Rushed Goodbyes: A Quick Farewell from the Car and the Journey Back Home…

**Diary Entry: A Hasty Goodbye**

I stepped out of the car and bid my lover a tender farewell before heading home. As I reached the flat, I lingered outside for a moment, turning over in my mind how to break the news to my wife. I climbed the stairs, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

“Hello,” I called out. “Are you home, Emily?”
“I am,” came her indifferent reply. “Hello. Shall I start frying the chops?”
I steeled myselfthis was the moment. I had to be direct, firm, the way a man ought to be. It was time to end this double life before my lovers kisses lost their warmth, before I was swallowed again by the dullness of routine.

“Emily,” I cleared my throat, “we need to separate.”
She took the news with unsettling calm. Emily had always been unshakableso much so Id privately nicknamed her “Frosty Emily.”

“Really?” she said from the kitchen doorway. “So, no chops then?”
“Whatever you prefer,” I replied. “Fry them if you like, dont if you dont. Im leaving. Theres someone else.”
Most wives would have thrown something at their husband by now. But Emily wasnt most wives.

“Right, your usual nonsense,” she said. “Did you fetch my boots from the cobblers?”
“No,” I faltered. “If it matters, Ill go get them now!”
“Oh, Thomas,” she sighed. “Send a fool on an errand, and hell come back with rubbish.”
I bristled. This wasnt going as planned. Where was the drama? The emotion? But what else could I expect from a woman called Frosty Emily?

“Emily, are you even listening?” I snapped. “Im leaving. Im moving in with another woman, and all you care about are boots!”
“Fine,” she said. “Unlike me, you can go wherever you please. Your boots arent at the cobblers. Youve got nothing tying you down.”
Wed been together years, yet I still couldnt tell if she was serious or sarcastic. Back then, Id fallen for her because she was steadyconflict-avoidant, sparing with words. Her domestic skills and looks hadnt hurt either.

Emily was solid, loyal, and cold as an anchor. But now I loved another. A forbidden, burning passion! It was time to draw a line and start fresh.

“Emily, Im grateful for everything, but Im leaving. I love someone else, not you.”
“What a shock,” she said dryly. “You dont love megroundbreaking. My mother fancied the neighbour, my father loved dominoes and whisky. Look how I turned out.”
Arguing with Emily was like wrestling fog. My conviction wavered; I didnt want a row.

“You’re wonderful, Emily,” I said, resigned. “But Im madly in love with someone else. Im leavingunderstand?”
“Someone else?” She tilted her head. “Is it Charlotte Dawson?”
I froze. A year ago, Id had a fling with Charlottebut how did Emily know?

“How did you?” I began, then stopped. “Never mind. Its not her.”
Emily yawned.

“Then it must be Sophie Carter. Planning to move in with her?”
A chill ran down my spine. Sophie had been another indiscretion. If Emily knew, why had she stayed silent? Of courseshe was iron; nothing could crack her.

“No, not Sophie or Charlotte. Its someone elsethe woman of my dreams. I cant live without her, and Im going. Dont try to stop me!”
“Then its Sarah,” Emily muttered. “Honestly, Thomas youre terrible at secrets. Your dream woman is Sarah Whitmore. Thirty-five, one child, two miscarriages Am I right?”
I clutched my head. Shed nailed itSarah Whitmore was the one.

“But how?” I stammered. “Did someone tell you? Were you following me?”
“Simple, Thomas,” she said. “Im a gynaecologist. Ive examined nearly every woman in this town, while youve only managed a few. It didnt take much to catch you out.”
I straightened up.

“Fine, youve got me! But even if it is Sarah, Im still leaving.”
“Youre an idiot, Thomas,” Emily said. “You couldve at least asked me first! Theres nothing special about Sarahsame as the others, medically speaking. Seen your muses records?”
“N-no,” I admitted.
“Right. Go shower. Tomorrow, Ill arrange an appointment with Dr. Wilsonno waiting. Then well talk. Its not normala doctors husband picking such an unhealthy fling!”
“What should I do?” I asked, defeated.
“Ill fry the chops,” Emily said. “You go shower and do whatever you like. If you want a flawless muse, no complications, talk to me. I can recommend someone”