The Shadow of Betrayal: Marina’s Path to Freedom
Marina, exhausted after a long shift, dragged heavy grocery bags into her flat in Manchester. She dropped them on the kitchen floor, changed into loungewear, and noticed her husband wasn’t home.
“Odd,” she muttered, frowning. “Where’s he off to this late? Stuck at work again?”
Their son, Oliver, was staying with his aunt in a nearby town. Marina boiled some soup, ate alone, and settled on the sofa, scrolling through social media. A stranger’s profile popped up—a young, radiant woman with a dazzling smile. Curiosity nudged Marina to click. One glance at the photos, and she gasped as if punched in the gut.
“Finally, we’re here!” Marina stumbled out of the taxi, her stomach still churning from the journey. She took a swig of lukewarm water from her bottle. She’d never handled boats well, and the cabbie seemed allergic to brakes.
“Mum, you alright?” Oliver, who adored cars just like his dad, eyed her with concern.
“Fine, sweetheart, just a bit queasy. Let’s check into the hotel.”
This holiday hadn’t been planned. Marina couldn’t bear sharing a roof with her husband any longer. She took extra shifts, spent hours with Oliver at the park—anything to avoid him. Even glancing at their flat’s windows, where Robert lurked, made her nauseous.
“Mum, look—slides! Can I go play?” Oliver tugged her sleeve.
“Of course, love. I’ll sort the bags.”
A plump woman with a Cheshire-cat grin bounced over.
“Oh, newcomers! What a lovely boy! I’ll keep an eye on him—you can return the favour later! We all pitch in here! Evening karaoke too—fancy joining? I do a mean rendition of ‘Rule, Britannia!’ Fancy a slot? Name’s Lizzie!”
Marina, still green around the gills, only wanted air conditioning and a horizontal surface. Karaoke was the last thing on her mind.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Oliver can manage alone. Excuse me.”
Lizzie’s smile faltered, but she retreated. Marina wobbled to her room, cranked the AC, and collapsed onto the bed. Alone. Finally. The moment she shut her eyes, the memories rushed back. When had Robert, her closest confidant, become a source of irritation?
Was it when he’d ditched helping with the bathroom tiles to “sort out” his mate’s garage?
“Marina, Dave’s place was a tip! We had to fix it—then he treated us to pints and kebabs!” he’d cheered while she scrubbed paint off three-year-old Oliver, who’d “helped” by redecorating the walls.
Or when Oliver, at four, gashed his knee at the playground? She’d called Robert in tears, only for him to snap,
“Ring an ambulance, then! Sort it yourself!”
She’d held Oliver as the nurses stitched his wound, whispering reassurances. Robert sauntered in later, glanced at the bandage, and quipped,
“Hardly a tragedy—he’ll live.”
Drowsiness crept in, her dark thoughts fading—until a knock startled her.
“Who now?” she grumbled, hauling herself up.
Lizzie stood there, beaming.
“Forgot to mention—we help each other out here! Fancy a Tesco run? My hubby’s driving!”
“We’re on first-name terms already?” Marina thought wearily. But Lizzie’s earnestness made her soften.
“Cheers, but I’m knackered.”
“Rest up, then!” Lizzie chirped before vanishing.
Marina lay down—only for the door to burst open. Oliver charged in, dragging a tearful eight-year-old girl.
“Mum, help! Emily’s plaits came undone, and her mum said not to come back messy! She’s crying!”
“Oh, alright. Come here, love.”
She hastily rebraided Emily’s hair, wiped her cheeks.
“Off you go!”
“Mum, you’re the best!” Oliver and Emily dashed off.
Sleep was hopeless now. Marina tossed and turned. Normally, she’d unpack immediately, making the space cosy. Robert? Straight to the pub or the beach, always the life of the party.
“Your husband’s a riot!” friends would gush.
She just wished he’d be the heart of their family for once.
Stepping onto the balcony, she watched the sea glitter as promised in the brochure. Then—smoke. Coughing, she spotted the culprit on the next balcony.
“Oops, bothering you?” A woman in her thirties peered over.
“Just the wind,” Marina waved it off.
“I’m Olivia. Room’s usually empty—bad habit, this.”
“Marina. Here with my son.”
“Me too! Emily’s mine.”
“Not the plaits tyrant, surely?”
“Word travels fast!” Olivia laughed. “Why chat across walls? Fancy wine downstairs? Celebratory tipple?”
“Let’s.” Marina’s mood lifted.
Olivia—a brunette with a mischievous glint—had set up a “feast”: grapes, plastic cups, and a bottle of prosecco.
“To new mates!”
“Girls’ night? Mind if I join?” Lizzie bounded over.
“Seaside rules—anything goes!” Olivia poured her a glass.
Lizzie suddenly sniffled.
“Girls, I can’t take it anymore…”
“What’s wrong?”
“Came here with my husband, right? Just us. Then his mum, Margaret—ex-headmistress—invites herself! Now I’m organising bingo nights instead of sunbathing! ‘Lizzie, be hospitable! You represent the family!’ I hate my own name!”
Olivia and Marina exchanged glances. Everyone had baggage. Olivia spoke first.
“Liz, I’d kill for in-laws. Emily’s dad? CEO. I was his temp. ‘Love,’ he called it—until I got pregnant. Then it was a ‘problem’ solved with a bank transfer. No regrets, though.”
Marina, silent till now, finally confessed.
“Two weeks back, I found out my husband’s cheating.”
“What? You’re divorcing?” Lizzie gasped.
“Haven’t told him yet…”
The night it happened, Marina had been scrolling social media when a stunning stranger’s profile appeared. Clicking through, she found Robert’s likes on her photos—then a company party pic (spouses “not invited”). Later, snooping on his phone, she’d uncovered their flirty texts.
No scenes. No confrontations. Oliver needed a father. The mortgage was joint. Robert earned well—she couldn’t manage alone. But the secret festered. Sleep fled. Food turned tasteless. So she’d fled to the coast, desperate for clarity.
Robert had shrugged off her sudden holiday.
“Good on you, Marina. Enjoy—I’ve no leave left.”
His indifference cut deep. Suppressing thoughts of what he’d do unsupervised, she’d splurged on last-minute train tickets and bolted.
The women sat in heavy silence. Olivia swirled her glass.
“Enough moping! Solutions! Liz—your mum-in-law’s bored? Introduce us!”
“But my husband—and the wine breath—”
“Room number?”
Half an hour later, Margaret joined them. Stern but weary, she melted after Olivia’s charm offensive.
“Lizzie’s lucky to have you!”
“My son’s lucky to have her!” Margaret countered.
Lizzie gaped.
“What? I nag, yes. My mother-in-law did too. Tradition!” She chuckled as Lizzie’s husband, Ian, appeared.
“Ian! Take the kids to the beach. Treat them to ice cream!”
By dusk, they chatted like old friends. Wine and exhaustion worked wonders. Margaret, surprisingly wise, turned to Marina.
“Love, this will destroy you. Confront him. His sin, not yours. Money? You’ll manage.”
The week flew. Marina ignored Robert’s non-existent calls. Tanned and rested, she hugged her new friends goodbye, promising visits.
At the taxi, Margaret whispered,
“Decide, dear. This life isn’t living.”
Marina smiled.
“I already have. Freedom’s close. Margaret—any single sons lying around?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” They burst out laughing.
