The air was heavy with unspoken words as James stared at his phone.
“Can’t pick you and the baby up tomorrow—got plans,” he said flatly, his voice crackling like distant thunder. “Just get a cab.”
Emily’s grip on the phone tightened.
“You’ve really picked your moment, haven’t you? Caroline’s barely here, and you’re suddenly too busy?”
She paused. “Was this Oliver’s bright idea?”
“Don’t shout, you’ll wake the kids,” James snapped.
“This isn’t about Oliver. This is about us. Five years of marriage—three of them hollow. You didn’t even ask how the discharge went. Or how Caroline is. Or how Leo’s been coping without you.”
“Come on, Em. I texted you three times this week. I told you we’d be discharged today or tomorrow. Yesterday, I even said eleven. You replied—you said you understood!”
“And yet you still forgot.”
James groaned. “Why didn’t you remind me it was tomorrow?”
Emily almost dropped the phone. The audacity.
“I reminded you yesterday, James.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Been swamped,” he muttered with zero remorse.
Silence. Thick, suffocating. Emily stood motionless, one hand stuffing tiny onesies into a bag, the other cradling Caroline as she slept.
“Thing is…” James cleared his throat. “I can’t make it. Meetings. Deadlines. Just grab a cab, yeah? You’ll manage. You always do.”
That tired line again—his classic dodge when responsibility came knocking.
“Fine,” she said, her voice calm. Too calm. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
“Knew you would. Talk later!”
The call ended.
Emily stared out at the bleak October sky. Something inside her shifted—not anger, not grief, but clarity. A final click of understanding.
She leaned down, kissed Caroline’s forehead.
“I’ll handle it,” she repeated—but now, the words held steel.
She unlocked her phone and scrolled to a long-silent contact.
“Sarah? Hey. Are you free tomorrow morning?”
Five years ago, Emily met James at a work party. She was the quiet accountant, he the charming sales director. Six months later, they were married—and at his insistence, she left her job.
The early years were sweet. A cosy flat, holidays, affection. Then Leo came. James had wanted a son—bragged to friends, lit up with pride. But once the crying started, the sleepless nights, the colic… he vanished.
“Love, I’ve got early meetings. Can’t be wrecked,” he’d mumble, closing the bedroom door as Emily rocked their screaming baby.
Brick by brick, a wall formed between them. Emily drowned in motherhood. James buried himself in work. His weekends became “lads’ nights” and “client dinners.” She never complained. Only whispered into Leo’s hair at night,
“Good thing you’ve got me, sweetheart. I might be all you’ve got.”
Caroline hadn’t been planned. James had frowned, muttered about “thinking it over.” But Emily stood firm. Maybe—just maybe—a second child could heal what was broken.
Pregnancy was rough. Sick for six months. Then swelling. By eight months, doctors suggested bed rest. Unexpected help came from James’s mum, Margaret, who took Leo on weekends.
“Had the same with James’s dad,” she’d said. “Men in that family? Married to their work.”
When Emily’s water broke two weeks early, the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck. It was a race. When Caroline finally wailed, Emily collapsed in exhaustion.
James visited briefly. Day three. Flowers in hand, stories about a project, a quick “Leo’s fine with Mum,” then he was checking his watch. He came again two days later. More flowers. Another clock check.
Sarah was waiting at the hospital entrance, holding a bouquet.
Emily hugged her, something inside unclenching.
“Let’s see her,” Sarah smiled, peeking into the blanket. “What’s her name?”
“Caroline. James picked it.”
The car ride was quiet. The strange calm from that phone call hadn’t left.
At home, two notes waited.
Margaret’s: “Dinner’s in the oven. Back by 3.”
James’s: “Last-minute trip to Manchester. Back in 3 days. —J.”
Emily read it twice. Not even a call.
“Go rest. I’ve got her,” Sarah said, lifting Caroline gently.
Later, after the baby slept, Sarah asked, “How long’s he been like this?”
Emily sighed. “Years. First work. Then ‘projects.’ Now it’s trips. He just… doesn’t want to be here.”
Margaret brought Leo home that afternoon. “Mummy’s back! Where’s Dad? Where’s my sister?” he shouted.
“Dad’s away. Sister’s sleeping,” Emily said, hugging him tightly.
That night, over tea, Emily admitted, “Today’s the first time I’ve seriously thought about divorce. Two kids. Feels awful.”
“When Pete and I split, I thought it was the end,” Sarah said. “Then I realized—it’s just a new life. Let me call the girls. It’s time.”
“The girls?” Emily raised an eyebrow.
“You need help. And friends.”
Lucy showed up the next morning.
“Been meaning to visit,” she smiled. “Sarah said you’re on your own again. James away?”
“The usual.”
Later, Rachel called.
“Sarah said the crib still isn’t built. Tom and I are coming by.”
They brought tools—and cake.
As Tom worked, Rachel asked gently, “Does he always… vanish like this?”
“Always,” Sarah said before Emily could answer.
“When our Lily was born, I took a month off,” Tom said. “Couldn’t imagine Rachel doing it alone.”
Emily remembered Leo’s first months. James’s closed door. His talk of “important meetings.”
“Have you ever actually told him how you feel?” Tom asked.
Emily shook her head. “No. I just… let it happen.”
“Nothing ‘just happens,’” Rachel said. “We choose how we live. Even when we pretend we don’t.”
Three days after coming home, Emily made a list:
What Next:
- Call a solicitor.
- Contact old boss.
- Check finances.
She texted her old manager:
“Any remote work going?”
The reply came fast:
“Emily! We need help with invoices. When can you start?”
“Couple weeks. Part-time. Just had my second.”
“Even better. Call tomorrow.