**Diary Entry 16th May**
I still cant believe it. The words keep ringing in my ears*»Youve spent our savings on her?»* Five years of scrimping and saving, every penny carefully tucked away for our sons future, gone. Just like that. And not for something noble, not for an emergency, but for *her*.
Thirteen years. Thirteen years Ive loved Oliver with every fibre of my being. I adored his perpetually messy chestnut hair, the way his tired eyes would soften whenever he looked at our eight-year-old, Alfie. Life in our quiet little town in Devon had always been predictablecomfortable, even. Until now.
Oliver came home at half-nine, later than usual. Lately, hed been staying late at the office more often, but I hadnt thought much of itjust my hardworking husband, doing his best for us. But tonight, the moment he walked in, something was off. His jacket carried the faintest trace of perfumesomething floral, sweet. Not his usual aftershave.
«Hello, love,» he muttered, kissing the top of my head. «Rough day. Absolutely shattered.»
«Have you eaten? I can warm something up.»
«No, ta. Just need a shower.»
He brushed past me, and thats when it hit methe unease, the suspicion. Lately, hed been dodging meals, keeping his phone glued to him, screen down. Always locked. A month ago, Id have laughed if someone suggested hed cheat. Now, the doubt gnawed at me.
«Youre home late again,» I said, clearing his untouched mug. «Busy at work?»
He paused in the hallway, already halfway to the bathroom.
«Yeah, Ellie. Quarter-end reports. Absolute nightmare.»
«Why do you smell like perfume?» The question slipped out sharper than I meant.
He froze. I saw itthe flicker of panic.
«Perfume?» He forced a shrug, but his shoulders tensed. «Mustve been one of the girls in the office. Lucy in accounting got some new fancy bottle. Reckon it clings.»
«Lucy from accounting,» I echoed flatly. Sure.
That scent had haunted me for weeks. Id tried to ignore it, told myself it was nothingjust colleagues, just coincidence. But tonight, with that hollow excuse, I knew.
Our dreamAlfies futurewas stashed away in a savings account wed opened five years ago. A flat for him when he turned eighteen, so he wouldnt have to scrape by in some dingy student digs. Wed sacrificed holidays, drove the same old car, pinched every pennyexcept for Alfies music lessons, his books. Nearly £25,000. A fortune for us.
Then the storm hit. A client paid me early, even tossed in a little extra for good measure. On a whim, I went to the bank instead of transferring onlinemaybe I just needed air. The teller, Sarah, a girl Id known for years, gave me that practised smile.
«Afternoon, Mrs Clayton. What can I do for you?»
«Id like to check the balance on our savings. And deposit this, please.»
She tapped away, then frowned.
«Mrs Clayton the accounts empty.»
«Empty?» My stomach dropped.
«Completely. Last withdrawal was two weeks ago. £24,900. Closed by Mr Clayton.»
Two weeks ago. Oliver had come home late that night, mumbled something about a meeting.
I stumbled out of the bank, barely making it to the car. Twenty-five thousand pounds. Gone.
***
When Oliver walked in, I was waiting at the kitchen table, the printed statement folded neatly in front of me. No tears. Just ice.
«Alright, love?» He tossed his keys on the sideboard, rubbing his temples.
«Sit down, Oliver.»
He hesitated, eyes darting to the papers. Thenslowlyunderstanding dawned.
«Whats this?»
«The savings. Where is it?»
He didnt deny it. Just exhaled, shoulders slumping.
«I bought a flat.»
«For who?»
His jaw tightened. «Her.»
«Her name, Oliver.»
«Sophie.»
The room spun. He kept talkingsome nonsense about a work retreat last year, how she was nineteen, covered in tattoos, rode a motorbike. How shed *made him feel young again*. Then the kickershe was pregnant. His *daughter*, he said, like that justified gutting Alfies future.
I stood, gripping the counter. «So her child matters, but ours doesnt? Fine. Tomorrow, youll sign your half of this house over to Alfie. And then were done.»
He begged, of course. Loomed outside the house, sent pleading texts. Didnt matter. The divorce went through quick enough. And Sophie? Turns out the baby wasnt even histhose almond eyes told the whole story.
Karmas a bitch.
