Emily was putting on her lipstick, humming a hopeful tune under her breath. She’d planned a lovely surprise for James—cooking his favorite meal, wearing her best dress, and spending the evening wrapped in warmth and closeness. Then, the doorbell rang. Beaming with anticipation, she rushed to answer, but instead of her husband, a striking woman with an icy smile stood on the doorstep.
“Who are you?” Emily frowned, eyeing the stranger.
“I’m the new owner of this house,” the woman declared with smug confidence, nudging past Emily as if she had every right.
“Excuse me, but this is *my* home!” Emily’s voice trembled with shock.
“Not anymore. It’s mine now,” came the venomous reply.
“What nonsense? What claim do you even have here?” Emily stared, half-convinced she was dreaming.
James had bumped into his first love. Over a decade had passed, but Sarah was even more stunning. Her smile—so familiar, so intoxicating—erased the memory of their painful breakup, his wife, their little girl, and all the years he’d spent with Emily.
A short chat turned into a long walk through the city at dusk. They talked about everything and nothing until they reached Sarah’s flat. As she kissed his cheek goodbye, she whispered,
“Shame you’re married. I’d invite you in otherwise.”
Only then did James snap out of his daze. His phone flashed with missed calls from Emily and texts begging him to pick up formula for their baby.
When he finally got home, he found Emily rocking their daughter. Without looking up, she asked, “Did you get the formula?”
James studied her—worn leggings, a stretched-out jumper, hair hastily piled up. No makeup, none of the polish she used to have.
*She used to take care of herself. Now? Comparing her to Sarah is like night and day,* he thought bitterly.
“I’ve had a long day, and you can’t even say hello?” he snapped.
“Sorry, you’re right,” Emily mumbled guiltily. “Just ran out of formula, and Lily’s poorly. I didn’t have time to pop to the shops.”
“Maybe manage your time better?” he retorted, kicking off his shoes and storming past.
A week later, folding tiny laundry, Emily couldn’t shake her unease. Since Lily’s birth, James had changed—short-tempered, distant. He resented the baby’s cries, her exhaustion, but lately, his jabs had become unbearable. First, he sulked over her “cold welcome,” refused to get the formula, then nitpicked her appearance.
“At least try to look decent! Men don’t fancy ratty jumpers and greasy hair!” he’d sneered.
“Brilliant—watch Lily, I’ll nip to the shower,” Emily had said, hoping to lighten the mood.
“I’m not a babysitter. I’m the breadwinner,” he’d shot back.
Later, he’d added, “A good wife supports her husband, lifts him up. One compliment from you, and I’d move mountains! When was the last time you said anything nice?”
Exhausted, Emily snapped. “Yesterday, I ‘supported’ you fixing the cot. Do it, and you’ll get your compliment.”
Guilt instantly gnawed at her. She hugged James, murmuring, “Sorry, that was harsh. But you hurt me too. Let’s talk after we put Lily down early—”
He shoved her off. Swallowing hurt, Emily kept her voice soft for Lily’s sake.
“I’m sick of your digs. If something’s wrong, say it. If you just want to wind me up or be waited on—the door’s right there.”
James stared, startled. Gentle Emily had never spoken so firmly.
*Where’s the sweet, caring man I fell for?* she wondered.
Silence stretched. Coolly, she added, “Shall I fetch your suitcase?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he muttered, burying himself in his phone.
“Remember—no one’s keeping you. But if you go, go properly,” she said.
Truth was, James had already thought about leaving. Sarah, inviting him over for “coffee,” made her intentions clear. Coffee never happened—passion did. Later, guilt ate at him, but Sarah, curling against him, whispered,
“I’m newly single. It’s our second chance. Divorce her—let’s start fresh. We were meant to be.”
“You left for a ‘better life.’ I wasn’t enough back then,” he reminded her, the old ache resurfacing.
“I was daft,” she sighed. “The better life was *you*. Just leave her, please.”
She kissed him again, and he obliged just to end the conversation.
Walking home, he wavered. *I can’t abandon Emily. She nursed Mum, wrote to me during my service, stood by me job-hunting. And Lily… She ties us tighter than glue. But Sarah—she’s my real love.*
To quiet his conscience, he nitpicked at Emily, then hated himself, fueling fresh resentment.
Her ultimatum hit like ice water. Her resolve stunned him—and he realised *he* wasn’t ready.
*This ends tonight,* he vowed.
Yet Sarah’s beauty and devotion lured him. She cooked lavish meals, cooed over his work woes:
“The whole firm leans on you—why don’t they see it?”
Only her divorce hints grated. Finally, she snapped:
“What’s keeping you? Don’t say the baby—you barely mention her. If you’re spineless, *I’ll* talk to Emily!”
“Don’t!” he panicked. “I can’t just—” He faltered.
She raised an eyebrow. Blurting the first excuse, he said,
“She’s got nothing—no job since maternity leave, worked as a cleaner before. How’ll she manage alone?”
Sarah softened. “Poor thing! You’re so noble, staying for her sake.”
She hugged him, then added,
“Pay child support, help her rent a flat. Then file for divorce!”
“Seems you care more about the papers than *us*,” he joked weakly.
Sarah stiffened. “Yes, I want marriage. Did you think I’d play mistress? It’s humiliating! I’m tolerating this for *you*—for our future. I want our child born in wedlock.”
“*What* child?” he nearly choked. Then he noticed her hand resting pointedly on her stomach.
Panic gave way to giddiness. *A baby—my dream!*
“I’m so happy,” he grinned, squeezing her hand. “Just give me time.”
“Of course,” she purred—too sweetly.
Days later, Emily, reapplying lipstick, hummed cheerfully. After weeks of tension, James had softened, even apologised:
“I was stressed over a big work thing. Sorted now—everything’s looking up.”
“Let’s celebrate! Dinner out?” she suggested, heart lifting at his rare smile.
He hesitated. “Can’t—still swamped. Rain check?”
*Oh no, you’re not dodging this,* she thought, buoyed by his mood.
She plotted a surprise: Lily would stay with a friend, she’d cook something light, wear *that* dress. For extra flair, she bolted the door, imagining James’s knock, her grand reveal.
The bell rang too soon. Emily dashed over, ready to tease, “Early? More time for us!”
But it wasn’t James. The woman looked vaguely familiar. She smirked, eyeing Emily’s legs.
“I’d hide those, not flaunt them.”
“Who *are* you?” Emily tightened her robe.
“The lady of the house,” the woman said, shoving past.
Emily gaped, then grabbed her arm. “You’re mistaken—or mad—but please leave.”
“*I* pity *you*,” the woman fired back. “I’m carrying James’s baby.”
Emily’s hands fell. Everything clicked—his mood swings, sudden cheer. Betrayal choked her speech.
Emboldened, the woman pressed on. “He wanted to spare you. I’m not as patient. As a mum, you’ll understand. You’ll divorce him—no fuss, no home, no money.”
“No home or *money*?” Emily echoed.
“Exactly. James told me about your ‘career’ cleaning offices. My idea: you let him go, he pays child support, rents you a flat. Generous, no?”
Emily nearly laughed at the absurdity.
Misreading her, the woman snarled, “Refuse, and I’ll make him leave you with *nothing*. He’ll listen—I’m his first love.”
Emily suddenly recognised her—*Sarah*, from James’s old photos.
*All this time, we were just placeholders,* she realised grimly.
“So? Agreed?” Sarah demanded.
“Give up James and his assets, take child support? How could I resist?” Emily smiledAs the door closed behind Sarah, Emily picked up her phone, dialed her solicitor, and whispered, “It’s time to rewrite the ending.”
