Get to the kitchen. Now! James barked, oblivious to what was about to happen.
Poppy, wheres my blue tie? he shouted from the bedroom.
Poppy stood over the stove, stirring oatmeal that had already turned a sad, gluelike consistency. Seven years of marriage and each morning felt like a rerun: he sprinted toward money and status; she hovered between the kettle and the washing machine.
In the wardrobe, top shelf! she called.
I dont see it! Poppy, where is it?
She sighed, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and went to retrieve his suit. While reaching for the jacket, her fingers brushed something cold in the pocket of yesterdays coat a key. Plain, stamped metal, but not theirs.
James, where did this come from? she held it up. He turned, hesitated a heartbeat, then recovered with a bark. Back to the kitchen! Dont rummage through my things. Its for the new records department at work.
He didnt anticipate what followed.
At breakfast he never left his phone alone. He tapped out messages, smirked at the screen, even stifled a couple of giggles.
Whos texting? Poppy asked, as gentle as milk.
Colleagues. Project chat, he said without looking up.
On the glass she caught pink hearts and fluttering emojis none of which ever made it into the corporate style guide.
Ill be late tonight. Presentation, then dinner with partners. Dont wait up.
Dinner with partners on a Saturday?
Business never sleeps, love.
He planted a perfunctory kiss on her cheek and left a trail of a pricey, unfamiliar cologne.
Poppy stacked plates into the sink and sat with a coffee gone cold. Seven years earlier shed graduated top of her class in economics, landed a graduate role at a bank, and was climbing rung by rung. Then she married.
Why do you need that job? James had coaxed. Ill provide. Take care of the home. Well have kids soon you wont have time for a career.
There were still no children. Meanwhile Poppy knew every TV schedule and every neighbourhood discount by heart.
Today something clicked. A strangers key. Doodled hearts. New perfume. Business dinners on weekends. She needed the truth and she knew how to find it.
She opened her laptop and typed: Canary Wharf Business Centre vacancies. That was Jamess tower seventh floor Pinnacle Solutions, the IT firm with a sleek logo and even slicker deadlines.
Listings flickered by. There: Cleaning staff hiring evening crew for the Centre.
Her pulse leapt. Cleaners came in when the day crowd left, but someone always stayed managers who worked late, who had meetings, who smelled of someone elses perfume.
Poppy dialled.
Hello, Im calling about the cleaning position at Canary Wharf
The next morning she sat across from the team lead, Nora Whitaker, in a cramped office that reeked of bleach and bureaucracy.
Do you have cleaning experience? Nora asked.
Ive been cleaning at home for seven years, Poppy said honestly.
Why Canary Wharf? We have posts closer to your building.
Poppy was ready. The schedule suits. Im getting divorced. My husband will be home with the child at that time. Noras face softened. I understand, dear. Divorce is hard. Well take you. Just register the paperwork under what do we have free? Victoria Parker.
Three days later, Poppy became Victoria Parker, cleaner at the Canary Wharf Business Centre. She received a grey uniform, a caddy of supplies, and the first rule:
We are invisible, Nora said. If employees are working late, dont disturb them. Quiet. Careful. Unseen. Seventh floor: Pinnacle. Office plaque reads, J. D. James, Development Manager.
Could I have the seventh floor? Poppy asked evenly. Fewer offices. Im still learning.
Of course, love. Lucys drowning up there.
That evening, at eight, mop in hand, Poppy stood outside her husbands door. The workday was long over. Voices murmured inside. The game began.
Two weeks of invisibility stripped the varnish from everything. James wasnt staying late for deliverables; he was staying for Alison Kramer, a marketer with a perfect blowout and a laugh that echoed down the corridor.
The key in his jacket wasnt for an archive. It opened Alisons oneroom flat in a brandnew block with mirrored lifts.
James, Im tired of this secrecy, Alison sighed while Poppy mopped the neighbouring office, eyes on the dull metal as if it were a mirror. When can we be together openly?
Soon, love. My solicitor says we have to sort the paperwork first, otherwise I lose half the flat in the divorce.
Poppy clenched her jaw. So it wasnt just cheating he was plotting to carve up her life as he walked out.
Then it got worse. One night she knocked a stack of reports off Jamess desk. Papers skittered over the floor like startled fish. She crouched to gather them and saw notes in the margins numbers, arrows, adjustments. With her economics brain the pattern snapped into focus: internal reports, plans, budgets, road maps.
A second phone the work line lit up. Ivy S. No one else was around. Poppy opened the chat.
James, I need data on the Northern project. Ill transfer the usual amount.
Ivy, the infos uploaded. £50k per package.
Agreed. Hurry. Presentation Tuesday.
Her hands went icecold. Ivy Sommers deputy director at Vector, Pinnacles main rival. James was selling trade secrets like grocery coupons.
Poppy photographed the messages, the annotated documents, everything. At home she spread the evidence on the table. The scope staggered her: half a million pounds worth of leaks, at least.
Hows work? she asked at dinner.
Fine. Promising new project, James said, not lifting his eyes. Promising already priced and delivered to Vector.
She could have marched straight to HR, or straight to a solicitor. But Poppy wanted the whole ledger balanced: truth, consequences, and closure. Tomorrow was Pinnacles corporate celebration. James had preened all week new suit, rehearsed toast, big plans to shine.
James, what will you tell colleagues about me? Alison had asked yesterday.
Whats there to say? Im getting divorced. Well be official soon.
What if your wife shows up?
She wont. Shes shy at these things. Says she feels awkward around my colleagues.
Poppy smiled in the dark corridor where she stood, anonymous in her grey uniform. He had no idea his shy wife had been haunting his hallways for days.
On party day she reported to work as usual. The uniform stayed folded in her bag beside a little black cocktail dress. In her folder every receipt of his double betrayal.
At seven sharp, while the conference hall filled with applause and canapés, she changed in the staff washroom, freshened her makeup, shook her hair free.
Through the glass doors she spied James in his new suit, tilting flirtation like champagne toward Alison. On stage, Managing Director Paul Richardson praised quarterly achievements.
Time.
Excuse me, Poppy said as she stepped into the room. May I have a moment?
Conversation stalled midsparkle. James turned, his face turning to stone.
Im Victoria Parker, your employees wife, she said, voice steady. For the last two weeks Ive worked here as a cleaner under that name.
What are you doing here?! James hissed, lunging.
I was gathering proof of your affair, and of something worse. The room held its breath.
Paul Richardson, she continued, sliding the folder across, your manager is selling confidential information to Vector.
Thats slander! James shouted. Shes just angry about the affair!
Transfer amounts. Screenshots of chats. Photos of documents with your handwriting, Poppy said, not raising her voice. Everythings documented.
The director flipped through the evidence. With each sheet his expression cooled a degree.
And these, Poppy added, sliding out another set, are photos of extracurricular use of office premises.
Alisons hand flew to her mouth. She let out a strangled sound and fled.
JamesK., the director said finally, voice like a closing door, youre dismissed. And you will answer to the law. Security.
As they escorted James out, silence settled like ash. Paul Richardson approached Poppy.
Thank you. Weve been chasing this leak for six months.
I only wanted the truth about my husband, she said. I found more than I planned.
Do you have a degree?
Economics. I havent worked in the field for seven years.
We need a security analyst someone who can see what others miss, he said, considering her. Interested?
Poppy smiled. Very.
A month after the scandal, her life had new edges and light. She was a security analyst at Pinnacle now, earning three times what James had made. She came home tired in the clean way mind stretched, hands steady.
James vanished from her orbit. After his dismissal recruitment agencies blacklisted him. Alison lasted a week before disappearing from his life as well.
At the hearing, Poppy felt composed. James hunched in a corner, unshaven, shirt crumpled, gaze sliding away from hers.
The court rules, the judge intoned, to dissolve the marriage. By mutual settlement, the flat is divided equally.
Two months later, Poppy celebrated a housewarming in her own tworoom flat. She sold her half of the old threebedroom and bought a bright, sensible apartment in a good district where the windows opened onto trees instead of excuses.
Work felt like oxygen. She designed a new infosecurity protocol and shut down several espionage attempts before they could take their first breath.
Six months on, Pinnacle hired a new IT director Andrew Collins, freshly moved from Manchester. Divorced, raising a schoolage son. They kept landing on the same projects. He treated her like a professional no condescension, no doubt.
Poppy, do you know any good schools for my boy? he asked one evening.
Sure. Walk after work? Ill show you a few. Thats how their friendship began two adults who valued honesty and understood the price of betrayal.
A year later, in a chilly, bright metro station, she ran into James. Hed lost weight, but not the healthy kind. He worked at a car wash, lived in a rented room.
Poppy how are you? he started.
Good. And you?
Hard. I cant find anything better. Maybe we could try again? Ive really changed
She studied him. He had changed into someone small and sorry.
No, she said gently. I have a different life now. And the main rule in it is to respect myself.
That evening, over tea, she told Andrew about the meeting.
Do you feel sorry for him? he asked.
I feel sorry for the woman who spent seven years thinking she was just a housewife, Poppy said. He got what he earned.
Andrew took her hand. Good thing that woman found the strength to change everything.
Outside, snow hushed the world. Inside, warmth climbed the walls of a room where laughter came easily and no one lied. Poppy was finally home somewhere she was valued, and where she valued herself.
