**”A Lie Too Costly”**
Katherine was scrubbing the bathtub when Robert burst into the flat, his face twisted with fury and panic.
“What have you done?” he shouted, slamming the door behind him.
Katherine straightened at once and stepped into the hallway.
“What’s happened?” she asked, staring at him in utter confusion.
“Why did you go to her?” he snapped, inches from her face.
“To whom?” Her eyes widened.
“To Margaret! I warned you! I begged you not to interfere!”
“Rob, can you explain properly? What’s going on?”
“You told her, didn’t you? About us?” Robert was breathing hard, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Yes, I did. And she understood, believe it or not. She said she wouldn’t stand in the way of our happiness. And look—I’ve already picked out a wedding dress. Isn’t it lovely?”
“A dress? A wedding?” Robert let out a strained laugh. “Katherine, have you lost your mind?”
“I thought you’d thank me,” she said earnestly. “I spared you the ordeal. You kept saying she was fragile, that she’d break if you left. But she turned out strong. She let you go herself.”
Robert sank slowly into an armchair, then stood again, looking at Katherine as if seeing her for the first time.
“You don’t understand…” He trailed off, snatched up his bag, and left, leaving the door ajar.
He could never leave Margaret. Not now, not ever. Because she had pulled him from the depths when his pockets held nothing but a meagre hundred pounds. She had given him everything—a job, a roof over his head, a car, status. All he had ever dreamt of while crammed into a tiny flat with a mate.
Once, he had been a mere clerk, living hand to mouth, skimping on meals to afford a café visit once a month. Women noticed him, but it never went anywhere—they either rented dingy rooms or commuted from the outskirts. He wanted more—luxury, security, the taste of success.
So he found himself at a posh gym, lured by a free trial. That was where he spotted Margaret—sleek, polished, assured. A decade older, but with charm impossible to resist. And crucially, wealthy. She owned her own business.
He made sure their paths crossed often. One day, Margaret offered him a job—double his old salary. Then a flat. Then a car. Soon, he woke each morning in her home, drove her car, worked at her firm. Decisions were made for him. All he had to do was nod.
But the comforts of privilege bred ingratitude. He began to believe he deserved better. That was when Katherine appeared—young, vivacious, unshackled. They met in secret. She knew of Margaret and wanted him to leave. He hesitated.
Then Katherine announced she was pregnant. He vanished—ignored her calls. So she went to Margaret.
But Margaret didn’t weep. Didn’t make a scene. She listened calmly, thanked her, and said,
“If you’re expecting a child, he should be with you. I won’t interfere. Not for a moment.”
When Robert returned, suitcases waited by the door. Margaret handed him the keys and wished him well. He stammered that Katherine had lied, that it was a trap. No one listened. He walked away—jobless, carless, homeless.
By dusk, he’d found a dingy bedsit. Two weeks later, he landed a gig at a furniture shop—a lofty “floor manager” title that meant explaining sofa differences to customers. He blocked Katherine, his last message reading, “Sort it yourself.”
He felt no guilt. The blame lay elsewhere—women, fate, anyone but him.
Katherine soon learned the test was false—no baby. But the hurt remained.
“I trusted him,” she sobbed to her friend. “He used me.”
“Katherine, you’re a grown woman,” her friend sighed. “Did you truly believe the tale of the ‘indispensable golden boy’? Don’t be such a fool.”
“But I did…”
“Exactly. And you shouldn’t have.”
