Id been keeping an eye on my mateOlivia Harts phone logs when she finally cracked the GPS tag on her husband, whod been saying hed gone fishing. The dot blinked right outside the doors of the citys Maternity Ward5.
Why does this invoice show a figure thirtythousand pounds lower than the original quote? Olivia snapped, her tone as cold as a winter morning, into the contractors ear on the line. We agreed on the Italian porcelain, style712. What have you fitted? A Chinese copy?
Olivia, whos going to argue? the builder, Dave Fletcher, tried to smooth over. It looks identical, down to the grain! Think of the savings. Ill even give you half the kickback, and no one will notice.
Ill notice, Olivia cut him short. Make sure the tiles are swapped by lunch tomorrow, or well see each other in court. I guarantee youll lose not just this project but your licence as well.
She hung up, her hands trembling with fury. It was the same story every time: she poured her soul into a build, stayed up late drafting every centimetre of a future interior, only for a slicktalking contractor to try and shortchange her, treating her like a fool. A designer needed nerves of steel and a heart of ironOlivia had both in abundance. After twenty years in the trade shed learned to defend her projects and put arrogant builders in their place.
She got home late, exhausted and angry. Waiting at the doorway was her husband, Simon Hart, cradling a mug of her favourite peppermint tea.
Another battle? he said with a gentle smile, taking her heavy bag of material swatches. Come in, my Viking, dinners ready.
Simon was the exact opposite of Olivia. Calm, homebound, unambitious. He worked as a design engineer for a modest firm in the suburbs, earned a modest but steady salary, and seemed perfectly content in their snug little world. He was the quiet island she retreated to after each daily skirmish.
Theyd been married twentytwo years, raised a son who was now at university in another city, and lived a steady life without major upheavals. Olivia built her career; Simon held down the fort. He always met her with a plate, listened to endless rants about the wrong shade of beige, and never complained when she disappeared for days on site. He was the perfect husbandor so their friends thought, and she believed it herself.
Lately, though, Simon had become distant, thoughtful. Hed taken up a new hobbyfishing. Every weekend hed head off with his mate Colin to the lakes.
Simon, is fishing even possible in November? Olivia asked, puzzled.
Whats the point of asking? he shrugged. The fish are biting now. A bit of peace, some quiet. You could use a break yourself.
Olivia didnt argue. Let him have his space. She packed his thermos with hot tea, wrapped up sandwiches, and let him go with a light heart.
That Saturday he left at dawn. Olivia, after finishing an urgent site job, decided to treat herself. She stopped at the salon, then swung by the huge Tesco on the high street for groceries, wandering the aisles and mentally planning the weeks meals. She thought to ring Simon, see if he needed anything for his return. She dialled his number. Long rings. Nothing. Silence.
Normally hed answer straight away. A thin line of worry crawled up her spine. Had something happened? A flat tyre? A busted engine? Six months earlier theyd installed a familylocator app on their phones to keep tabs on their son. They rarely used it, feeling it intruded on privacy, but now
She opened the app. Three dots appeared: hers, her sons at the university halls, and Simons. Her heart jolted. The dot wasnt out by the lake or the countryside. It was in the city, in a residential area. Zooming in, the pin settled on a specific building: Flower Road, number7. She typed the address into Google and the screen displayed a place she didnt want to see: City Maternity Ward5.
A glitch, she told herself. Just a bug in the app, a misread. Maybe Colins new grandchild? But why lie about fishing?
She tried calling again. His phone was switched off. Panic hardened into a cold, sticky dread. She dumped the trolley of groceries in the middle of the aisles; a shop assistant tried to get her attention, but Olivia heard nothing. She bolted from the store, fumbled with the car keys, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped the ignition.
All the way there she muttered to herself like a mantra: Its a mistake. Just a mistake. She imagined countless sensible explanationsColins sons car broke down, a friends emergency, anything but the worst picture her mind could paint.
She parked opposite the maternity ward, a plain yellowbrick building with a porch crowded by people holding bouquets and balloons, proud new dads, grandparents. Olivia sat in the car, too scared to step out. She feared seeing the thing that would shatter the tidy interior shed built for her life.
And then she saw it.
Simon stepped out, not in a fishing jacket but in the crisp white shirt shed ironed for him the night before. Beside him walked a young woman, about twentyfive, her face both weary and delighted. In Simons hand was a white envelope tied with a blue satin ribbon.
An elderly ladypresumably the young womans motherrushed over, hugging Simon, chatting joyfully. He smiled a smile Olivia hadnt seen in years, the same bright, slightly bewildered grin hed worn twentytwo years ago when hed carried baby Danny home from the same ward.
Olivia watched the scene through the car window; the world fell away. No traffic, no city, no peoplejust that picture: her husband, another woman, and a child not hers. And she, the deceived, betrayed, sitting in the car shed bought with her own hardearned money.
She didnt get out. She didnt make a scene. Her steelhardened resolve, forged in battles with contractors, whispered a different strategy: act, dont scream.
She turned the car around and drove home to their flat, the one shed considered a fortress. Inside, everything bore her touch, bought with her wages, all reminders of him. She walked to the bookshelf where his collection of model shipsstuff hed loved as a boystood on display. She grabbed the biggest, a sleek frigate, and hurled it to the floor. It shattered into countless splinters, and a sudden relief washed over her.
Methodically, as if drafting a bill of quantities, she began the next steps. First, she called her solicitor.
Archie Lyons, good afternoon. I need you to start divorce proceedings immediately and sort the asset split.
Then she opened her laptop, logged onto her bank, and transferred every penny from their joint savings into her own account. The password was their wedding datehow ironic. She moved the remainder of her salary in as well, leaving exactly £1,000 in the joint account for sandwiches for the fisherman.
She packed his belongingscrumpled shirts, fishing boots, those ridiculous model shipsinto bulky bin bags, called a removal van, and sent everything to his mothers address.
When the flat finally emptied, echoing, she collapsed onto the sofa and finally let the tears flow. Not from hurt, but from anger at herselfat her own blindness, at trusting so fully at home while she could spot a deceitful contractor a mile away. How could she, so sharp on site, be such a fool in her own house?
That evening Simon called, his voice shaky.
Olivia, I dont get it I got home, everythings gone. The accounts are empty. Whats happened? Did someone rob us?
We werent robbed, Simon, she replied, voice flat as steel. Just a redesign. I cleared out the clutter.
What clutter? Where are my things? Wheres the money?
Your stuff is with your mum now. As for the money consider it child support for your newborn. I popped into the fifth maternity ward today, saw a touching scene, congratulations. Hope the catch was good.
A dead silence hung for a few seconds.
Olivia Ill explain! Its not what you think!
I dont need explanations. I need nothing from you. My solicitor will be in touch tomorrow about the divorce. Dont look for me, and forget this number.
She hung up, blocked his contact, then drifted into the kitchen, pulled out a pad of drafting paper and her favourite set of pencils, and began to sketch. She was drawing the blueprint of a new lifeno lies, no compromises, a colour not almost the same, but the exact shade of freedom.
Betrayal by someone close cuts deep, but sometimes that wound becomes the point from which a genuine life starts. What would you have done in Olivias place? Would you have listened to explanations, or taken the same decisive route? Feel free to share your thoughts.
