Shadows of Doubt: A Test of Love
The Saturday morning began like any other. They slept in and had a late breakfast. Emily pondered how to spend her day—whether to visit her friend, who had been inviting her over for ages, or stay home, tidy up, and cook a nice dinner. James was getting ready to meet a mate.
Still undecided, she cleared the table while James slipped into his jeans, trainers, and a light jacket. Lean and fit, he looked younger than his years. Emily smiled at her husband, breathed in the scent of his expensive cologne, and walked him to the door, asking, “Will you be back late?”
James shrugged vaguely, kissed her cheek, and hurried down the stairs. Emily shut the door and returned to the kitchen. Suddenly, a melodic ping sounded—a text had arrived on James’s phone, left forgotten on the hallway shelf.
“Typical!” she thought. “In such a rush he forgot it. Maybe I can catch him?”
She picked up the phone, and the screen lit up with: “Why aren’t you calling? Miss you. Want to see you.”
Emily froze. The letters blurred before her eyes, the meaning sinking in slowly, like poison seeping into her heart. They’d been married seven years. Their daughter, Sophie, a first-grader, had gone to stay with her grandma for the weekend. Everything in their life was perfect—a cosy home, warmth between them. Could this really be the end? Was James cheating? Did he have someone else?
Emily collapsed onto the sofa, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t believe her world was crumbling. Who was this woman? Where had he met her? What did she have that Emily didn’t? Questions swarmed in her mind, tearing at her soul. Wiping her tears, she called her friend and, sobbing, told her what had happened.
Her friend listened, then calmly replied, “We always think it won’t happen to us, and when trouble comes, we’re lost. Calm down, Emily. James loves you. Don’t spiral. Some girl sent a text, and you’re already panicking.”
Her friend invited her over but couldn’t come herself—her husband was at work, and the kids needed her. Gathering her strength, Emily stepped outside. The late September weather was mild, the sun shining, wispy clouds drifting across the sky. Exhausted, she leaned against the bus stop, feeling hollow. She didn’t want to go to her friend’s, but being alone at home was unbearable.
“Good afternoon! Are you Charlotte?” a pleasant male voice asked beside her. Emily looked up. A stranger smiled at her, his warm gaze kind. Tall, handsome.
“You’re just as I imagined,” he continued.
Emily tucked her hair behind her ear and replied without thinking, “And you’re just as I imagined.”
He held out his hand. “Fancy a walk?”
She agreed, unsure why. She had no answers to her questions. They strolled slowly along the avenue in Sunnybrook Park, and the man began to explain—he was single, had found her on a dating site, was thrilled to meet her. Emily listened distractedly, nodding, until he asked, “Has something happened? Or are you disappointed?”
She meant to say he’d mistaken her for someone else, but his phone rang. He answered, glanced at her in surprise, quickly ended the call, and smiled.
“Sorry, I’m not Charlotte,” Emily admitted.
“I figured,” he nodded. “Charlotte just cancelled. So, what’s wrong?”
They sat in a café. Without knowing why, Emily told this stranger about the text. “Imagine it’s a mistake,” he said. “Or someone’s prank. If a man leads a double life, he’d never leave his phone behind. That’s the first thing he watches. Trust me.”
“Have *you* led a double life?” she challenged.
He laughed. “No. But men swap stories. I’ve heard plenty.”
They spent a couple of hours together. Dusk fell. Emily prepared to leave, and he walked her out, urging her not to jump to conclusions. “It’ll all make sense, I’m sure.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Sorry for the deception. I’m not myself today. Do I look like Charlotte?”
“No idea,” he replied. “I just wanted you to be her. But don’t worry—it’ll all work out.”
He left without giving his name, just as she hadn’t given hers. A chance meeting, a fleeting connection. But Emily felt lighter. At home, she called her friend, told her about the encounter, and they laughed.
James still wasn’t back. Emily curled up on the sofa and dozed off to a dreary film about doomed love. Troubling dreams tormented her—James embracing a stranger, whispering to her, then turning, and it was the man from the café. Everything blurred, a sticky nightmare wrapping around her. She wanted to wake up, to confirm it was just a bad dream, but the visions cycled like reality.
Then, she felt someone embrace her and whisper, “Emily, I love you.”
She opened her eyes. James was beside her, slightly tipsy. He began explaining how he’d met his recently divorced friend, who was wallowing in loneliness. James realised how lucky he was to have his family and his loving wife.
“You left your phone—got a message,” Emily interrupted.
He fetched it, read it, and looked at her. “Did you read just one, or both?” he asked, smiling.
“One was enough,” she replied coolly.
James handed her the phone. Emily read the second text: “Oops, wrong number! Mixed up a digit…” followed by a cheerful emoji.
James sat beside her, and she hugged him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He took her hands. “My little jealous one! I don’t need anyone but you. I’ll invite my mate for lunch tomorrow—you can see his restaurant photos if you don’t believe me.”
How often we lack the simple wisdom—to trust the ones we love, no matter what.
