“Are you out of your mind? You spent the money weve been saving for five years on a flat for your pregnant mistress? *My* money tooour sons futurejust thrown away on some I cant even”
Thirteen years. Thats how long Emily had been married to James. Shed loved him hopelessly, blindlyjust for existing, for his perpetually messy chestnut hair and that tired, tender smile he reserved for their eight-year-old, Oliver. Life in their quiet market town had been predictable, unchanging.
Then James walked in at exactly half past nine. Lately, hed been working late, but Emily hadnt thought much of ituntil now. The door slammed. He shrugged off his jacket, and the scent hit her immediately. Not his usual cologne, but something cloying, floral.
“Hey,” he muttered, brushing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Rough day. Absolutely knackered.”
“Hi. Hungry? Ive kept dinner warm.”
“No, ta. Just need a shower.”
As he passed, something twisted in her gut. *Again* refusing food. Lately, he was always late, his phone glued to him. No longer left on the side tablenow it was face-down, locked. Any attempt to touch it made him twitch.
“Youre back late,” she said, clearing a mug. “Busy at work?”
James paused in the bathroom doorway.
“Yeah, Em. End of quarter. Reports. Paperwork nightmare.”
“Why do you smell like that?” The question came out sharper than shed meant.
He froze. She saw itthe flicker of panic.
“Smell like what?” He forced casualness, but his shoulders tensed.
“Perfume. Sweet. Floral. Not yours.”
“Oh. Mustve been one of the girls at the office. Sarah from accounting was showing off some new scent earlier. Reeked of the stuff.” He waved a hand. “Dont start, Em. Im shattered.”
*Sarah from accounting. Right.*
That smell had haunted her for weeks. Shed told herself it was nothingjust a colleagues overpowering perfume
Their familys dream had lived in a savings account. Five years of scrimpingJames from his engineers wage at the local plant, Emily from her sewing commissions. No holidays, no new car, every spare penny for Olivers future. Nearly two hundred thousand poundsenough for a flat when he turned eighteen, so he wouldnt be stuck in student digs.
The blow came out of nowhere. A client paid Emily early, even added a tip. She went straight to the bank, wanting to deposit it. Maybe shed needed air, a walk in the crisp afternoon.
The tellerLucy, whod known her for yearsflashed a polite smile.
“Hello, Mrs. Hart. How can I help?”
“Just wanted to check the balance on our savings. And deposit this, if I could.”
“Of course. May I see your ID?”
Emily handed it over. Lucys fingers tapped briskly.
“Right” The tellers brow furrowed. “Mrs. Hart, the account its empty.”
“Empty?” Emily laughed weakly. “Thats not possible.”
“Zero balance. No pounds, no pence.”
The floor lurched. Emily gripped the counter.
“Lucy, you must be mistaken. We opened it five years agoJames Hart, my husband. I deposit into it *every month*.”
“Im sorry.” Lucys voice dropped, pitying. “The last withdrawal was two weeks ago. A cash transaction. Quite substantial.”
“How much?” The words barely made it out.
“£198,700. Withdrawn in person. The account was closed.”
Two weeks ago. James had come home late that night*stuck in a meeting*, hed said.
“I need a full statement. Now.”
She left the bank swaying, barely remembering the drive home. Two hundred thousand. Gone.
***
When James returned, Emily sat at the kitchen table, the printed statement folded neatly in half. No tearsjust a chilling calm.
He tossed his keys onto the hook, rubbing his temples.
“Hey. You alright?”
“Sit down, James.” Her voice was flat, alien.
He hesitated, eyes darting to the papers. Understanding dawned slowly.
“Whats this?”
“Sit. We need to talk.”
He sank into the chair opposite.
“Em, I dont”
“Dont lie.” Her fingers tapped the statement. “I went to the bank today. The accounts empty. £198,700. Gone. Two weeks ago.”
James stared at his hands. No denial.
“Howd you find out?”
“Does it matter? Wheres the money, James?”
“I bought a flat.”
“A flat?” Her laugh was brittle. “For *who*?”
He exhaled sharply. When he looked up, there was no remorsejust irritation and grim resolve.
“For her.”
“Her *name*, James.”
“Sophie. Sophia Carter.”
Emilys stare couldve frozen hell. James shriveled under it but ploughed on.
“Remember that team retreat last year? The one the boss forced us on? Thats where I met her. Shes different, Em. Wild. Nineteen when we got together. Motorbikes, tattoos, piercingsI lost my head. With you, its comfortable. Like mates. But Sophie”
Emily stood abruptly, turning to the window.
“So youll provide for your mistresss child, but not your son? Fine. Heres what happens now: tomorrow, you sign your half of this house over to Oliver. When hes older, Ill sell ithell have his own place. As for you? I dont care. Ill file for divorce in the morning. *Try* to stop me, and Ill ruin you. Ill make sure everyone knows.”
He begged, of course. Lingered outside the house, sent pleading texts. But the divorce went through. And Sophie? She didnt want him either. The babyborn right on timewasnt his. The almond-shaped eyes said it all.
Some stories dont have happy endings. Just consequences.
