>>370473
The full article is even more satisfying
>I was just leaving my parents' house in the U.S. to catch a flight back to London when he rang on the landline and asked, bluntly: 'Are you having an affair?'
>For a moment, I thought I was going to be sick. He said he had 'proof'. Photos. I thought of the laptop in our flat, which I'd left unlocked. Had he seen the pictures of me and The Other Man; read our emails?
>I spent the flight home from Chicago in a state of barely repressed hysteria. It felt like a chasm had opened up in front of me and I was falling into it. He had timed that call well, inflicting maximum pain with no prospect of relief.
>Absurdly, my bags were full of American goodies, including huge jars of peanut butter, and they weighed a ton. The driver helped me drag them to the entrance of the mansion block, but I needed help to get them up the steep stairs to our flat. I rang the buzzer once, twice, several times more, in vain. Looking up into the large front windows, I saw one of the heavy curtains twitch. Yes, he was at home but he wasn't answering the intercom.
>I dragged the cases through the communal hall and up the stairs myself.
>All I know is that as soon as I realised the keys did not work, I pounded on that door, screaming 'let me in, oh please let me in!' and feeling sorry and sickened and furious. I kicked the door several times, shaking it on its hinges. I swore and pleaded and wept.
>Not knowing what else to do, I actually phoned the police, my voice hoarse, tears running down my face, but they said it wasn't their business. I'd been outside for 15 minutes, maybe half an hour, maybe longer.
>The day I found the locks changed, I had no option but eventually to go crawling to friends, dragging my enormous suitcases behind me. There was no question of going to my lover's place, of course — there was never any long-term potential in it.
>I stayed with those friends for a week then I had to go back to the marital flat, where my husband and I lived for a fortnight in an uneasy, simmering truce. We both owned the flat so legally he was obliged to let me in
>After several weeks of this mutely furious co-habitation, my husband moved out and not long after, our beautiful flat was sold.
>The day the removal men were due, I started to pack it up alone, then slumped to the floor in tears. It wasn't like me to crumple so absolutely, but I didn't want to leave. I wanted the life we had back.
>In fact, it didn't take long for him to move on. The decree absolute came through and it seemed just a few months later he was married again.