**Diary Entry 4th October**
I still cant believe it. The words keep ringing in my ears: *»Are you out of your mind? You spent the money we saved for five years on a flat for your pregnant mistress? My money toojust thrown away on some I cant even find the words!»*
Thirteen years. Thirteen years with James, and I loved him completelysimply because he existed. His perpetually tousled chestnut hair, that tired but gentle smile whenever he looked at our eight-year-old, Oliver. Life in our little market town had always been steady, predictable.
James came home at exactly 9:30. Lately, hed been working late, but I hadnt thought much of it. He was providing for us, after all. The moment he walked in, the sharp floral scent hit menot his usual cologne, but something sickly sweet. He barely kissed my forehead before muttering, *»Hello. Dead on my feet. Rough day.»*
*»Have you eaten?»* I asked. *»Ive kept dinner warm.»*
*»Not hungry. Just need a shower.»*
He brushed past me, and my stomach twisted. Always refusing meals now. Always guarding his phone. No longer left carelessly on the nightstand but tucked in his pocket, screen down, locked. Any mention of it made him tense.
*»Youre late again,»* I said, clearing his untouched coffee mug. *»Busy at the office?»*
He paused in the bathroom doorway. *»Yeah, Emily. End of quarter. Reports. Paperwork never ends.»*
*»Why do you smell like perfume?»* The question slipped out, sharper than I meant.
He froze. *»What? Ohmustve been someone at work. Lucy in accounts got new perfume. Reeks of the stuff.»*
*»Lucy in accounts,»* I repeated flatly, returning to the sitting room. That scent had clung to him for weeks.
—
Our familys dream had lived in a savings accountfive years of sacrifice. A flat for Olivers future, so he wouldnt struggle like we had. James, an engineer at the local plant, and me, taking sewing commissions, denying ourselves holidays, a new car, anything beyond Olivers needs. Nearly £25,000enough for him to study in Manchester without scraping by in student digs.
Then, the blow. A client paid me extra; I went to the bank to deposit it. Sarah, the teller Id known for years, frowned at her screen. *»Emily the accounts empty.»*
*»What?»*
*»Zero balance. The last withdrawal was two weeks ago. A large sum£24,900. Closed by James.»*
Two weeks ago. The night he claimed a late meeting.
—
When he returned, I sat at the kitchen table, the printed statement before me. No tears. Just ice.
*»Sit down, James.»*
He eyed the papers. *»Whats this?»*
*»You know exactly what it is. I went to the bank today. The moneys gone.»*
He exhaled. *»I bought a flat.»*
*»For whom?»*
*»Sophie,»* he admitted, jaw tight. *»We met at that corporate retreat last year. Shes different. Wild. Made me feel alive again. Then she got pregnant. Her mother kicked her out. I couldnt abandon my child.»*
I stood, gripping the counter. *»So your mistresss child matters, but your son doesnt? Tomorrow, youll sign your half of our house over to Oliver. And Ill file for divorce. Try to stop me, and Ill ruin you.»*
He begged, pleaded, sent pathetic texts. The court date came. Sophie didnt want him either. The baby? Not histhe almond eyes said it all.
And just like that, thirteen years turned to dust.
