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I turned – and there he was.

Rupert, standing there like the ghost of Christmas fucking past. With a camera crew behind him. Lights already up. A mini wireless mic halfway to his mouth like he was one of those TikTokers on the street asking you what your favourite Christmas song was and did you want to sing it. My legs felt shaky. My chest went cold.

‘Harriette,’ he started, clutching his chest like he was one of Davina McCall’s guests being reunited with their family member after thirty years. ‘I’m so sorry, Harriette,’ he said as he stepped slowly into the hall.

It hit me like a slap. His shiny, smooth face, his expensive suit, which he never failed to mention was bespoke from Brooks Brothers. His stupid diamond cuff links and perfectly coiffed hair. Everything so perfect, so polished, so smarmy; a TV presenter reading for his close-up.

‘Please, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?’ he said, still stepping towards me, voice shaking a little now. ‘I shouldn’t have done any of it. Not the cheating, not how it all came out, none of it. You were, you are, the perfect wife, and I let you down.’ He paused, ‘Oh, fudge knuckles, I can’t believe you’re here!’ Tears streamed down his face. ‘I’m so happy I found you. I’ve been trying to fix this for weeks.’ There was a hitch in his voice; he sounded breathless, as if he’d run all the way from Essex to get me, but somehow also found the time to arrange a camera crew to film our reunion.

Around me, the whole room was still, everyone completely flabbergasted, and I could sense Mum looking at me, worried, and somewhere behind me was Jamie. I could feel him without even looking. Thank God my dad is at the shop, I thought.

‘Rupert,’ I said, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Not steady enough. ‘You can’t just—’ I gestured at the camera, ‘—do this. You can’t turn up here like this . . . What are you doing?’

‘I know, I know, my darling,’ he said quickly. ‘But I just – I didn’t know how else to reach you. You wouldn’t answer me. I’ve been scared stiff thinking you’d never speak to me again.’

‘So you brought a camera crew along to capture the moment?’ I said bluntly, my eyes squinting at the light beaming into my face like the sun. ‘Is this live on Instagram?’ I questioned.

‘YouTube,’ the cameraman confirmed.

‘How did you find me?’ I asked, shaking my head.

‘We had a few DMs of sightings, someone who’d been to the soup kitchen said you were here every day,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘Look, I thought you’d maybe needed space, but I knew if I didn’t do something now, I’d lose you completely. I can’t do Christmas . . . no.’ He raised his head almost in slow motion. ‘I can’t do life without you.’ He looked very pleased at this line, like he was the star in his own cheesy Christmas movie.

My head felt loud. This was too much all at once. The room, the lights, the people, my mum – Jamie. I turned around and glanced at him, just for a split second. He was watching the scene unfurl, with my mum at his side, an unreadable expression on his face.

‘I . . . eh . . . I don’t know what you want me to say,’ I said quietly, hating how honest and unrehearsed it sounded.

Rupert stepped an inch closer. ‘Just talk to me,’ he said. ‘You are my wife, Harriette, and I want you to come home.’

‘I don’t want to do this now. Not in front of everyone.’ I darted my eyes towards the camera.

‘Right,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll get them to turn it off. I just—’ He swallowed. ‘—I just need to have a conversation with you. That’s all. Then I’ll go, if that’s what you want, truly. I swear.’ He looked at me then, his eyes pleading with me. ‘Please, Harriette,’ he said, quieter, less performative. ‘Don’t shut me out. Not after everything we had, everything we could have. Don’t forget the good times. I know you probably think I don’t deserve it, but just . . . Let me say my piece.’

God. I could feel the whole room waiting. If I said no, it would be a scene. If I said yes, it would be worse.

My chest tightened, guilt creeping in where anger should’ve been. Because once upon a time, I had loved him. And let’s be honest, I made a living out of showing the world how much I loved him. Truthfully, what kind of perfect wife would I be without a fucking husband?

‘Turn the camera off,’ I said.

Rupert spun round immediately. ‘Off. Now.’

The cameraman scrambled. The red light blinked out.

Silence.

‘OK, let’s talk,’ I said. ‘But alone. No audience. No fucking cameras, Rupert.’

Relief flashed across his face, but I could also see he was taken aback, that was definitely not my influencer voice. ‘Thank you.’

I turned, already moving to get my stuff, then stopped. Because – Jamie. I looked at him.

Just for a second. Something passed between us. Tight. Unspoken. Complicated.

‘I need to sort this out, but I’ll be back,’ I said. It sounded like a promise, but it didn’t feel like one.

Jamie gave a small nod. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Do what you have to do.’

My mum took me to one side as I was grabbing my coat and bag. ‘You don’t have to go with him, Harri, you can just tell him to leave.’ I could feel my eyes stinging, so I blinked.