My name is Helen Martin, and I reside in the quaint city of York, surrounded by the lush greenery and historic landmarks of North Yorkshire. I’ve known Oliver for what feels like an eternity. He’s always been the life of the party, a lover of women and the good life. But life dealt him a harsh hand, and now he’s flailing in a pit of his own making.
His wife, Susan, has been working hard in Germany for the past two years. She left him with their two grown children and went abroad to earn a living. She returns only once a year, in summer, for just a week or two, as her job doesn’t allow for longer holidays. Yet she diligently deposits money into their joint account every month, from which Oliver can draw. We unexpectedly bumped into each other on the street recently, and he invited me for a coffee. Over our cups, he shared his story—bitter and absurd, leaving me questioning how he ended up this way.
When Susan left, Oliver endured loneliness for a year, dabbling in brief affairs with former flings. Then he decided he’d had enough. He craved warmth, passion, someone to share his bed. “You only live once,” he told himself. His eye fell on a young woman, Annabel, who had long intrigued him. She played hard to get but eventually became his lover. Beautiful, like a picture, yet with a temperament that was hard to handle—tantrums, endless demands. Oliver, soft-hearted and eager to please, fulfilled her every whim.
He was fully aware: such lovers bring no good, especially if you’re a pushover willing to do anything for their smile. Annabel bled him dry. First, there were funds for clothes and bills, then repairs on her house and holiday home, her son’s graduation costs, and a new television. It reached a point where he even bought her a second-hand car. When his savings dried up, he dipped into Susan’s account, withdrawing thousands, foolishly thinking no one would notice. But secrets never stay hidden. Susan found out about his infidelity, thanks to “friendly” informants, even across borders. She gave him a roasting over video chat, yelling so loudly the windows trembled. She threatened to tell their daughters—they adored their father, considered him a hero, but would turn their backs forever over such betrayal. She warned she’d come back and file for divorce unless he dumped the girl.
But Annabel clung to him like a leech, unwilling to lose such a generous “benefactor.” First, she staged a pregnancy, swearing she’d have the child, playing on his sympathy. Panicked, Oliver whisked her away to a resort to dissuade her. She agreed to an abortion, but not without a hefty £10,000 bill, money he didn’t have. He had to take out a loan, sinking deep into debt. Just as he thought the nightmare was over, Annabel began an affair with his boss. Now his manager, under her spell, torments Oliver at work with threats of sacking him. If he loses his job, how will he repay his debt? Oliver is on edge: his job hangs by a thread, his finances are dwindling, and guilt gnaws at him like a hungry hound.
He confessed to me he’s considering fleeing to Susan in Germany—abandoning everything, begging at her feet for forgiveness. Maybe, by doing so, he can salvage what’s left of his life. With a rueful smile, he concluded: “I knew there’s no such thing as a free lunch, but my bite turned out far too salty.” And with that, he left, head hung low, leaving me staring into my empty cup. Oliver trapped himself in this hell—for cheap thrills, for a girl who drained him of everything: money, dignity, family. Susan toils in a foreign land so their children can live well, while he traded her for a demanding leech. Should their daughters learn the truth, they’d curse him—and rightly so.
I watch him drown and can’t help wondering: what’s next? Annabel will wring him dry and abandon him like a husk. His boss will kick him out, leaving him with nothing—without family, without home, saddled with debt that will hound him forever. He thought youth could be bought, that love was a toy wrapped in pretty paper. Now he pays the price—bitterly, alone, with empty hands. Maybe Susan might take him back, but forgiveness? I wouldn’t. He betrayed not just her, but their children, grandchildren who could have brought joy to his old age. Instead, there’s a young vixen laughing behind his back. So much for the joker—now he’s just a shadow of himself, and this lesson he won’t forget.
