His Feast

Thanks, Johnny! Dunno what Id do without you, flashed across the phone screen.

Her husbands phone buzzed right in her hand. Emma automatically glanced down. The sender was someone named Marigold. The message ended with a pink heartlike a tiny, digital kiss.

Emma froze. *Marigold? Johnny?* She mightve shrugged it off as a distant cousin or coworker, except for one detail: her husband had *never* mentioned anyone by that name. Or had he been keeping secrets?

She looked up sharply. Best get the facts first, not jump to conclusions. But her chest tightened with jealousy anyway.

Whos Marigold? Emma asked, straining to keep her voice steady.

John, sipping his tea innocently, blinked.

What?
*Marigold*, she repeated, shoving the phone at him. Who is she?

He glanced at the screen, and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes. Then he shrugged.

Oh. Thats just Mary.
Emma went cold.
*Which* Mary?
Well my ex. Theres nothing going on.

She dropped the phone onto the table and crossed her arms.

Your *ex* calls you Johnny and thanks you with hearts? Seriously, you think thats normal?

John shrugged again, as if it wasnt worth discussing.

Yeah. Lent her some cash. She needed a loan, I helped out.
Emmas temper flared.
You *gave* money to your ex?!
Yeah, whats the big deal?
*Whats the big deal?!* She scoffed. Are you joking? You think its fine to take *our* money and hand it to some Marigold?

He finally met her gaze.

Emma, youre making a mountain out of a molehill. Weve known each other forever. Why *wouldnt* I help her?

She laughed, but there was no joy in it.

Youre *married*, John. To *me*! And yet youre still running errands for her.

He sighed, irritated, like he was explaining rain to a toddler.

We didnt end badly. Shes not some stranger.
And *I* am?

John went quiet. Emma shook her head and exhaled sharply.

How longs this been going on?
What?
Your *lovely little friendship*.

He looked away.

Weve always talked. Even before you. Just didnt mention it. Didnt want to upset you.

Emma felt fury simmer under her skin.

So youve been hiding it for *two years*?
Not *hiding*! Just didnt see the point. Im not cheating. Why fuss?

She took a deep breath, willing herself not to shout.

How often do you help her?
Now and then. Little things. Fixing her Wi-Fi, sorting her laptop.
So my *husband* sprints off like a handyman for another woman?
Oh, come off it! he snapped. I helped her, lent her money! Is that a crime?! Id do the same for you!

Emma stared at him, ice in her voice.

If you dont see anything wrong with this, weve got very different ideas of marriage.

She turned and walked out. She couldnt bear to look at him.

The day blurred for Emmarage, hurt, confusion. She tried to think straight, but one question looped in her mind: *How did I miss this?*

John didnt act guilty. Now he didnt even hide talking to Mary, acting like it was *completely* normal.

Over the next fortnight, the pattern became clear. Her husband was often working late. Every few days, Mary had some *urgent* crisis.

Off to Marys tonight, he said casually over dinner. Her washing machines packed up.

Emma set her fork down slowly.

No other repairmen in London?
Christ, is it *that* hard to help someone?
Not for you. For *me*, its hard to swallow.
Here we go again! Must we *always* talk about this?
*Yes,* again, she said flatly. Because your ex *always* needs saving. Please tell me you dont share kids.

John sighed but kept eating.

If it was my mum or the neighbour, youd be fine with it?
Difference is, *they* wouldnt call daily.
Emma, he groaned. Youre acting like Ive had an affair.
Dunno if you *are*, but this isnt normal. And I hate it, she shot back.

He smirked.

You dont trust me.
Have you *earned* it?

Silence fell like a brick.

Three days later, Mary was back.

Mary rang, John announced. Wants a new fridge but cant collect it.

Emma turned slowly.

So youll drop *everything* to deliver it?
Whats the issue?
John, are you *blind*?
I think youre blowing this up.
*Youre* the one making a circus. And Im done with it. If youre *that* desperate to help Mary, move in with her. Save petrol.
Youre serious?
Deadly.
So youre kicking me out?
No, *John*. Im giving you a choice. Be in *this* family, or go your own way. But I wont have you here.

She walked out. No more playing his games. Maybe he thought honesty made it okay. But to Emma, it wasnt honestyit was betrayal.

Twenty-four hours passed since their fight. Emma sat in the kitchen, staring at her phone. No calls. No texts. Hed gone. Maybe to

After ten days of silence, Emma realised: sometimes a breakup isnt a loss, but a lesson in knowing your worth.