I stand before the door of my own house in Manchester, clutching the key that no longer fits the new lock, feeling my heart crumble to dust. The marriage I fought so hard to save has unraveled in an instant. But my unfaithful husband and his mistress have no idea whats cominga lesson theyll never forget.
James, its nearly ten,my voice wavers as I call him the night before. You promised to be home by seven.
He drops his keys on the side table without looking at me.
Work, Lucy. What do you want me to tell my boss? That I need to rush home to my wife?his tone drips with irritation, as if Im an inconvenience.
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, holding back tears. Its my birthday.
Finally, he glances at the table. His face twists in realisation.
Bloody hell, Lucy, I forgothe mutters, running a hand through his hair.
Obviously,I reply coldly, my chest tight with hurt.
Dont start,he snaps. Im working for us, you know that.
I smile bitterly.
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 frowns. Im building a career so we have a future.
What future? Were strangers under the same roof!my voice cracks. I earn more than you, so dont hide behind providing for the family.
His face hardens.
Right, you were bound to bring that up,he sneers. How am I supposed to keep up with my brilliant wife?
Thats not what I meant
Enough, Lucy. Im going to bed,he cuts me off and walks away, leaving me with a 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 unravelling. We had no childrenthank God for that, looking back. My job as a marketing director paid most of our bills, while James, a sales executive, endlessly complained about stress, long hours, traffic… everything but the truth, which I discovered too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I come home earlyraging headache, desperate for painkillers and bed. But as I reach our house on the outskirts of Manchester, somethings off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, now gleam with fresh silver metal.
What the?I murmur, sliding my key in. It wont turn.
I try again. Nothing. Confused, I check the address. This is definitely my house.
Then I spot the note taped to the door. Jamess familiar scrawl hits me like a slap: This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.
The world tilts. My blood turns to ice.
You absolute bastard!the words tear from my throat.
I pound on the door, screaming his name. Finally, it opens. James stands there, and behind hima woman in my cashmere dressing gown, a gift from my mother.
Seriously?my voice trembles with fury.
Lucy, listen,he folds his arms, smirking. Ive moved on. Anna and I are together. We need this place. Go stay with someone.
Anna. The same just a colleague hed talked about for months. She steps forward, hands on hips, glaring.
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 boiling inside me. They think they can toss me out like rubbish and get away with it. But Im not giving up. I needed a plan. A proper, calculated one.
I knew exactly who to call.
Lucy? Oh my God, whats happened?my sister Emily flings open her flat door, sees my tear-streaked face, and drags me inside. Talk to me.
I collapse onto her sofa, the story spilling out between sobs.
The absolute nerve!Emily hisses when I finish. And that Anna was wearing your dressing gown?
Mums gift,I sniff. The cashmere one, from last Christmas.
Emily marches to the kitchen and returns with two glasses of wine.
Drink,she orders. Then well figure out how to ruin them.
What can I do?I sip. The flats in Jamess name. The mortgage was on his credit because mine was still recovering from my masters loan.
Emily narrows her eyes.
And who paid for everything else?she asks.
Both of us, butI pause, realising. I bought everything. The furniture, the appliances, the bathroom renovation last year. All in my name.
Exactly!she grins. What does James have, apart from an empty flat?
I open my banking app and scroll through transactions.
Ive got every receipt. I always handled the bills.
Of course you did, Miss Organised,she laughs. Queen of spreadsheets!
For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel control slipping back into my hands.
They think theyve won, dont they?I whisper.
Emily clinks her glass against mine.
They have no idea who theyre dealing with.
The next morning, I call my solicitor friend, Rebecca.
What he did is illegal,she says after a sip of tea. He cant change the locks and kick you out, even if the flats in his name. Youve got rights.
I dont want to go back,I say firmly. But I want whats mine.
Rebecca smiles.
Lets make a list.
We spend the morning cataloguing every item I bought for the flat: the sofa, the TV, the fridge, even the rugs. By noon, I have a detailed inventorydates, receipts, amounts.
Impressive,she nods. With this, no one can argue its not yours.
So I can take it all?I ask.
Legally, yes. But Id bring a police escort to avoid accusations of trespassing.
I remember Jamess smug smirk. Anna in my dressing gown. Their confidence that theyd won.
No,I say slowly. Ive got a better idea.
That same day, I call a removal company. The owner, Simon, listens to my story and nods sympathetically.
Had a similar case last year,he says.
The next day, while James and Anna are out for brunch, the movers arrive with my old key and strip the flat baredown to the last teaspoon I bought with my salary, leaving nothing but echoes in the empty rooms.
