I stand before the door of my own home in Sheffield, the key useless in my trembling hand as it refuses to turn in the brand-new lock. My heart shatters. The marriage I fought so hard to save has crumbled in an instant. But my cheating husband and his mistress have no idea whats cominga lesson theyll never forget.
James, its almost ten, my voice wavers from our call the night before. You promised to be home by seven.
He tosses his keys onto the side table without looking at me.
I was working, Lucy. What was I supposed to tell my boss? That I had to rush home to my wife? His tone drips with irritation, as if Im nothing but a nuisance.
I swallow hard, staring at the table I set for a simple birthday dinner. Two candles flicker beside the cake I bought on my lunch break.
Yes, James. Thats exactly what you couldve done. Just once. I cross my arms, fighting back tears. Its my birthday.
Finally, his eyes land on the table. His face twists with realisation.
Bloody hell, Lucy, I forgot He runs a hand through his hair.
Obviously, I reply coldly, the ache inside me suffocating.
Dont start, he snaps. I work for us. You know that.
A bitter smile tugs at my lips.
For us? I counter. Youre barely home, James. When was the last time we had dinner together? Watched a film? Spoke like husband and wife?
Thats not fair, he scowls. Im building a career so we have a future.
What future? Were strangers under the same roof! My voice cracks. I earn more than youdont hide behind providing for the family.
His face hardens.
Of course, youd throw that in my face, he sneers. How am I supposed to keep up with my high-flying wife?
Thats not what I meant
Enough, Lucy. Im going to bed. He cuts me off and storms out, leaving me alone with the cold cake and melted candles.
I blow them out, whispering to myself that things will get better. Hes my husband. I love him. Every marriage has rough patches, doesnt it?
How wrong I was to forgive him so easily.
Wed been married three years, but the last one was a slow, painful unraveling. We had no childrenand now, I thank God for that. My job as a marketing director brought in most of our income, while James, a sales executive, constantly moaned about stress, long hours, traffic everything but the truth, which I discovered far too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I come home earlya splitting headache driving me back. All I want is painkillers and bed. But as I reach our house on the outskirts of Sheffield, somethings off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, now gleam with new silver metal.
What? I murmur, sliding my key in. It doesnt turn.
I try again. Nothing. Confused, I check the address. This is definitely my house.
Then I see the note taped to the door. Jamess handwriting stings like a slap: This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.
The world tilts. My blood turns to ice.
What the hell? The words rip from me.
I pound on the door, screaming his name. Finally, it opens. James stands there, and behind hima woman wrapped in my cashmere dressing gown, a gift from my mother.
Seriously? My voice trembles with fury.
Lucy, listen, he smirks, arms crossed. Ive moved on. Anna and I are together now. We need this place. Go stay with someone.
Anna. The same just a colleague hed mentioned for months. She steps forward, hands on hips.
Your stuffs in boxes in the garage. Take it and leave.
I stare at them, stunned. Then I turn and walk to the car, determination burning inside me. They think they can toss me aside and win. But Im not surrendering. I need a planone that hits hard.
I knew exactly who to call.
Lucy? Oh my God, whats wrong? My sister Charlotte swings her flat door open, takes one look at my tear-streaked face, and pulls me inside. What happened?
I collapse onto her sofa, the story tumbling out between sobs.
That absolute bastard! Charlotte hisses when I finish. And that Anna woman was wearing your dressing gown?
Mums gift, I choke out, wiping my eyes. The cashmere one from last birthday.
Charlotte marches to the kitchen and returns with two glasses of wine.
Drink, she orders. Then we figure out how to ruin them.
What can I do? I sip, trembling. The house is in Jamess name. The mortgage was under his credit because mine was still recovering from my masters.
Charlotte narrows her eyes.
And who paid for everything else?
We both, but I pause, realising. I bought everything. The furniture, appliances, the bathroom renovation last year. All in my name.
Exactly! She grins. Whats James got left? An empty house.
I open my banking app, scanning transactions.
Ive got all the receipts. I always handled the accounts.
Of course you did, Miss Spreadsheet, she laughs. Queen of organisation!
For the first time today, I feel the tiniest flicker of control.
They think theyve won, dont they? I whisper.
Charlotte clinks her glass against mine.
Theyve got no idea who theyre dealing with.
The next morning, I call my lawyer friend, Emily.
What he did is illegal, she says after a sip of coffee. He cant change the locks and kick you out, even if the house is his. You have rights.
I dont want to go back, I say firmly. But I want whats mine.
Emily smiles.
Then lets make a list.
We spend the morning cataloguing every item I bought for the housethe sofa, TV, fridge, even the rugs. By noon, I have a detailed list with receipts, dates, and amounts.
Impressive, Emily nods. With this, no one can deny its yours.
So I can take it all?
Legally, yes. But Id bring a police escort to avoid trespassing claims.
I remember Jamess smug grin. Anna in my dressing gown. Their certainty theyd beaten me.
No, I say slowly. Ive got a better idea.
That afternoon, I call a removal company. The owner, Mark, listens to my story and nods.
Had a similar case last year, he says.
The next day, while James and Anna sip lattes at a café, movers swarm the house with my old key, stripping it baredown to the last teaspoon I bought with my own wages. By the time they return, even the echoes will have fled the empty walls.
