«Pack your things.»
Edwards voice was as smooth and emotionless as the surface of a frozen pond. Not a crack, not a flicker of feeling.
«Yours and the childrens. I want you gone by tonight.»
I lifted my eyes slowly from the colouring book Id been sharing with five-year-old Oliver. Seven-year-old Matilda was in the next room, doing her homework.
«What?»
«You heard me, Eleanor. Im tired. This house, this marriage, the endless nonsense. I want to live for myself now.»
He stood there, leaning against the doorframetall, handsome, a complete stranger. The man Id spent eight years with, the father of my children.
«And us? Where am I supposed to go with Matilda and Oliver?»
«The flats mine. Bought before we met. Sos the car. Youve got your parentsgo to them.»
He said it like he was discussing the weekly grocery list. Casual. Matter-of-fact.
Matilda appeared in the doorway, hearing his voice, and froze. Her big eyes filled with fear.
«Daddy?»
Edward didnt even glance at her. His full attention was fixed on me, waitingfor tears, for begging, for drama.
But it didnt come.
Inside me, something snapped. A thick, sturdy rope, the one that had held my whole life together, broke with a dry crack.
«Fine.»
One word. Quiet, but sharp as steel.
Edwards eyebrows lifted. Hed expected a different scene.
I stood and went to the children, wrapping my arms around them, feeling their little bodies tremble.
«Matilda, Oliver, were going to stay with Granny and Grandpa for a while. Pack your favourite toys.»
I moved like clockwork. Precise, quick, no wasted motion. Three bags: childrens clothes, documents, a handful of my things.
I didnt look at him. I no longer saw my husband, the father of my children. Just a stranger whod overstayed his welcome in my world.
When the bags were by the door, Edward held out a few crumpled notes.
«Here. For petrol and the first few days.»
Then he tossed the car keywith its worn-out keyring from my old hatchbackonto the side table.
«Thanks for your generosity,» I said, my voice as flat as his had been earlier.
I took the childrens hands and walked out. At the door, I turned and met his eyes.
Relief and mild surprise were written on his face. Hed dumped the dead weight, but expected more resistance.
And in that moment, with perfect clarity, I knew hed just made the biggest mistake of his life.
He saw a broken victim. He had no idea he was staring his own ruin in the face.
I said nothing. Just stared at that smug expression one last time.
And promised myself that one day, hed see me again. But it wouldnt be a reunion. And the look on his face then would be worth every tear I refused to shed now.
The road was grey and endless. The children, cried out, slept in the back seat. I drove, gripping the wheel until my knuckles ached.
Tears felt like an indulgence I couldnt afford. Instead, something else grew inside mecold and hard as stone.
My parents met us at the door. No questions, no fuss. Mum just hugged me. Dad, Arthur, simply said, «Come in, love. Dinners on the table.»
That night, when the children were asleep, we talked in the kitchen.
«He threw us out,» I said into the silence.
«We gathered,» Dad replied calmly. «Question iswhat now?»
It was a bucket of cold water.
«I dont know, Dad. Ive got nothing. A business degree I havent used in eight years. Two kids.»
«Youve got us,» Dad said firmly. «And Ive got that plot of land by the river. Fifteen acres. An old farmhouse, left from Granddads time. Half-falling apart, but the roofs sound.»
He paused, looking me in the eye. No pity therejust a challenge.
«Youve got two choices. Sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or stand up and start something. Your angers good fuelnot the kind that burns everything down, but the kind that builds cities. Ive some savingsenough to start. The rest is up to you.»
The idea was mad. Me, a city girl, a farmer? But it was a chance. Not just to surviveto build something no one could take away.
«Ill do it,» I said the next morning.
«New Eden» greeted us with the smell of damp and neglect. A crumbling farmhouse, a sagging fence. For a moment, terror crept in. But there was no turning back.
The first months were hell. Dad and I patched the roof, cleared the junk, fixed the walls. Hands used to moisturiser turned rough with calluses. We bought five goats and twenty chickens with Dads savings.
Problems came thick and fast. The well ran dry. The pump broke. Dad suggested we call the local handyman, Henry.
Henry was a stocky man in his forties with tired eyes. He worked in silence, focused. His daughter, Emily, befriended my kids as he fixed the pump. I saw his gaze soften when he watched them play.
When the pump roared to life, it felt like a victory. I handed Henry his pay.
«If you ever need helpjust call,» he said after a pause. «Neighbours should look out for each other.»
That clumsy kindness meant more than money. We werent alone here.
Evenings, once the kids were asleep, I pulled out my old laptop. Anger had fuelled me at firstnow it was cold calculation. Selling milk and eggs at the local market was a road to nowhere.
The answer came with the first batch of homemade cheese Mum made. That was itmy unique product. Artisan, organic cheese. For city folk willing to pay for quality and a story.
I wrote a business plan. Spreadsheets, forecasts, risks. Dad whistled. «Youve got a head for this.»
The first attempt to sell at the local market flopped. People balked at the price. That evening, I sat on the porch, ready to quit. Henry joined me.
«Youre aiming wrong, Eleanor,» he said quietly. «Your customers not at that market. Theyre online.»
A lightbulb moment. I didnt need to chase customersI needed them to find me.
I set up «Ellies Farmstead.» Henry took photosgoats in the field, the kids with milk glasses, me holding a cheese wheel. I wrote our storyhonest, no frills.
It worked. First came an eco-café owner from the city. I delivered the order myself. He tasted the cheese and said, «Well take it all. And draw up a contract.»
Driving back, I cried with joy. First real money. First brick in my empire.
That contract was a boost, but reality soon bit. Five goats werent enough. We needed to expand, but funds were tight.
I rewrote my business plan and applied for a rural start-up grant. The panel of five sceptical men looked at mea «city girl»with open doubt.
I talked markets, profit margins, job creation. My numbers convinced them. The grant came through.
With it, we bought twenty more goats, built a new barn, and a small dairy. Henry oversaw the work, proving himself not just a handyman, but a natural organiser. He became my partnerfirst in business, then in life.
We married quietlyjust a registry office signing. Our family grew: Matilda, Oliver, and Emily became inseparable.
But business isnt a straight road. A year later, disease took three of our top milkers. Losses were huge. I nearly gave up.
«Dont even think it,» Henry said, gripping my hand. «Well pull through.»
And we did. Took a loan, hired a vet. I learneddont rely on one product. So we added agritourism. Built two guest cottages. City folk came for weekendspeace, fresh air, real food.
Meanwhile, I handled legal matters. On Henrys advice, I hired a sharp solicitorAndrew Carter. He helped with land rights, trademarks. I told him my story.
«Want to file for child support?» he asked.
«I want more,» I said. «Track Edwards finances. Debts, loans, deals. Ill pay for the information.»
Andrew raised an eyebrow but agreed. So began my five-year plan.
Five years later.
The call came in our new farmhouse on the hill.
«Eleanor? Its Carter. Its done. The auctions over.»
I closed my eyes.
«And?»
«Apartment and vehicle owned by Edward Spencer now belong to Summit Holdings in settlement of his debts. Congratulations.»
«Summit Holdings»the company Id set up a year earlier on Andrews advice.
«Thank you. Proceed as planned.»
I hung up. Henry stepped onto the porch.
«Done?»
«Yes.»
«Youre going?»
«I have to.»
Edward stood in his empty flat. After I left, hed revelled in his freedom. Then hed chased «big money» invested in a pyramid scheme, took loans against the flat, then the car. Went bankrupt. Lived on credit until the bank foreclosed.
«Who?» he croaked at the bailiff. «Who bought my flat?»
Thats when my Land Rover pulled up. I stepped out. Calm. Steady.
He didnt recognise me at first.
«Eleanor? What are youhere to gloat?»
«Im here for my keys.»
He stared blankly.
«What keys?»
«To my flat. And my car.»
It sank in slowly. Then hit him like lightning.
«Summit Holdings?» he whispered.
I nodded.
And then I saw his faceexactly as Id imagined it that awful night. No hate. Just animal fear of a man with no ground beneath him. His arrogance peeled away like cheap gilt.
«Buthow? You were justsome farmer»
«Yes, Edward. A farmer. While you were living for yourself, I was working.»
I held out my hand.
«Keys.»
Like an automaton, he handed them over.
I turned and walked to the car without looking back. No joy in revengejust cold satisfaction.
Inside, Henry waited. And three children in the back.
«All done, Mum?» Matilda asked.
«All done, love. Lets go home.»
That flat wasnt home. Just an asset now. Security for my childrens future.
My real home smelled of fresh hay and goats cheese. Where the man I loved held my hand.
I hadnt built a business. Id built a fortress. And now, its walls were unbreakable.
