12October 2025
Dear diary,
The telephone crackled with a voice Id hoped never to hear again. Hey, dragonfly, it said, as if nothing had changed. I stood frozen, a bottle of perfume clutched in my hand, the scent of sandalwood and triumph suddenly heavy, thick as the stale air of that grim council flat where I once slept with the children.
What do you want, Mark? I forced the words out, keeping my tone even, refusing to look at the snickering of James and Blythe that drifted from the nursery.
Straight to the point, then? No how are you? No whats new? Were not strangers, Emma. Remember, we have two kids together.
His smile cut across the line like a splinter in glass. A whole year had passed without that smile, without that tone that always managed to claw at my right to live.
I remember. What do you need?
I set the perfume bottle on the marble countertop, my hands trembling, but my voice stayed steady. Id learned that long ago.
Money.
Short, blunt, no apologies, no prelude. He hadnt changed a bit.
Are you serious?
Do I look like a joker? his anger flared. Ive got serious problems, Emma. And you? Living the highlife, palacelike house, husband a tycoon, the newspapers never lie?
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back wore a silk robe and had an air of polished affluence, not the exhausted, tearstreaked mum he had tossed out with two battered suitcases.
Is that really a problem for your new sugardad? Dumping a former husbands wife like shes a stray cat?
My business isnt doing well, you know? I invested in crypto and it collapsed. I need cash to settle debts with serious people.
I imagined him, collapsed in a cheap chair, that same cocky grin, convinced Id crumble again under the weight of his guilt.
You threw us out in the middle of winter, Mark. Do you remember what Blythe said when we were sitting on the platform?
Spare me the drama. Im not asking for a mansion. £45,000. For you its pocket change. Pay for my silence if you want.
Silence? About what?
About the price you paid for this sweet life. Do you think your brotherinlaw will be thrilled if I tell him a few spicy details about our past?
The wardrobe doors swung open and James stepped in, calm, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. He saw my face, frowned, and asked silently, Everything alright?
Two worlds collided: the one Id built and the one he was trying to destroy.
What now, Emma? Mark pressed. Will you help a poor relative? If in a year hes crawling on his knees begging for cash, that means his affairs are in shambles.
I gave James a slow nod, signalling that I had it under control. For the first time a colder, sharper edge slipped into my voice.
Where and when?
We arranged to meet in a nondescript café inside the local shopping centreloud music, the smell of popcorn, teenagers laughtera perfect place for a scream to go unheard.
Mark was already there, a suit trying to look expensive but shouting cheapness, lazily stirring a glass of juice.
Running late, he said without looking up. Its rude to keep a father waiting.
I sat opposite him, placing my bag on the table, refusing to let it go.
Im not giving you £45,000, Mark.
He finally met my gaze, envy flickering as he inspected my dress and the ring on my finger. Changed your mind? I could just call your David now. Getting his number isnt a problem.
I can offer you £200,000 and a job. David has connections he
He laughed loudly, tilting his head. A few nearby diners glanced over.
Work? Seriously? You think Id go to interviews like a lad? Youve forgotten who I am, Emma. Im a businessman! I need seed capital, not handouts.
His tone hardened; he leaned forward, voice dropping.
You sit here looking proper, thinking I dont know how you got that position. You told him I was a monster and you a helpless lamb, didnt you? And that you called him a week before meeting him, begging him to come back?
Each word was a precise blow, striking at my deepest fear: that James would see me as the broken, dependent woman I once was.
Silently I pulled out my checkbook, still hoping for a compromise, still trying to resolve this nicely.
Ill write you a check for £8,000, I said, my voice hoarse. Thats the most I can do. Take it and disappear from our lives, please.
I slid the paper across. He examined it with two fingers, as if it were a jewel, then slowly tore it into four pieces.
You think youve humiliated me? he hissed. £8,000? Thats your gratitude for the years I spent on you? For the children?
He tossed the scraps onto the glossy table; they fluttered like dead butterflies.
£45,000, Emma, or I wont go away. Ill become your cursecalling, texting, picking up the kids after school, telling them who their real dad is. You have a week.
He stood, flinging a crumpled bundle of notes onto the table, and left without a backward glance.
I sat frozen, the torn check in front of me, music blaring, people laughing, while something inside hardened like stone. Fear turned into an icy resolve. The negotiation had failed, humiliatingly, finally.
The week stretched like a marathon. I barely slept, jerking at every ring. I searched for an escape, but dread clung like a wet coat. I feared not just for myself but for the life James had given my children.
On the seventh day he struck again.
When I collected the kids from the art club, Blythe was unusually quiet. At home, tucking my daughter into bed, I saw a bright lollipop on a stick in her handsomething she had never bought.
Where did you get that, Blythe?
She stared, eyes wide, and whispered, Uncle gave it to me. He said hes my real dad and will soon take us away from bad dad David. Mum, we wont go with Davids dad?
Something clicked inside me. Fear and panic vanished, leaving a cold void that quickly filled with something else: firmness, unyielding.
He dared to approach my children. To use them.
Enough.
That evening James returned from work to find a different woman waiting. Her eyes were dry, her stare straight and hard.
We need to talk, she said, no preamble, pulling him into the office chair.
She told everythinghow Mark had shoved us out with the kids, how Id slept in a council flat, the humiliation, the years of fear that the past might ruin the present, and how today he had approached Blythe.
James listened in silence, his face turning to stone with each word. When she finished, he asked, What do you want?
She met his gaze, seeing not only love and care but also full acceptance of her darkest side.
Ten minutes later she dialed Mark. Her hands no longer trembled.
Im in, she said evenly. £45,000. Tomorrow at noon. Ill send the address. Come yourself.
Marks voice on the handset scoffed, Smart girl, finally caught.
She hung up. The address she would send was not a bank nor a restaurant, but the headquarters of James Ormonds corporation.
Mark entered the glass tower, swaggering in his best suit, admiring the cold luxury of the marble lobby as if he owned it. He was escorted to the 40th floor, a conference room with a floortoceiling window that made the city look like a toy set.
Emma was already there, seated at the head of a long table, composed and calm, dressed in a severe darkblue dress. Beside her sat James, and a few feet away a sternfaced security chief.
Sit down, Mark, Emma said, indicating the chair opposite her.
His confidence wavered; he had expected a terrified woman with a suitcase of cash.
Whats this circus? he muttered, nodding toward James. Family council? I thought wed made a deal.
You negotiated with my family, James replied evenly, his stare unflinching. This is something else.
Emma slid a thick dossier across the table.
£45,000, Mark. You wanted it. But just handing it over would be boring. Weve decided to invest it in you.
Mark stared, baffled.
Whats that?
Its your business, said the security chief, his voice like steel. Or rather, whats left of it: debts, a couple of pending fraud cases, highrisk assets.
He leafed through the filecourt orders, bank statements, photos of shady meetings. His face paled.
Weve cleared your most urgent debts, Emma continued. For the people who wouldnt wait for a court verdict. Consider it a gift. In return
James placed a few sheets and a pen on the table.
you sign this. Complete renunciation of parental rights and a threeyear employment contract.
Mark erupted in a hysterical laugh.
Youre mad! Working for you?
Not for you, James corrected. For one of our subcontractors. A site in Yorkshire, foreman on a construction crew. Good pay, decent conditions. Return after three years debtfree with a clean record.
Mark jumped up, shouting, Youll hear from me! Ill ruin you all!
The security chief tapped the dossier. Talk, then. But after this your words will be worth less than this paper. And those documents will end up on a detectives desk today. The choice is yours.
Mark scanned their facesEmmas calm, Jamess ironclad, the chiefs indifferent. No doubt, no chance. He was trapped.
He sank back into the chair, bravado melting like cheap gold. With shaking hands he took the pen.
When the final signature was inked, Emma rose, walked around the table and stopped directly in front of him.
You once said that if a man crawled on his knees a year later, his affairs were in terrible shape, she reminded quietly.
Youre not on your knees, Mark. The floors just too pricey here. Youve got your startup capital. Begin a new life.
She turned and left without looking back. James followed, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder.
In that vast conference room, under the indifferent gaze of the security chief, the defeated man remained seateda victor who had lost everything.
Tonight, I finally feel the weight lift. The past will no longer haunt the present.
— Emma.
