He came home with some ‘news’ last night. Over a city lunch, a friend had confessed his ongoing affair and announced that he is leaving his wife.

‘What!’ I exclaimed. ‘I thought they were so happy? What about those poor children?’

‘Yes they were,’ he confirmed ‘ before he met someone on a deal he was working on… now he’s going to move in with her.’

Just like that, there it was. All the information I was going to get - or in fact need.

I quickly started rustling up some dinner (from a bare fridge), asking how the rest of His day had been. Then, when the Smalls came down whining of insomnia, I ushered them upstairs leaving Him with His whisky, evening paper and the football on.

After I had cleared up our dinner, I (even) asked him what he’d like to watch on TV. AND didn’t touch my laptop nor phone. Avoiding the subject of the cost of the fake grass I’m currently lusting after and the trip to New York I’m planning, we sipped our chamomile tea.

Perfect wife. Perfect home. Perfect life. Anything but the thought of a perfectly awful affair.

You can read more musings from Emma at www.lifeofyablon.com.