The afternoon sunlight streamed generously into the house, warm and golden, the kind of late-summer brightness that made everything look gentler than it often was.
Drew was spending the weekend at a friend's house, where they would almost certainly survive on crisps, video games, and maybe some sleep. Chloe had left that morning with a rucksack bigger than she was, heading to a music festival with a group of friends; sleeping in tents, dancing in fields, and doing everything a bright-eyed, eighteen-year-old should be doing before life grew heavy.
The house felt strangely large without them. Quiet, but not unpleasantly so.
Richard stood in front of his bedroom mirror, holding a tie draped loosely around his neck. He frowned at it as if it personally offended him.
Rehearsal dinner attire. Tie or no tie? Robert was so elegant he'd probably turn up looking like the groom from a countryside magazine shoot; effortlessly dashing by accident.
Richard sighed. He would decide in the car during the drive down.
His doorbell rang.
He didn't think much of it. A parcel, probably. Or a neighbour. Still absently turning the tie in his hands, he padded downstairs and opened the door.
He froze.
The air caught hard in his chest. His pulse lurched. His palms went instantly cold.
Eleanor stood on his doorstep.
Looking lost.
Looking sad.
Looking nervous in a way he had not seen her… ever.
Richard swallowed, his tongue thick, forcing his voice to behave.
"What are you doing here?"
She lifted her chin, just slightly, but the old confidence didn't rise with it.
"Richard, I've missed you. I've missed the children."
"No, you haven't." He kept his voice low, even. "If you missed them, you would have called. You haven't tried to contact them since January. It's September. Why are you really here?"
Her eyes flickered. A tiny tell, familiar as breathing.
"Richard… you and me, we were good together. Remember the good times? When we had nothing and lived in that tiny flat —"
"Even then," he cut in, "all you cared about were appearances. You always cared about yourself, Eleanor. You were never in love with me. You didn't even love the children."
Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked away. "It was very hard for me, Richard. I was young. I had dreams, and suddenly I found myself married with two kids before I was thirty. I wanted to live."
"I gave you everything," he said quietly. "Help around the house, childcare, comfort, before I could even afford it. I twisted myself inside out trying to make you happy. But you were never happy, were you? You always needed more. More money, more attention, more everything. I was never enough. The children were never enough. So tell me the truth. Why are you here?"
Her next words came out low.
"Where are the children?"
"They're not here."
"I want to see them."
"I'll speak to them," he said firmly, "and see if they want to see you. Don't come back until I contact you."
"But —"
"Goodbye, Eleanor."
He shut the door. Leaned briefly against it. Closed his eyes.
The house felt colder now, as if she'd sucked all the warmth out of it.
He walked back upstairs, the tie forgotten entirely.
But he didn't reach the bedroom before the memory; that memory, hit him.
Sharp. Complete. Unavoidable.
For months, he had pushed it away. Locked it behind routine, parenting, work, Chloe's confidence, Drew's quiet brilliance. The joy they brought him. But now it rose in him whole, with every detail intact.
It had been January.
The day before his birthday. He had just closed the biggest deal of his career.
A deal that would let him step back, become a silent partner, choose his days instead of being ruled by them. He had driven home at three in the afternoon, giddy with happiness. He had imagined bursting through the door, telling Eleanor the news, celebrating together.
He remembered whistling as he unlocked the front door.
His coat swung over his arm.
His briefcase still in his hand.
"Eleanor?" he'd called, cheerful, climbing the stairs two at a time.
He noticed the glasses on the living room table; two of them, half-finished, smudges on their rims, but his excitement had blurred right past them.
He went upstairs.
Pushed open his bedroom door.
And stopped.
A man was in his bed.
On top of his wife.
Her hands wrapped around the man's back, her head thrown back in pleasure.
Richard remembered the moment in fragments.
The shock hit him first; a full-body jolt, like ice-cold water falling on him.
Then confusion.
Then a deep, twisting kind of hurt that hollowed him out from the inside.
"What the hell —?"
That was when Eleanor looked at him.
She didn't look guilty.
She didn't look caught.
She laughed.
"Richard, what are you doing here?" she said, as if he were in the way, as if he were inconveniencing her.
The man scrambled off her, dragging the sheets around himself.
Richard stared, unable to process any of it.
"What am Idoing? This is my house. My room. You're mywife. Who is this man? How long has this —"
"Please," she sighed, as if bored. "This is Toby. My personal trainer. Sometimes our cardio sessions aren't traditional. We like to… spice things up. It's just a bit of fun."
"A bit of fun?" His voice cracked. "The children could be home any minute. You bring him into our bed and call it a bit of fun?"
"The children won't be home for hours. I know their schedule. I thought I knew yours too. What are you doing home so early?"
He had stood there, staring at her, the disbelief thick and suffocating.
He had no words left.
He walked out.
Got into his car.
Told the driver to just… drive. Anywhere.
For the first two hours, all he did was breathe and not breathe, replaying the image again and again until the shock blurred into numbness.
Then he found a bar and had several drinks. Hoping to erase the image from his mind and the pain from his heart.
Because what she had done had hurt him in a way he hadn't been able to name at the time. It wasn't just that she'd been with another man.
It was the quiet assumption behind it — the certainty that he would accept it, the way he had accepted everything else
Spend all his money? No problem, sweetheart. Holiday to exclusive destinations where she'd hardly talk to him? Anything you want, darling. Personal trainer? Why not, honey?
And now, months later, the scene returned, crashing into his mind with cruel clarity, leaving his hands shaking slightly as he reached for his jacket.
He inhaled deeply.
Exhaled slowly.
Tie? no. Definitely no.
He gathered his overnight bag, his suit for the wedding tomorrow, and locked the house behind him.
He would talk to Chloe and Drew about Eleanor after the wedding. They deserved honesty, but not tonight. Let them enjoy the weekend with their friends.
Right now, he had somewhere to be.
People to celebrate.
People he cared about, after his children, the two people he trusted most in the world.
He tightened his grip on the overnight bag and forced his chest to loosen.
It would be a beautiful weekend.
He would make sure of it.