Mistakes of Youth
James was glued to his phone at the kitchen table, barely noticing his wife, Emily. It felt like she didn’t even exist to him anymore.
They’d been married for twelve years—the first five full of love, the next five calm and steady, but these last two? Nothing but arguments, cold shoulders, and worst of all, complete indifference from James.
Emily had tried everything to rekindle the spark, but nothing worked. James didn’t notice her new haircut, her clothes, or even really listen when she spoke. His mind was somewhere else.
And it wasn’t like she’d let herself go—she was still gorgeous, slim, athletic, always taking care of herself. No kids meant she had plenty of time for him. He had no reason to complain.
Emily had just turned 35, and James forgot. No card, no gift. After she called him out, he bought flowers, but the damage was done.
They weren’t struggling for money—both had good jobs—so Emily hired a private investigator to figure out why James had changed.
Two days later, the photos arrived.
James, grinning like she hadn’t seen in years, walking hand-in-hand with a frumpy, dishevelled woman and a little boy. At the park, on the London Eye, his arm around her shoulders.
Emily’s hands trembled. What was going on?
Then, more photos—her mother-in-law out with the same child.
*Everyone knew but me.*
The front door opened. She shoved the photos in a drawer and forced a smile.
“Hey, love. Hungry?”
“Had dinner at Mum’s. Just gonna lie down—long day.” He breezed past without a kiss.
Another message chimed—more photos.
Enough.
She marched to the bedroom. “James, we need to talk. This can’t go on—”
“It can’t,” he cut in. “I want a divorce.”
Her breath hitched. “Why? Was I a bad wife? I’ve been loyal, loving—”
“I cheated. And I have a son.”
The story spilled out: Twelve years ago, just before their wedding, James had gone to a mate’s birthday party, got drunk, and woke up in bed with a woman named Sarah.
He never saw her again—until a year ago, when that same mate called. Sarah had died in a car crash, but not before confessing her son was James’s. The boy was being raised by Sarah’s sister—the woman in the photos.
James wanted to adopt him.
“And so you’re leaving me?” Emily’s voice wavered.
“I love you, but I can’t ask you to raise the child I had with another woman.”
“Sarah’s dead. I won’t resent a child. Bring him home. His aunt too.”
James’s eyes welled up. “God, Emily… I never knew you were this incredible.”
He swept her into his arms, spinning her around.
The boy moved in. Soon after, a baby of their own arrived.
No more talk of divorce—just a happy, full house.
