres light in the windows, maybe Ill ring. If not, Ill head home.

Sophies courtyard was upscale: a gate, wellkept flowerbeds that somehow looked tidy even in November, and a line of glossy foreign cars. Emily walked slowly, eyeing the vehicles. She loved cars, having driven a few herself.

Her gaze landed on a row of parked rides: a black BMW, a red Mini Cooper, a silver Toyota Camry She slowed. The silver Camry looked exactly like Jamess. Even the nicksized dent on the rear bumper, the one hed scraped a month ago at the supermarket, sat in the same spot.

Her heart missed a beat, then thudded low in her throat.

No, it cant be, she whispered. Camrys are common, thousands on the road. That dent could be a coincidence.

She stepped closer, feeling her fingers grow cold. The plate read AB7 CDE. James had always joked that those letters brought him luck in business.

AB7 CDE.

It was his car.

Emily froze, as if rooted to the spot. James had said hed taken the train, that the car was broken, that he was heading to York. Yet the car sat here, at the doorstep of her best friend.

First thought: maybe hed stopped by Sophies to drop something off? But hed left the house three hours ago. In three hours you could drop off a dozen parcels and still make the train.

She pressed her hand to the warm hood; the engine had been turned off not long ago, perhaps half an hour. He wasnt at the station. He was here.

With shaking fingers she dialled Jamess number. The line rang, a long, drawnout tone that seemed to hammer against her ears.

Hello, Emily? Jamess voice came bright, though a faint static hissed in the background. Why are you calling? Everything okay?

Nothing, she said, keeping her voice steady. Just checking you did catch the train? Hows it going?

Yep, were off! he replied cheerfully. The carriage is old and noisy, but Ill try to nap. Signals bad, I might disappear for a while. Ill call from the hotel tonight.

A noisy carriage? Emily repeated, staring at the dark windows of the Camry. Sounds quiet to me.

Just got moving, the wheels are rattling. Batterys low, Im out of juice, talk later!

He hung up. Emily stood in the courtyard, phone clenched until her knuckles turned white. He had lied, blatantly, without a hint of plausible sound.

She lifted her gaze. The fifthfloor windows of Sophies were dark, curtains drawn tight even though daylight still lingered. Sophie usually loved sunlight; it perked her up.

Something snapped inside Emily. The thin thread of trust that had held ten years of marriage and decades of friendship together frayed, leaving only a ringing emptiness and a fierce anger that demanded release.

She could have turned and gone home, changed the locks, packed his things. But that felt insufficient. She needed faces, eyes, a witness to the betrayal.

She hurried to the entrance. She knew the intercom code by heart, but she didnt have a key. She dialled Sophies flat.

The line buzzed, long and patient. No answer. Someone else must have needed the intercom more.

A young mother pushed a pram out of the building. Emily slipped past her.

Thanks, she whispered, slipping inside.

The lift creaked up to the fifth floor, moving sluggishly. Emily watched her own reflection in the mirrored wall: pale, eyes wide, the dustyrose scarf now a constricting garland.

She stopped at door 54, pressed her ear to the wood. Silence. She pressed the buzzer.

A rustle, then soft steps.

Whos there? Sophies voice was cautious.

Sophie, its me, Emily! she called, trying to sound upbeat. I was just passing by and thought Id drop in! Open up, Ive brought a cake! (There was no cake, but it mattered little.)

A long, heavy pause. A whisper could be heard behind the door.

Emily Im not dressed, and Im feeling a bit ill, maybe contagious. Perhaps another time?

Dont be ridiculous! Emily pressed the buzzer again, longer this time. Just a minute, Ive got your migraine pills. Open the door, dont keep a friend hanging!

The lock clicked. The door cracked open a sliver. Sophies face appeared, dishevelled, no makeup, a red patch on her neck, a silk dressing gown hanging loosely over her shoulders.

Emily, I look terrible she began.

Open up, Sophie! Emilys voice hardened. Or Ill keep ringing until the neighbours call the police.

Sophies eyes widened, the chain on the door clattered and fell. The door swung fully open.

Emily stepped into the hall. The familiar scent of Jamess aftershave hit her nose, mingling with coffee and something sweet.

Come in, then, Sophie said, smoothing her gown, trying to hide the chaos behind her.

Emily moved past her without removing her boots, pushing the friend aside.

Nothing to see here, Im not an inspector. Just want a cuppa.

In the entry stood a pair of polished black mens shoes, the very ones James used when he travelled to York. A coat hung on a peg.

Thats yours? Emily asked, gesturing to the shoes.

Sophies face went pale.

Its the plumber! Hes in the bathroom fixing a leak.

The plumber in Ralph Ringer boots worth fifteen grand? Emily chuckled. Plumbers make good money these days.

She stepped into the sitting room. Two halffilled glasses of wine and a plate of fruit rested on the coffee table. A mens shirt lay crumpled on the sofa.

James! Emily called loudly. Come out! The plumber needs to hand in his report on the business trip!

Silence. Sophie began to sob behind her.

Emily, please go away well explain everything

Emily walked to the bedroom door, which was shut.

Ill count to three, she announced. If you dont let him out, Ill smash that vase and wreck this flat. One.

Emily, stop! Sophie clutched her arm. Dont be foolish! He he just came to help!

Help with the robe? Emily replied, two.

The bedroom door swung open. James stood there, only in jeans, shirt off, looking like a frightened cat caught with cream on its paws.

Emily, youve got it all wrong, he began, the classic line of every guilty lover.

Emily stared at the man who had shared a bed, a budget, future plans, and the lie about the train just an hour ago.

Seriously? she asked calmly. How was I supposed to know? Youre in York, on a work trip, and here you are, a hologram? An astral projection visiting my best friends flat?

James took a step forward, hands outstretched.

Emily, lets talk calmly, at home, not here. Ill get dressed and well drive off.

No, Emily cut him short. Well talk here. I want Sophie to hear too. Shes the best friend, she deserves to know.

She sank into a chair, leaving her street shoes on the polished floor, mud staining the bright carpet, but she didnt mind.

Tell me, have you two had a longstanding plumbing club? she asked.

Sophie curled into the corner, clutching her gown.

Six months, Sophie whispered, voice trembling.

Six months, Emily repeated. So when I was consoling you after your divorce, telling you youd find a decent man, you were already with my husband?

It was an accident! Sophie wailed. I was lonely, and he understood me! Youre always busy with work, Id bring groceries, fix shelves A spark lit!

A spark, Emily echoed. And mine just burnt out? James, you said everything was fine, we were planning a child, saving for a cottage. Youve been lying for half a year?

James lowered his head.

I never wanted to hurt you. I got tangled. Sophie shes easy. Youre always serious, full of plans. I wanted a bit of fun.

Fun? Emily rose, anger cold and calculated, filling her to the brim. Fine, Ill give you a holiday. The most unforgettable one.

She fished out her phone.

What are you doing? James gasped.

Im texting your mother, Margaret. She always praised Sophie, saying Sophie, youre such a diligent, gentle soul. I think shell love hearing that her favourite daughterinlaw is now Sophie.

Dont! James lunged. My mother!

My heart? Emily shot back. Ive given you ten years. I waited for every business trip, treated your ulcer, listened to your boss complaints. And youre partying in my friends bedroom?

She typed quickly and hit send.

Done. Margaret knows everything. You have one hour to collect your stuff from our flat. Leave the keys in the post box. If I come home and see even a single sock, Ill burn it in the living room.

This is my flat too! James protested.

No, love. The flat was bought by my parents before we married. Youre only on the lease. Ill sort it legally later. For now out.

Where would I go? he whined. My mother would kill me. Renting now is pricey

Stay here! Emily grinned, pointing at Sophie. Shes got wine, fruit, a spark. Live together! She doesnt cook, youre on a diet. Love will digest everything, right?

Sophie hiccupped.

He cant stay! My mothers arriving next week, shes oldfashioned, she wont understand!

Thats your problem, Emily said, heading for the door. Sort out your mums, diets, sparks.

She paused in the hallway, looked at Jamess shoes, then at his coat. She tossed the coat onto the floor, wiped her feet on it, and said lightly, Oops, slipped on it. Accidents happen, just like your little spark.

She slammed the door shut, the sound echoing down the stairwell. Her knees trembled as adrenaline drained, leaving a dull ache mixed with a strange sense of release.

She stepped into the courtyard. The Toyota Camry still sat by the entrance, a symbol of betrayal. Emily took the tiny, jagged key from her bag and ran it along the cars edge, from the front headlamp to the rear taillight. A deep, ugly scratch ran through the silver paint, squeaking with each swipe.

Memory of the business trip, she murmured.

The alarm wailed, the courtyard filling with frantic beeps. Emily didnt look back. She walked toward the bus stop, wrapped in her dustyrose scarf.

Later, like a robot, she gathered Jamess belongings only the essentials and tossed the rest into garbage bags, placing them in the hallway. She changed the lock, using a spare shed bought a year ago when shed lost the original key.

Night fell, phones rang: James, Sophie, Margaret. Emily silenced them, poured herself a glass of the wine shed saved for a special occasion. The moment had arrived.

Soon, pounding came at the door.

Emily! Open up! Hand over my stuff! I have rights! Jamess voice was slurred, angry.

The stuff is in the hallway! she shouted back. Take it and leave! The police have been called!

It was a bluff, but it worked. James kicked the door, grabbed the bags, and stalked off.

The next morning Emily awoke to a quiet flat. No snoring, no need to cook two breakfasts. The emptiness in her chest was a hole the size of a decade, but the air felt cleaner.

She brewed tea, stepped onto the balcony. The city was waking. Life went on.

A week later she filed for divorce. The process was swift; there were no children, few assets. James tried to win her back, showing up at work with flowers, swearing hed ended things with Sophie. Sophie sent long apologies, saying shed lost both a friend and a man in two days.

Emily deleted the messages, feeling no need to reply. Those people were now part of the noisy carriage that had left her behind.

Six months on, Emily earned a promotion. She booked a twoweek seaside break at a nice resort. At the airport, as she waited to board, she saw a familiar silhouette: James, looking worn, older, with a woman berating him for forgetting the tickets.

Emily smiled, adjusted her sunglasses, and walked past, toward her gate. She was flying toward a new life one without lies, betrayal, or cheap drama.

Sophie, they say, still lives alone in that nicely refurbished flat. Every time she spots a silver Camry through the window, she flinches. But that, dear reader, is another tale.

If you liked the story, give it a like and subscribe so you dont miss more reallife tales. Tell us in the comments: could you ever forgive a friend like that?