A Surprise for Supper: How One Visit Revealed the Truth
On a crisp winter’s day long ago, Eleanor decided to surprise her husband. She took the plump chicken from the larder—the very one her mother had given her just the week before—roasted it to golden perfection, and paired it with buttery mashed potatoes flecked with parsley. Carefully packing the meal into a container, she dressed with special care. The deep crimson gown she chose had hung unworn in her wardrobe for too long. Her hair was swept into an elegant chignon, and coral-pink touched her lips. She wished to look lovely for her husband, to be admired, to bring him joy.
The journey to Edward’s office took just over half an hour. Stepping from the car, Eleanor inhaled the icy air—her chest tight with nervous anticipation. Inside the business centre, a disinterested receptionist barely glanced up as Eleanor explained she was Edward’s wife, come to see him.
“Did you make an appointment?” the woman asked flatly.
“No, I only—” Eleanor faltered. “I’m his wife.”
“Without an appointment, you can’t go up,” came the indifferent reply.
The exchange dragged on. Only after ten minutes of persuasion was she grudgingly handed a visitor’s pass. Climbing to the right floor, she approached Edward’s office. But as she raised her hand to knock, she froze. Behind the door, laughter rang out—feminine and bright—and Edward’s familiar voice.
She knew his laugh at once—a low, slightly nasal chuckle. But the words that followed turned her blood to ice.
“Honestly, your Eleanor is such a circus act!” a woman’s voice teased.
“Quiet—someone might hear,” Edward murmured, yet every syllable carried.
“Who cares?” the woman pressed. “Isn’t it time you told her? How long will you keep playing games?”
“I asked you not to bring this up.”
“Fine, fine,” she huffed. “Why even mention your little wife?”
Eleanor clenched the strap of her handbag until her knuckles whitened. Her heart constricted, her limbs stiff as stone. But there was more.
“Let’s slip away for the weekend—just the two of us.”
“Can’t. Charlotte has her school play on Saturday.”
“So? Send her with your mother. She ought to be good for something.”
Eleanor could bear no more. She flung the door open.
Edward froze behind his desk, while beside him lounged his colleague—Margaret, whom Eleanor had met at company gatherings. Margaret didn’t flinch. Her gaze swept over Eleanor, cool and measuring, before she smirked.
“Well, well. What a surprise visit. How… unexpected.”
Edward leapt to his feet.
“Eleanor, it’s not what you think! Wait—”
“What *should* I think, Edward?” Her voice trembled as she set the container on the desk. “Here. I brought you supper. Homemade. Your favourite.”
“Eleanor, listen—”
“No, Edward. Enough. I heard quite enough.” She turned on her heel and left without another word.
Outside, the world moved as if through fog. Tears blurred her vision; the air weighed heavy. Each step ached. All she had built, all she had lived for—lies.
That evening, she went to her dearest friend and wept long into the night. At home, Edward waited on his knees.
“Forgive me. I was tired. It meant nothing. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
Eleanor only smiled faintly.
“You know, Edward, I’ve no need for a weak man.”
By morning, she filed for divorce.
Months passed. Eleanor took a mortgage on a new house, unable to bear the old walls steeped in betrayal. She threw herself into work, opened a boutique, and grew her business. And then… she met a man. A father, like her, with a young daughter. They began anew.
Eleanor blossomed. Fear of loneliness faded. She learned change was not to be dreaded—sometimes, it was the very thing needed to truly begin living.
