**Diary Entry**
I cant believe what hes done. Are you out of your mind? You spent the money weve been saving for five years*my* money tooon a flat for your pregnant mistress? I dont even have the words. How could you?
Thirteen years. Thirteen years I spent with James. I loved him madly, simply because he existed. I adored his perpetually messy chestnut hair and that tired, affectionate smile he always wore when he looked at our eight-year-old son, Oliver. Life in our little market town was predictable, barely changing over the years.
James came home at exactly half past nine. Lately, hed been working late, but I hadnt thought much of ituntil now. He slammed the door, shrugged off his jacket, and the scent hit me immediately. Not his usual cologne, but something sickly sweet, floral.
«Hello,» he muttered, kissing the top of my head. «Exhausted. Brutal day.»
«Hello. Fancy some dinner?» I offered.
«No, thanks. Just need a shower.»
He walked past me, and a knot twisted in my stomach. Another refusal. Was there someone else? Hed been coming home later, his phone glued to him. It used to sit on the bedside tablenow it was always in his pocket, face-down, locked. And if I so much as glanced at it, hed tense up.
«Youre late,» I said, clearing the table. «Busy at work?»
He paused at the bathroom door. «Yeah, Emily. Quarter-end. Reports, paperworkyou know the drill.»
«Why do you smell like that?» The words came out sharper than Id meant.
He froze. Caught off guard.
«Smell like what?» He tried to sound casual, but his shoulders stiffened.
«Flowers. Some sugary perfume. Its not yours.»
«Oh. Mustve been someone at the office. Lucy from accounts was showing off a new one.» He waved a hand dismissively. «Dont keep me, Em. Im knackered.»
*Lucy from accounts.* Right.
That scent had been haunting me for weeks. At first, I told myself it was nothingjust colleagues wearing perfume.
The dream of our family lived in a savings account, one wed opened together five years ago. A flat for Oliver by the time he turned eighteen. Every spare penny went into it. James, with his salary as an engineer at the local factory; me, with my modest earnings from sewing commissions. We skipped holidays for five years, never upgraded the car, scrimped on everything except Olivers future. There shouldve been nearly £25,000a fortune for our town, enough to get him into a decent uni without slumming it in halls.
Then the storm hit. A client paid me early, even tossed in a tip. I went straight to the banksomething made me walk in instead of transferring online. Maybe I just needed air.
The teller, a girl named Sophie whod known me for years, smiled politely.
«Hello, Mrs. Carter. How can I help?»
«Hello, Sophie. Id like to check our savings balanceand top it up, if possible.»
«Of course. May I see your ID?»
I handed it over. Her fingers tapped the keyboard.
«Um» She frowned. «Mrs. Carter, the account its empty.»
«What?»
«Completely. Zero pounds.»
The floor tilted. I gripped the counter.
«Thats impossible. Its under James Carters name. Ive been paying into it for five years!»
«Im sorry,» she said softly. «The last transaction was two weeks ago. A large withdrawal£24,900. The account was closed.»
Two weeks ago. James had come home late, mumbled something about a meeting.
«Thank you. I need a full statement. Now.»
I stumbled out of the bank. I dont remember driving home. Twenty-five thousand. Gone.
When James walked in, I was waiting at the kitchen table, the printed statement folded neatly in front of me. No tearsjust icy calm.
«Hi. Hows things?» he asked, tossing his keys onto the shelf.
«Sit down, James.» My voice was flat, foreign.
He glanced at the papers. Understanding flickered across his face.
«Whats this?»
«Sit. We need to talk.»
He lowered himself into the chair opposite.
«Emily, I dont»
«Dont. You know exactly. I went to the bank today. The savings are gone. £24,900. Withdrawn two weeks ago.»
He stared at his hands. No denial.
«Howd you find out?»
«Does it matter? Wheres the money, James?»
«I I bought a flat.»
«A flat? For who?»
He exhaled. When he looked up, there was no guiltjust irritation and something bitter.
«For her.»
«Whos *her*?»
«Sophie.»
I didnt shout. My voice was eerily steady.
«Tell me everything.»
He crumpled under my stare. «Last year, remember that team-building weekend? The one the boss forced us on? Thats where I met her. Sophie. Shes different. Wild. Made me feel alive again. Youre home, comfortshes a hurricane. Nineteen when we met. Rides a motorbike, tattoos everywhere. I lost my head, Emily. With you, its like being with a friend. Sophie made me feel young.»
I wanted to scream, to slap him, to smash every dish in the kitchen. But I stayed still.
«Go on.»
«We broke it off for a while. She dumped me. I was a wreck. Then, seven months ago, she called. Said she was pregnant. Her mum kicked her out. I couldnt leave her on the streetsnot with my child.»
I stood, walked to the window.
«So youll protect your mistresss daughter, but not your own son? Fine. Heres whats going to happen. Tomorrow, youll sign your half of the house over to Oliver. When hes older, Ill sell ithell have his own place. As for you? I dont care. Im filing for divorce. And if you fight me, Ill ruin you. The whole town will know.»
Of course, he begged. Waited outside the house, called daily, sent pleading texts. I never replied. The divorce went through. And the mistress? Didnt want him either. The babyborn right on timewasnt even his. The almond-shaped eyes said it all.
Some story, eh?
