After seventeen years of marriage to Eleanor, James decided to leave her for a young university studentbut he never saw her farewell coming.
Eleanor stood by the window, watching raindrops slide down the glass in winding trails. Seventeen yearswas that a long time or just a blink? She remembered every anniversary, every quiet moment, every glance. Now it was all crumbling like a sandcastle.
“We need to talk,” James said, his voice oddly hollow.
She turned slowly and met his eyes. That lookdetermination mixed with guiltshe knew it well. It was the look of a man about to drop a bombshell.
“I’m leaving, Eleanor. For Emily.”
Silence. Only the steady tick of the grandfather clockhis mothers wedding giftfilled the room.
“The girl from your lectures?” Her voice stayed calm, almost eerily so.
“Yes. Things between us have gone stale. I need something new. Youre a clever womanyou understand.”
Eleanor smiled. *Clever woman.* How often had he used that line when he wanted his way?
“Are you sure?” That was all she asked.
“Completely,” James replied. “Ive already packed.”
She just nodded. Then she walked to the cabinet and pulled out the special bottle of whisky theyd been saving.
“Well, this *is* an occasion, in a way,” she said, twisting the cap. “Lets have a proper farewell. Invite your mates, your family. Seventeen years deserves a send-off.”
James blinked. “You want to throw a *party* for our divorce?”
“Why not?” Eleanors smile was brightbut something in it made his skin prickle. “Lets do this properly. After all, I *am* a clever woman, arent I?”
She grabbed her phone and started typing. Her fingers flew.
“Tomorrow at seven. Ill make your favourites. Consider it my parting gift.”
James just stood there, thrown. Hed expected tears, shouting, maybe even a slapnot this eerie calm.
“Oh,” Eleanor added without looking up, “tell Emily shes invited too. Id love to meet the girl who managed what I couldntlighting a fire under you.”
The next morning, Eleanor was up before dawn.
She called the bank, met with her solicitor, sorted paperwork. Every move was preciselike a chess player lining up checkmate.
By evening, their flat smelled of rosemary roast and buttery potatoes. She laid out the good chinathe set his mother had given them as a wedding gift.
“Everything has to be perfect,” she murmured, adjusting the napkins.
Guests arrived at seven. Jamess parents came first. His mum, Margaret, hugged her stiffly.
“Ellie, love, are you *sure* about this?”
“Yes, Mum. Some things just run their course.”
Friends trickled in. James and Emily showed up last.
“Come in, sit,” Eleanor said, gesturing to the head of the table. “Tonights all about you two.”
Once everyone was settled, Eleanor raised her glass.
“Right then. Were here to mark the end of one chapter and the start of another.”
She turned to James.
“Jamie, thank you for seventeen yearsfor the highs, the lows, the lessons. Like realising love can wear many faces.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Emily fidgeted with her napkin, eyes glued to the table.
“And you *also* taught me to read the fine print,” Eleanor added, pulling out a thick envelope. “Especially the financial kind.”
She spread papers across the table.
“Heres the loan for your Jagtaken out in *both* our names. Heres the overdue VAT for your business. And *these*” she tapped a stack of receipts”are from The Ivy, Harrods, The Savoy. Impressing Emily, were we?”
James went sheet-white. Emilys head jerked up.
“But the *real* gem,” Eleanor said, producing one last document, “is our prenup. Remember signing it without reading? Theres a *fascinating* clause about infidelity.”
The silence was deafening. Even the fridge seemed to hold its breath.
“The flats in my name,” Eleanor continued. “The accounts are frozen. And I filed for divorce this morning.”
She glanced at Emily.
“Sweetheart, are you *sure* you want a man with no home, no savings, and a mountain of debt?”
Emily sat frozen.
“II should go,” she whispered.
Margaret shook her head. “James, *how* could you? We didnt raise you like this.”
“You dont understand” James started, but his dad cut him off.
“No, *you* dont. Seventeen years is nothing to sneeze at. And you tossed it awayfor a *student*?”
Their friends stared at their plates. Only Tom, Jamess oldest mate, muttered, “Mate, youve properly mucked this up.”
Eleanor stayed standing, glass in hand, serene as if discussing the weather.
“The funny thing? I really thought we were different. Like one of those couples who grow old together. I ignored the late nights, the hushed calls, the sudden interest in new cologne.”
She took a sip.
“Then I started finding receipts. Tiffanys. The Ritz. The spa weekends. You took her to all our old spots.”
Emily reappeared in the doorway, handbag clutched tight.
“James, we need to talk. *Now*.”
“Of course, love,” he said, half-rising, but Eleanor held up a hand.
“Hold on. Im not done. Remember our first flat? That tiny place in Croydon? We were skint, but happy. You said we didnt need anything but each other.”
She smirked.
“Now look at you. Fancy suits, flash car, a *student* on your armall built on lies and IOUs.”
“James,” Emilys voice wobbled, “you *told* me you were divorced. That you lived *separately*. That you were buying *us* a place.”
“Em, I can explain”
“Dont bother,” Eleanor said, sliding out another envelope. “Bank statements. Emily might like to know about the *other* two girls youve been wining and dining. Or should I say*students*?”
The room froze. Emily spun on her heel and bolted, her heels clacking down the stairs.
“Eleanor,” James groaned, head in hands, “*why*?”
“Why?” She laughed, sharp and cold. “Did you think Id sob and beg? Grovel at your feet?”
She scanned the room.
“The mad part? I *loved* him. Every grey hair, every snore, every *bloody* bad joke. I was ready to grow old with him.”
“Darling,” Margaret whispered, “maybe thats enough.”
“No, Mum. Let them all hear. How your son took loans to spoil his *girlfriends*. How he bled us dry. How he lied to *everyone*.”
She flicked out another paper.
“And *this* ones priceless. Three months ago, you had me sign something for the accountant. Turns out it was a loan against *my* car.”
Chairs scraped. Guests mumbled apologies, shuffling out. Only Jamess parents and Tom stayed.
“Son,” his dad said heavily, standing, “were off. Call us when when you pull your head out your arse.”
Margaret hugged Eleanor. “Were *so* sorry, love.”
“Not your fault, Mum.”
Tom clapped Jamess shoulder. “Youre a right prat. Ring me if you need a pintbut dont ask for cash.”
Then it was just the two of them.
James slumped in his chair, his designer suit suddenly looking cheap.
“You know,” Eleanor said, tucking the papers away, “I *couldve* screamed, thrown things, made a scene at your office.”
She pulled out a plane ticket.
“But I chose better. Im off to Bali tomorrow. Always wanted to go, but you said it was frivolous.”
She dropped the keys on the table.
“Be out by Friday. Im selling the flat. And dont bother with the accountstheyre locked till court.”
James stared, hollow-eyed. “What am I supposed to *do*?”
“Not my problem,” she said, slipping on her coat. “The funniest bit? Im *glad* you did this. Woke me up. Shook off the cobwebs.”
At the door, she turned one last time.
“Cheers, Jamie. Hope she was worth it.”
The door clicked shut. James sat alone, surrounded by half-eaten food and half-drunk wine. Outside, an engine purredEleanor, driving toward her new life.
Rain pattered against the window, just like the night hed thrown it all away. Only now, no one was left to watch it.
