Oh God. I felt my battle to withhold my tears failing. How long was left in this blasted game? I needed to escape before I lost it completely, right here in front of a bunch of people who were barely more than strangers.

I shouldn’t have asked him. How on earth was I supposed to get through the next hour with this hanging over me? And maybe if I hadn’t pushed him, he’d have realised the error of his ways before we had the chance to talk properly. Now, the S-word was out there, and it couldn’t be unsaid.

Somehow, I survived to the end of the game. Payton’s team won, so all around us parents and kids were jumping up and down, hugging and thumping each other on the back. I tried to show enthusiasm and if I didn’t manage, thankfully no one seemed to notice. Except Adrian. Our eyes met as we started to gather up our things and he mouthed ‘sorry’ to me.

I looked away. That was the last thing I wanted him to say.

3

I’d had some pretty bad days in my thirty-nine years—the day I found out my parents were getting a divorce, the day my grandma who was the only family member I’d ever felt close to died, the time I got my period and it soaked right through my school uniform and everybody in my maths class laughed, and the day my obstetrician told me she couldn’t detect a heartbeat for my first child—but today was up there with all of them.

Today, my son went off to band practice in the afternoon, my daughter went down the road to play with her friend from school and my husband poured me a glass of wine. He came into our bedroom where I’d retreated post-soccer feigning a headache, sat down on the bed and said, ‘Since the kids are both out of the house, now’s probably a good time to have our chat.’

Our chat? As if I had any ownership or say in any of this. Ignoring the glass of wine, I hugged my knees to my chest and pulled the bedcovers up to my chin. ‘You want a divorce?’

He put my drink down on the bedside table and sighed. ‘I want us to take a break. Have a trial separation.’

I shook my head, unable to wrap my head around any of this. Suddenly the final piece of the puzzle landed. The less-frequent-than-usual sex we’d been having the last few months, Adrian’s extra-long cycling sessions and new membership at a gym. ‘Who is she?’

‘What?’ He recoiled slightly. ‘I’m not having an affair. I’d never do that to you.’

Relief washed through me. If there wasn’t another woman, then this was fixable. But also damn confusing. ‘Then why?’

‘I … I don’t think I’m in love with you.’ At the blank look on my face, he added, ‘Ash, you can’t tell me you’ve been happy with the way things have been these last couple of years?’