15October2025
Im writing this after a day that feels like a whole life turned upside down.
Today James was meant to come home with a plate of seafood pastahis favourite after a long shift at the warehouse. I stopped by the local Tesco on my way home, grabbed the fresh fish, the pasta and a few veggies, and set about preparing dinner all by myself. I was humming in the kitchen when James finally rushed in, late as usual, clutching a bunch of roses.
Ethel, heres a tired husband for you! he joked, practically shouting from the doorway. I laughed, took the flowers, and put them in a vase on the kitchen counter.
After we ate, we talked about the days annoyances and the small crises that always seem to pop up. When the conversation settled, we curled up on the sofa, turned the TV on, and watched a film together. Its been ten years since we said I do, and the early passion has long settled into a comfortable warmth. We run a modest family business together I handle the suppliers, James takes care of sales and the accounts. Our flat in Manchester is tidy, our life feels full. Children? Not yet on the agenda; perhaps when were closer to forty.
A few weeks ago I rescued a scruffy grey kitten from the alley outside our building. James balked at the idea.
Whats this little stray doing in our home? Take it to a shelter. If you want a cat, get a pedigreemaybe a British Shorthair. This one isnt worth it.
But the kitten, with his bright green eyes, stole my heart instantly. I named him Morris, and hes become my little shadow. James, however, cant stand him. The tension between them is palpable; James will nudge him away, and Morris will retaliate by shedding on Jamess trousers or scratching his sweater.
Enough! Im getting rid of that cat. Hes ruined my clothes, James snapped one evening.
I tried to calm him. Dont fling things about, mate. Put them in the wardrobe. Morris isnt the problem.
He muttered, Barsic is a ridiculous nameBarsic. (I had actually started calling the kitten Barsic before settling on Morris.)
Morris stared back with those unsettling, emerald eyes. For a whole year the house felt like a battlefield between husband and cat. Lately Jamess irritation has grown; any time he sees Morris he starts to shout, Whats he doing here? Hell get up to something.
I try to keep the peace. James, love, hes just a cat. Hes not up to any mischief. Hes not bothering you.
Ethel, hes driving me mad. Can you just give him away?
I wont. Hes mine.
Over the months Morris has grown into a sleek, handsome cat.
On Thursday James left for a business trip to Leeds, saying hed be back by Sunday. I spent Saturday doing a deep clean: dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing every surface. While I was tidying the hallway cupboard, Morris nosed at a stack of papers and knocked a thin folder onto the floor. I opened it and found a jumble of receiptshotel bookings, shortbreak holiday vouchers, pricey jewellery purchases, airline tickets. None of these were for me. There was also a contract for a car sale, but the sellers name was a stranger called Natalie, and Jamess signature was on the payment side.
I flipped through more documents; many bore Jamess handwritten notes. He has this habit of hoarding receipts, later passing them through the company to siphon money. This pile was clearly hidden away.
My stomach churned. I wanted to tear everything up, to scream, to call James immediately. I held back. Morris brushed against my leg, leapt onto the folder, and began to purr softly, his rumbling soothing me. I whispered, You saw it, didnt you? and felt a strange calm settle over me.
I photocopied every receipt, every contract. That evening I scoured social media for the cars owner. A young woman posted a picture of a brandnew red hatchback with the caption Loves gift. Only the back of her hand and the side of her torso were visible, but Jamess tattoo on his forearm was unmistakable. He was having an affair and was spending our joint money on it.
James returned Sunday night, as cheerful as ever, roses in hand.
Whats the matter, love? You look like youve caught a cold, he said, eyes twinkling.
My head hurts, Im terribly congested, I replied, my eyes red from crying. He ate his dinner, while I retreated to the spare bedroom.
Should we call a doctor? he asked.
No, Ill just lie down. Ive already taken some medication.
He fell asleep on the couch, his phone left on the kitchen counter. I picked it up, something Ive never done before. I scrolled through his messages, texts, WhatsApp chats. Everything confirmed my worst suspicions. Earlier that night he had sent his lover a message: Cant wait to see you on Tuesday, love.
On Monday I sent James off to work, telling him I was ill and would stay at our weekend cottage. I gathered all the paperwork and walked into a solicitors office. He filed for divorce and division of assets the very next day, without my knowledge. I told him, I think Ive caught a nasty flu; Ill be resting at the cottage for a while. I began commuting to work once a week, handling my supplier duties from home.
When James received the court papers, he was stunned. He rushed to me, pleading, What are you doing? Weve been together for years. Ive done everything for you.
Ive fallen out of love, I said simply. Well see each other in court.
I kept quiet about his mistress. In court, when the receipts and the car purchase were presented, James looked bewildered. The judge asked, Did you really spend these sums on a lover? Did you buy her a car?
Yes, James admitted, his voice shaking.
My solicitor secured a fair division: I kept the cottage and a substantial cash settlement; James retained the flat. The cars stayed where they were, each keeping one. The business was split, and I transferred my supplier contacts to a new company I am now running solo, handling both sales and finance. Morris, ever the loyal companion, curls beside me as I type this, his purrs reminding me that life goes on.
James is furiousmy former husband is now a competitor, and his finances have dwindled. His new fling is nothing more than occasional dates; he returns to an empty flat, his life a hollow echo of what it once was.
Im tired, but theres a strange sense of relief in the air. I finally have the space to rebuild, with Morris by my side, and a future that feels, at last, mine.
