**The Broken Greenhouse and a Woman’s Cunning: How One Scheme Nearly Tore Two Families Apart**
This morning, Emily from next door stumbled into my garden—tear-streaked, disheveled, her hands trembling. She could barely speak between sobs.
“It’s all ruined!” she choked out. “The greenhouse—the whole crop—someone smashed it all last night! I was counting on those tomatoes and cucumbers. For the kids, for us, even hoped to sell some… Now it’s all gone!”
“Don’t take on so, Emily,” I tried to soothe her. “It’s not the end of the world. We’ll fix it. James will help—he’s brilliant with his hands.”
“What good is James?” Emily snapped. “My Thomas has been off the rails for days, drinking himself senseless. It’s all on me. And now this—the last chance for the season, wrecked!”
I hesitated. Something about her set me on edge. She’d been lingering near our house too often lately—borrowing salt, asking for seedlings, dropping by just to chat. Always dressed to the nines, like she was off to a ball, not pottering in the garden.
Truth was, Emily had been scheming for months. After Thomas’s betrayals and their endless rows, she’d set her sights on someone else’s husband—steady, capable, sober James. Was I so lacking? She was prettier, quicker, a better homemaker. But I wasn’t some pushover. If she wanted him, she’d need cunning.
So she went all in. Paid that layabout Danny a hefty sum to wreck her greenhouse—no small sacrifice for frugal Emily. The crop was a loss, but if it brought happiness, why not?
This morning’s performance—the tears, the visit, the hints—all led to one goal: getting James to come help, to draw him close.
But James, kind as he is, isn’t a fool. He saw through her. Refusing would hurt her pride; going would encourage her. So he took a different path.
He went to Thomas instead. “Mate, keep an eye on your missus,” he said bluntly. “That foreman, Liam, fancies her rotten. Offers cash, trips abroad. But she turns him down—still waiting for you. She cares, doesn’t want to break the family.”
It was like a veil lifted. Thomas drank, shouted, neglected them all—yet there she was, loyal, enduring. And what was he doing? Driving her away. One day, she’d be gone, and it’d be too late.
The next morning, Thomas was out fixing the greenhouse himself. Then he emptied their secret savings and handed it all to Emily. She gaped—never saw it coming.
“Let’s go to Cornwall,” he said. “Like we used to. Years together, and we’ve turned into strangers.”
Emily brightened. She dashed off to the shops, bought new dresses, bragged to all her friends. Even stopped by my place to flaunt her fresh start.
I simply smiled. I knew the game. But I kept quiet. No one’s taking my James—not for gifts, not for tears, not for tricks.
I shut the door behind her and went to find my husband—to hug him, thank him, and, truthfully, feel a flicker of pride. For him, for us. And because, unlike some, I’d never build my happiness on someone else’s ruin.
