“Can me and the new wife stay at the cottage? Weve got nowhere else,” my ex asked. I said yes. Then I called the police and filed a report for trespassing.
“Found out, then?” The voice on the phone was sickeningly familiar. Soft, ingratiatingthe same one that once swore eternal love.
I stayed silent, tracing frost patterns on the windowpane. A call from my ex-husband, David, after two years of near-silence, never meant anything good. It always led to a request.
“Annie, dont freeze me out. I need a favour.”
“Im listening,” I replied flatly, my voice brittle as a snapped twig.
He hesitated, testing the watershis usual tactic. “Look, I know its a strange ask Me and Elaine, were in a tight spot. Had to move out of our flat, cant find a new one.”
I let him talk. Each word was a pebble dropped into the still lake of my composure.
“Dyou think we could stay at the cottage? Just a couple of months, till things settle. Well keep quietyou wont even know were there.”
*”Can me and the new wife stay at the cottage?”* So casual, like he was asking for the salt at dinner.
As if there hadnt been lies, betrayal, the way he walked out, leaving me to pick up the pieces alone.
A memory surfaced: twenty years ago, building that cottage. Young, sunburnt David, hammer in hand, grinning. *”This is our fortress, Annie! No matter what happens, well always have this place. Our retreat.”*
How poisonous those words were now. *Our retreat.* Hed brought another woman into it. Now he wanted to make her its mistress.
“David, are you out of your mind?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“Annie, please,” he begged. “Weve got nowhere. Elaines well, shes pregnant. We cant sleep rough.”
He knew where to strike. Children. The one thing we never had. And now, for them, it came so easily.
I shut my eyes. Two beasts warred inside meone wanted to scream every vile thought Id ever had about him, slam the phone down, and never look back. The other whispered: *This is your chance. Not to forgive. To make it right.*
“We swore to stand by each other, no matter what,” he pressed, voice dripping with false remorse. Playing on duty, on the “good girl” Id been for him all those years.
Another memory. Our wedding day. Young and foolish, staring into his eyes as he vowed, *”Ill never betray you.”* Fifteen years later, packing his bags: *”Sorry, it just happened. Feelings change.”*
Betrayed. Gone. Now begging for help.
A cold clarity settled over me. The plan came instantly. Brutal. Perfect.
“Fine,” I said, surprising even myself with how calm I sounded. “You can stay.”
Relief gusted through the phone. He babbled thanks, something about always knowing Id pull through. I stopped listening.
“The keys where it always is. Under the stone by the porch.”
“Cheers, Annie! Youre a lifesaver!”
I hung up. The trap was set. Now to wait for the beast to let its guard down.
Two days passed. I lived on edge, flinching at every ring. I knew hed call againneeding reassurance I was still on the hook.
The call came Saturday morning.
“Alright? Were all settled in,” David announced, cheerful. No trace of pleading nowjust ownership.
“Place needs work, though. Cobwebs, overgrown garden. No worries, me and Elainell sort it.”
My fingers whitened on the kitchen counter. *”Well sort it.”* In *my* home.
“I didnt ask you to *sort* anything,” I said evenly. “I said you could stay.”
“Come off it, Annie. Were making it nice. Elaine says the airs good for the baby. Shes even picked a spot for flowerbeds. Right under the bedroom window.”
*Our* bedroom. Where the wallpaper still bore scratches from the cats claws.
“Dont touch my roses,” was all I managed.
“Who wants those prickly things?” he scoffed. “Elaine likes peonies. Listen, another thingthe lofts crammed with your junk. Boxes, old clothes. We need the space. Can I shift it to the shed?”
A flashback: our first flat. David “modernised” the bathroom, ripping out tiles Mum and I spent weeks choosing. *”Theyre dated, Annie. Ill do it proper.”* He botched itcheap, crooked, and over budget. His initiatives always cost me too much.
“Dont touch my things, David.”
“Why cling to tat?” He was losing patience. “We need room! Cant you be decent? Elaines stressedits not good for the baby!”
A whisper, then Elaines saccharine voice fluttered through:
“David, love, dont argue. Annie, sweetheart, we mean no harm. Just need space for the crib, the pram…”
Their act was transparent. He pushed, she softened. Expecting me to melt and hand it all over.
“I said no. And no planting in *my* garden. Be grateful youre staying at all.”
“*Grateful?*” he exploded. “Fifteen years I wasted on you! And you begrudge us space? FineIm changing the shed lock. Lost the key. Fetch your boxes when were gone.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the cityscape through the window. He wasnt just living in my househe was taking it over. Erasing me. A new lock wasnt cheekit was war.
Very well. War hed get.
I waited a week. Carried on as usualwork, friends, routine. But beneath the surface, the plan hardened.
Next Saturday, I drove to the cottage unannounced. Parked round the bend, crept up like a thief.
First sight: my rose bushes, the ones Mum planted, ripped out by the roots. Tossed by the fence like corpses. Fresh soil in their placepeony shoots.
Something inside me snapped. This wasnt just overstepping. It was desecration.
I circled the house. New wicker chairs on the patio. Frilly curtains in the windows*hers*. They were nesting. Sinking roots.
The shed door hung open. The one hed re-locked. Inside, my boxes were gutted, belongings strewn in filth. Mums letters, once ribbon-tied, now muddy. My diaries, pages torn out.
And atop the ruinmy wedding dress. Once white, now soiled with grease and dirt. An empty beer bottle beside it.
They hadnt just cleared space. Theyd relished destroying what mattered to me. Trampling my past underfoot.
Enough.
The “good girl Annie,” who shrank from conflict, died in that shed, staring at her defiled dress. In her place rose something calm. Ice-cold. And utterly ruthless.
I didnt scream. Didnt storm inside. Just turned, walked back to the car, and drove away. My hands stayed steady on the wheel. Mind empty, yet crystal-clear.
First stop: a hardware shop. The heaviest padlock and chain I could find.
By seven the next morning, I was at the gate. Wrapped it in chain. Clicked the lock shut.
I sat in the car, watching the house.
At ten, David emerged. Stretched, ambled to the gate. Tugged once, twicethen froze, gaping at the chain.
His relaxation vanished. He rattled the gate like a madman.
Elaine scurried out. Her shriek pierced through my closed windows.
My phone rang.
“What the hells this?” David roared. “Youve locked us in!”
“Just securing my property,” I said, voice glacial. “Since locks mean nothing to youlike when you broke into my shed.”
“What shed? Youre mental! Elaines pregnantwhat if she needs an ambulance? Open this now!”
“An ambulance? Fine. Ill call the police first. Report trespass, property damage. Theyve got bolt-cutters.”
Silence. Elaines sobs hissed down the line.
“Trespass? You *let* us in!”
“I allowed temporary shelter. You acted like owners. Dug up my roses, turned the shed into a tip. You crossed a line, David.”
“Who cares about your old rubbish?” he spat. “Youd really have us arrested over *tat*?”
“Its not tat. Its my life. The one you betrayed, then tried to erase.”
I hung up, dialled 999. Calmly gave my address: *”Int
