Katie was scrubbing the bathtub when Daniel burst into the flat, his face twisted with fury and panic.
“What have you done?!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him.
Katie straightened up instantly and stepped into the hallway.
“What’s happened?!” she gasped, staring at him in complete bewilderment.
“Why did you go to her?!” he barked, inches from her face.
“To who?” Katie’s eyes widened.
“To Margaret! I warned you! I begged you not to interfere!”
“Dan, can you just explain properly? What’s going on?”
“You told her?! About us?!” Daniel was panting, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Yes, I told her. And she *understood*, believe it or not. Said she wouldn’t stand in the way of our happiness. I’ve even been looking at wedding dresses—look how gorgeous!”
“Dresses? A *wedding*?!” Daniel let out a hollow laugh. “Katie, have you lost your mind?”
“I thought you’d *thank* me,” she said, earnest. “I fixed everything so you wouldn’t have to suffer. You said she was fragile, that she’d fall apart if you left. But she’s stronger than that. She *let you go*.”
Daniel sank into the armchair, then stood again, looking at her as though seeing her for the first time.
“You don’t understand…” He didn’t finish. Grabbing his bag, he left without shutting the door.
He couldn’t leave Margaret. Not now, not ever. Because *she* was the one who pulled him from rock bottom when he had barely fifty quid in his wallet. She gave him everything—work, a roof over his head, a car, *status*. The life he’d only dreamed of while crammed in a shared flat with a mate.
Once, he’d been a simple salesman, living paycheck to paycheck, skipping meals to afford the occasional café trip. Girls noticed him, but nothing stuck—either they rented shoebox rooms or commuted from the suburbs on clattering trains. He wanted more. The gloss of success, the taste of luxury.
Then he’d walked into a gym—free trial pass in hand. And there she was: Margaret. Slender, poised, self-assured. A decade older, but with charm you couldn’t refuse. And crucially—wealthy. She owned her own business.
He made sure their paths “accidentally” crossed. Soon, Margaret offered him a job—double his old salary. Then a place to live. Then a car. Then, before he knew it, he woke daily in *her* flat, drove *her* car, worked at *her* firm. Decisions made for him. All he had to do was nod.
But comfort bred ingratitude. He began to think he deserved *better*. Enter Katie—young, fiery, unshackled. They met in secret. She knew about Margaret and wanted him to leave. He stalled.
Then, when Katie announced she was pregnant, he vanished. Ignored calls. So she went to Margaret.
But Margaret didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. She listened calmly, thanked Katie, and said:
“If you’re having a child, he should be with you. I won’t interfere. Not for a second.”
When Daniel returned, suitcases waited by the door. Margaret handed him the keys and wished him well. He stammered that Katie had lied, that it was a setup. No one listened. He left—jobless, carless, homeless.
A dingy bedsit was all he found by nightfall. Two weeks later, he landed work at a furniture shop—fancy title, “floor manager,” but really just explaining the difference between sofas to bored customers. He blocked Katie’s number, last message reading: *Sort it out yourself.*
He didn’t feel guilty. In his mind, everyone was to blame—women, fate, *anyone*. Just not him.
Katie, meanwhile, soon learned the test had been wrong—no baby after all. But the bitterness lingered.
“I believed him,” she sobbed to her friend. “He *used* me.”
“Katie, you’re a grown woman,” her friend sighed. “And you bought that fairy tale? The ‘indispensable golden boy’? Don’t be a daft Cinderella.”
“But I *trusted* him—”
“Exactly. And you shouldn’t have.”
