**Diary Entry 12th June**
The day had arrivedthe day Id waited for, the day Id mark the end of one life and the beginning of another.
Emily stood rigid by the door, her knuckles white around the strap of her bag. Two years. Two bloody years of patience, of biting her tongue, of swallowing the injustice. Now, the moment was here.
The lock turned with a sharp click. A matron in uniform stepped inside. “Time to go, Emily.” No warmth, no ceremonyjust the cold efficiency of the system. Emily gathered her things quickly, not sparing a glance at the sneering guard who muttered, “In a hurry to see your fancy man, are we?”
She didnt dignify it with an answer. Head high, she walked outpast the stench of bleach and regret, past the whispers that no longer mattered. The past played in flashes: her and Charles, their rise from nothing, the business booming, the love rotting.
Shed been naive. Signed every paper Charles slid across the table, trusting the man whod once held her in the rain outside a Liverpool pub, whispering promises. Then came the arrestfraud, embezzlement, her own husbands forged evidence. The trial was a farce. His barrister, slick as oil, painted her the mastermind. Five years sentenced. Three served, thanks to good behaviour.
Prison hardened her. The meek woman whod wept in her cell the first night was gone. In her place stood someone sharper, colder. And now, freedomand vengeance.
The gate clanged shut behind her. For a heartbeat, she froze. Fear, thick as London fog, coiled in her chest. Then she saw him.
Thomas. Charless oldest friend, the one whod visited every month without fail, whod believed her when no one else did. His arms around her were solid, real. “Christ, Emily,” he murmured into her hair. “Thought this dayd never come.”
She laugheda ragged, breathless sound. “You came.”
“Like Id leave you.” His grip tightened.
In the car, she let herself breathe. Thomass flat was clean, quiet. A shower, proper coffee, the weight of a robe instead of scratchy prison linens. She sipped the coffee, savouring it, then set the mug down with purpose. “The papers. Show me.”
Thomas fetched them from the safe. “Your sister-in-law slipped them into his stack. He didnt even read themtoo busy boasting about his latest fling.”
Emily traced the signatures with a fingertip. Charless downfall, in black and white.
Later, in the hush of Thomass bedroom, she asked the question that had gnawed at her for months. “When this is over would you marry me?”
His laugh was soft. “Took you long enough to ask.”
The next morning, she walked into the London office like she owned itbecause she did. Charless face when he saw her? Priceless. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She dropped the copies on his desk. “Returning the favour.”
His rage was a spectacle. Threats, spluttered denialsall useless. The documents didnt lie. The company, the house in Kensington, the Aston Martinall hers. By the time the courts finished, Charles had nothing but the clothes on his back.
Three months later, she married Thomas in a quiet ceremony. No fanfare, just happinessthe kind shed forgotten existed.
**Lesson learned:** Trust is fragile. Revenge? Thats just patience with a plan.
