Katie was scrubbing the bathtub when Oliver burst into the flat, his face twisted with anger and panic.
“What have you done?!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him.
Katie straightened up at once and stepped into the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, staring at him in confusion.
“Why did you go to her?!” he barked, his words sharp and accusing.
“To who?” Katie’s eyes widened.
“To Tamara! I warned you! I begged you not to get involved!”
“Ollie, can you just explain what’s happened?”
“You told her?! About us?!” Oliver was breathing hard, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Yes, I told her. And she understood, believe it or not. She said she wouldn’t stand in our way. And look—I’ve already picked out a wedding dress. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“A dress? A wedding?!” Oliver let out a bitter laugh. “Katie, have you lost your mind?”
“I thought you’d thank me,” she said sincerely. “I fixed everything so you wouldn’t have to suffer. You kept saying she was fragile, that she’d fall apart if you left. But she’s stronger than you thought. She let you go.”
Oliver sank into an armchair, then stood again, looking at Katie as if seeing her for the first time.
“You don’t understand…” He left the sentence hanging, grabbed his bag, and walked out, leaving the door wide open.
He couldn’t leave Tamara. Not now, not ever. Because she had been the one to pull him from rock bottom when all he had left in his wallet was a measly fifty quid. She gave him everything—a job, a roof over his head, a car, status. All the things he’d only dreamed of while crammed into a tiny flat with a mate.
Back then, he’d been just another office worker, living paycheck to paycheck, skipping meals to afford coffee once a month. Girls looked his way, but nothing stuck—either they rented tiny rooms or commuted from the suburbs. He wanted more—money, glamour, a taste of success.
That’s how he ended up at the gym on a free trial. And that’s where he first saw Tamara—sleek, polished, confident. A decade older, but with charm he couldn’t resist. And most importantly, she had money. Her own business.
He made sure to “accidentally” bump into her more often. One day, she offered him a job—double his old pay. Then a place to stay. Then a car. Before he knew it, he was waking up in her flat, driving her car, working for her firm. Everything was decided for him. All he had to do was nod.
But comfort bred ingratitude. He started believing he deserved better. That’s when Katie came along—young, lively, carefree. They met in secret. She knew about Tamara and wanted him to leave. He stalled.
Then, when Katie told him she was pregnant, he vanished. Ignored her calls. So she went to Tamara.
But Tamara didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene. She listened calmly, thanked Katie, and said:
“If there’s a child, it should be with you. I won’t stand in your way. Not for a second.”
When Oliver finally came home, the suitcases were by the door. Tamara handed him his keys and wished him well. He stammered that Katie had made it up, that it was a setup. No one listened. He left—jobless, carless, homeless.
He found a bedsit by evening. Two weeks later, he landed a job at a furniture shop—fancy title, “floor manager,” but really just explaining sofa differences to customers. Katie got one last text—”Sort it out yourself”—before he blocked her.
He felt no guilt. In his mind, everyone else was to blame—women, fate, anyone but himself.
As for Katie, she soon learned the test had been wrong—no baby. But the hurt remained.
“I trusted him,” she sobbed to her friend. “He used me.”
“Katie, you’re a grown woman,” her friend sighed. “Believing in fairy tales? A ‘boy genius running the company’? Don’t be daft.”
“But I believed him…”
“That’s the problem. You shouldn’t have.”
