My name is Helen Martin, and I reside in a tranquil corner of rural England. I’ve known Oliver forever; he’s always been the life of the party, a charmer with a weakness for women and easy pleasures. Yet, fate has dealt him a harsh hand, and now he’s entangled in a mess of his own making.
His wife, Susan, has been diligently working in Germany for two years now. She left Oliver with their two grown-up kids and went overseas to earn a living. She only returns home once a year, in the summer, for a week or two at most, constrained by her work schedule. Nevertheless, she consistently deposits money into their joint account every month, allowing Oliver access. I bumped into him recently, and he invited me for a coffee. Over coffee, he unfolded his tale—a bitter one, absurd enough that I still can’t fathom how he let things spiral so far.
When Susan left, Oliver endured solitude for a year, passing time with brief flings from the past. Eventually, he craved warmth, passion, someone beside him at night. “You only live once!” he told himself. He turned his attention to a young woman, Emma, who had long intrigued him. She played hard to get initially but eventually relented, becoming his mistress. She was an absolute stunner but with a temperament you’d wish on no one—endless whims and tantrums. And Oliver, tender and accommodating, would go above and beyond to meet her every demand.
He knew deep down that such relationships rarely bode well, particularly for a man like him, willing to do anything for a smile. Emma bled him dry. First, it was money for clothes and bills, then for renovating her house and cottage, her son’s graduation expenses, a new TV. It got to a point where he bought her a second-hand car. When his own savings dwindled, he dipped into the account his wife funded—taking out thousands, thinking no one would be the wiser. But secrets have a way of bubbling to the surface. Susan found out about his escapades thanks to some “helpful” friends. She gave him a tongue-lashing over video call, her voice shaking the windows. She threatened to tell their daughters, who worshiped their father, seeing him as a hero, but would turn their backs on him upon learning of his betrayal. She warned she’d return and file for divorce if he didn’t leave the girl.
Emma, meanwhile, wasn’t about to let go of such a generous benefactor. She staged a pregnancy scare, swearing she’d keep the child and appealing to his guilt. In panic, Oliver whisked her away to a resort, trying to dissuade her. She agreed to terminate the pregnancy but handed him a bill—ten thousand pounds, which he didn’t have. It forced him to take out a loan, sinking into debt. Just as he thought the nightmare was behind him, Emma started a fling with his boss. Captivated by her wiles, his boss began tormenting Oliver at work—humiliating him and threatening to sack him. Should his job evaporate, how would he settle his debt? Oliver’s on edge: his job’s precarious, his funds depleting, guilt gnawing at him like a hungry beast.
He confided that he’s contemplating fleeing to Germany to grovel for Susan’s forgiveness. Perhaps it’s his last chance to salvage remnants of his life. As he left, he offered a bitter smile: “I knew the cheese wasn’t free, but this slice was too salty.” And then he was gone, leaving me staring into my empty cup. Oliver dug his own hole—lured by fleeting passion and a girl who drained him of everything: his money, pride, and family. Susan toils in a foreign land to ensure their children’s comfort, while he traded her for a whimsically demanding leech. Should their daughters learn the truth, they’d curse him—and rightly so.
I watch him flounder, and the question lingers: what next? Emma will squeeze the last drop from him before discarding him like a hollow shell. His boss will boot him from work, leaving him with nothing—family-less, homeless, shackled with debt that will suffocate him for life. He thought he could purchase youth, thought love was a plaything wrapped in pretty paper. Now he pays the price—painfully, alone, and empty-handed. Susan might take him back, but forgiveness? I doubt it. He’s betrayed not just her but also their kids, their grandchildren, who might have brought joy to his twilight years. Instead, he’s left with a young, ruthless woman laughing behind his back. There you have it—the life of the party reduced to a shadow of himself, with a lesson he’ll never forget.
