Chapter 5 The Seat of Judgment

Andrew arrived home on a Thursday evening, earlier than I had expected. I had spent most of the day preparing for his return, changing the bedsheets and making the meal he liked best. The children were so excited that Michelle kept asking when we should leave for the airport, while Divan insisted he was old enough to stay home alone if we needed to go early.

"You are not staying home alone," I told him.

"But Mum, I'm ten."

"Exactly. Ten, not twenty."

Michelle laughed at him, and Divan complained that nobody took him seriously. Their argument continued as we drove to the airport, giving me something ordinary to concentrate on. I wanted to feel only the excitement of bringing Andrew home. Instead, I carried the knowledge of what I had done like a weight I could not put down.

When Andrew emerged from the arrivals area with his suitcase, Michelle ran toward him first.

"Daddy!"

He dropped the handle and bent to catch her in his arms. Divan followed, trying to look composed, but Andrew pulled him into the embrace too.

"Look at you two!" he said. "Have you been growing while I was away?"

"I'm taller," Divan announced.

"By half an inch," Michelle corrected.

"At least an inch."

Andrew laughed. "I'll need to measure you both when we get home."

Then he looked at me, and his smile softened.

"There she is."

He crossed to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I held him tightly, grateful for the familiar warmth of his body and the scent of his cologne. He kissed my forehead, then my lips, and I returned the kiss. For a few seconds, I managed to forget the secret I was carrying.

"I missed you," he murmured.

"I missed you too."

The words were true. That was what made everything so painful. I had not stopped loving Andrew, and I had not wanted to lose the life we shared. Yet I had made a decision that could destroy the trust on which that life depended.

The drive home was filled with the children's questions. Andrew answered them patiently, describing the airport in the country he had visited and the colleagues he had worked with.

He promised to help Divan with a school project and asked Michelle to show him the artwork she had been so eager to collect.

"Mrs. Parker put it on the classroom wall," Michelle said proudly. "She said I used the colours very well."

"Then I need to see it."

"I'll show you tomorrow."

At home, Andrew unpacked while the children followed him from room to room, eager to tell him everything he had missed. I prepared dinner, listening to their laughter from the hallway. It was a sound I had longed for during his absence, and I wanted to believe that having him home would help me recover my sense of normality.

At the table, Andrew told us about his work. He explained that the project was progressing well and that he had negotiated a change to his schedule. He expected to remain home for several weeks before travelling again.

"That gives us time for a proper family holiday," he said.

Michelle immediately began suggesting destinations. Divan wanted somewhere with football and a swimming pool. Andrew listened to both proposals and promised they would look at the options together.

I smiled, grateful that he was still making plans with us. Nothing in his manner suggested that he had any reason to doubt me. He trusted his wife, and I had no right to that trust.

After dinner, the children went upstairs to get ready for bed. Andrew loosened his tie, poured himself a glass of water, and walked into the living room. I followed him. He settled onto the sofa and stretched his legs with a satisfied sigh. "I've missed this seat."

My stomach tightened.

The sofa looked exactly as it had on the afternoon Harry came to repair the air conditioner. The cushions were in place, and the remote lay on the coffee table. Andrew leaned back, looking completely at ease, while I remained near the doorway.

"Come and sit down," he said. I hesitated. He glanced at me with a smile. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was thinking we should replace the sofa."

He looked at the cushions, then back at me. "Replace it? Why?"

"It's uncomfortable."

Andrew pressed a hand against the seat. "It feels fine to me."

"Maybe it's worn out."

"Sonia, we bought this furniture less than a year ago. You spent an entire Saturday choosing it. Remember how you insisted that this colour would make the room look brighter?"

I remembered. I also remembered the last time I had sat on that sofa with Harry.

"I know," I said. "I just thought a change might be nice."

Andrew laughed gently. "We can buy new cushions if you want, but there's nothing wrong with the sofa."

I nodded and sat in the armchair opposite him. He reached for my hand, and I gave it to him, trying to ignore the memory that kept intruding whenever I looked at the place beside him.

"Are you comfortable over there?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Then come closer. I've barely seen you properly since we got home."

I moved to the sofa, choosing the far end. Andrew put an arm around my shoulders and began telling me about a restaurant his colleagues had taken him to. I listened, asking questions at the appropriate moments, and gradually the tension in my body eased.

For a while, we were simply husband and wife again. He asked about the children's schoolwork, reminded me that he wanted to help Divan with his project, and suggested we invite Serena and her family to dinner. I responded as naturally as I could, grateful that he was not asking me to explain my strange behaviour.

When he kissed me, I kissed him back. I wanted to be present with him, to give him the affection he had always received from me. But when his hand rested on my shoulder, I remembered Harry's touch, and guilt swept through me so suddenly that I had to turn my face away. Andrew drew back slightly.

"Are you tired?"

"A little."

"You've been doing everything alone for months. Let me help you settle back into a routine while I'm home."

I managed a smile. "I'd like that."

He kissed my forehead and rose to check on the children. I remained on the sofa, looking at the place where he had been sitting. He had returned expecting the home and marriage he had left behind. He had no idea that I was struggling to live with a secret that had nothing to do with him.

Later, Andrew came downstairs for his phone.

"Are you coming to bed?" he asked.

"In a few minutes."

"Don't stay up too late."

He kissed my cheek and went upstairs. I waited until I heard the bedroom door close before allowing myself to cry.

The following days passed without incident. Andrew helped the children with their schoolwork, cooked breakfast on Sunday, and took us out for dinner. He was attentive without being demanding, and I tried to respond to his kindness without letting my guilt take control.

I had no idea how long I could maintain the pretence that nothing had changed.

For now, however, Andrew was home, our children were happy, and the secret remained mine. I had to find a way to keep it that way.