**Betrayal Behind Closed Doors**
Geoffrey turned the key in the lock of his flat in Manchester, his heart pounding with anticipation. He imagined the joy on his beloved wife Eleanor’s face when she saw him. It had been nearly a year since he last stepped through that door—what was meant to be a month’s work in another city had stretched into an endless absence. Now, at last, he’d been granted a week’s leave to visit her. He had planned a surprise, arriving unannounced. Quietly removing his shoes, leaving his bag in the hall, and clutching a bouquet of roses behind his back, he followed the sound of Eleanor’s voice drifting from the kitchen. But as he reached the doorway, he froze, as though struck by lightning.
The surprise had worked—but not the one he intended. At the kitchen table sat two people: Eleanor and a well-dressed stranger sipping tea with unsettling calm. At the sight of her husband, Eleanor stiffened, her eyes wide with shock. The stranger, however, merely smiled and said coolly:
“Good afternoon. Welcome back.”
“Hello…,” Geoffrey muttered, his gaze flicking to Eleanor. “Ellie, I’m home.”
“Geoffrey!” She leapt up, throwing her arms around him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I can see how thrilled you are,” he said dryly, thrusting the flowers at her. He turned to the stranger, his voice tight. “And who might this be?”
“Don’t fret, Mr. Carter,” the man replied smoothly. “I’m Arthur Pembroke, Eleanor’s colleague from the office. I stopped by to check on her—she’s been under the weather.”
“Under the weather?” Geoffrey’s voice sharpened. “And you’re her personal physician now?”
“Geoffrey, please,” Eleanor cut in, her voice trembling. “Arthur was just leaving. Weren’t you, Arthur?”
“Of course,” the man said, unruffled. “Just finishing a slice of your famous lemon cake, Eleanor. It’s as excellent as ever.”
“As ever?” Geoffrey’s eyes bored into his wife’s. “How often does he come round for cake?”
“Mr. Carter,” Arthur continued, “your wife has been kind enough to bring treats to the office for months now. After your long absence, we’ve become her little support system. By the way, how long are you staying? A week, or for good? Your colleague Matthew mentioned—”
“Matthew?” Geoffrey’s brow furrowed. “How do you know him?”
“We’ve been friends for years,” Arthur said evenly. “Works in your department, doesn’t he? He’s spoken of you often. Says you’re quite the joker. Tell me, Geoffrey—are you?”
“Enough!” Geoffrey snapped, his patience fraying. “Finish your damn cake and get out.”
“Geoffrey, stop!” Eleanor pleaded, but one look from him silenced her.
“We’ll talk later. Lovely surprise you’ve arranged for me, thank you.”
“About surprises, Mr. Carter,” Arthur said with a smirk, “I’d argue you’re the expert. Matthew tells me you have quite the flair for them. I’m sure you’ve something grand planned for Eleanor. So—a week, or longer?”
“That’s it,” Geoffrey growled, fists clenched. “Outside. Now.”
“With pleasure,” Arthur said, following him into the corridor.
On the landing, Geoffrey barely contained his fury. “Listen, you smug bastard. You walk out that door and never come back. Understood?”
Arthur studied him with a cold smile. “Understood. But now, you listen. Tonight, you’ll tell Eleanor the truth. Or I will. It’s not the gentlemanly thing, but needs must.”
“What truth?” Geoffrey paled. “What are you on about?”
“About your other life,” Arthur said, his voice hardening. “About the woman you’ve been living with these past six months. About Rebecca, who’s carrying your child. You did tell her you were coming back only to divorce Eleanor, didn’t you?”
Geoffrey staggered as if struck. “How do you— Who told you—?”
“Matthew,” Arthur cut in. “Rebecca’s his sister. She tells him everything, and he worries. That’s why I’m here. And why I knew you’d return. You have one day, Geoffrey. Tell Eleanor the truth, file for divorce, and stay the hell away from her. She means a great deal to me. Understood?”
“And if I choose to stay with Eleanor?” Geoffrey’s voice wavered.
“Doubt she’ll have you,” Arthur said coldly. “Not after the truth.”
He turned and descended the stairs without another word. Geoffrey stood rooted to the spot, his world collapsing. When he stepped back inside, Eleanor was there, her face ashen, her eyes brimming with tears.
“You heard?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Everything?”
“Everything,” she murmured.
“So you’ll grant the divorce?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Gladly,” she said, turning away.
Geoffrey stared at his wife, lost for words. The life he’d known, solid as oak, had shattered like glass—and he had no idea how to pick up the pieces.
