Charlotte was having dinner alone yet again. It was already nine in the evening, and not a word from Edward—no call, no text. “Working late again,” she thought, though she didn’t quite believe it herself.
Over the past month, these “late nights” had become too frequent. At first, it was just once every couple of weeks. Then weekly. Now, it felt like he’d stopped coming home on time altogether.
She remembered how it all began. Edward would say work was chaotic—some major project, a tight deadline. She believed him and waited up.
But then the excuses got ridiculous. On Monday, he claimed he was stuck in the car park because a snowplough was blocking his exit. Charlotte said nothing, though she knew his office had an underground garage—no snowplough could possibly reach that.
On Wednesday, it was a “last-minute meeting,” even though his company rarely held in-person conferences, and when they did, they were always over video call in the mornings.
And yesterday? He said he’d been stuck in the office because… his stomach had been upset. An hour in the loo.
Charlotte wasn’t foolish. She knew he was hiding something. Screaming at him wouldn’t get the truth. But what could it be?
“How are you feeling?” she asked when he finally walked in, keeping her voice steady.
Edward sighed, flopping onto the bed. “Not great,” he muttered, rubbing his stomach. “Got a dodgy takeaway at lunch.”
“That’s awful. Poor you,” she said, watching him closely. “I’ll get you some medicine.”
“No!” he nearly yelled, then caught himself. “The lads at work gave me something. Can’t remember what it was, but it helped.”
“Really? Well, best know what you’re taking,” she shrugged.
Edward forced a smile. “Right. I’ll just shower and sleep it off.”
Once he vanished into the bathroom, Charlotte snatched his phone off the counter. Messages—nothing. Calls—nothing. Socials—nothing suspicious. Then she checked the banking app.
“Transfer of £1,200 to Angelina R.”
Her stomach dropped. The shower stopped. Hands trembling, she closed the apps and slid the phone back where she found it.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic,” she whispered. “Who the hell is Angelina R.?”
A colleague? The accountant?
Sleep wouldn’t come that night. The bed felt too big, too cold. Edward snored beside her, oblivious to her racing thoughts. When she finally dozed off, her dreams were full of fractured whispers, shadowy faces—panic.
Morning hit like a slap.
“Angelina.”
The name burned itself into her mind. Edward’s ex. The one he barely mentioned, dismissing their past as “just a teen fling.”
Charlotte sat up, clammy with sweat. It all made sense now—the late nights, the weak excuses, the sudden “food poisoning.” And now this money.
She covered her face.
“A teen fling.”
She lay there until dawn, watching Edward sleep, piecing it together.
By morning, she was sure. Angelina was his ex. But why the transfer? Why now, after all this time?
She slipped out of bed, brewed coffee, and grabbed a notepad. She needed a plan.
Confront him? He’d just lie.
Hire a PI? Too extreme.
Find Angelina herself?
No time to waste. She opened his laptop, scrolled through his socials. Mostly recent stuff—family trips, work events. But then, buried deep, an old photo: Edward, young, arm around a girl.
Angelina.
Charlotte exhaled hard. She had two choices now—pretend nothing was wrong and risk losing everything, or dig for the truth, no matter how ugly.
The answer was obvious.
That evening, she sat twisting her phone in her hands. She’d rehearsed what to say when the door finally opened.
“We need to talk,” Edward said, sounding hollow.
Charlotte froze.
“Let me speak first,” he muttered, sinking onto the hallway stool. “You won’t like this. I don’t expect forgiveness, but… just listen.”
Her pulse roared in her ears.
“Remember Angelina? My first girlfriend. School sweetheart.” His voice shook.
Charlotte braced herself.
“She got pregnant right after uni. I was young, stupid, selfish. Terrified.”
She clenched her fists.
“I gave her money for… you know. Then cut her off like a coward.” His face crumpled. “But it went wrong. Complications. She begged for help. I ignored her.”
“She—terminated?” Charlotte asked. The question felt ugly the moment it left her lips.
“Yeah. After that… she never married. Kept having health problems. Three surgeries. Then… cancer.” His voice cracked. “Doctors say three months, but—”
Charlotte swayed.
“I lied. I’m sorry. I just… couldn’t admit I’d ruined someone’s life.”
Silence swallowed the hall.
Charlotte stared at him—this man she thought she knew. Rage, pity, disgust, love—all warred inside her.
“You blame yourself?”
“Every day.”
“But it was years ago. You can’t change it.”
“No. But I can’t abandon her now.”
Charlotte stepped back.
“She’s got no one?”
Edward nodded.
Charlotte shuddered. He was still in his coat. Still had his shoes on.
She understood.
“You’re staying with her.”
“Yeah.” His eyes were wet. “I love you. But I have to do this.”
The air left her lungs.
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll keep lying. Hide my phone. Fake work trips. Until it kills us.”
Charlotte shut her eyes. She loved him. But the boy in that photo—the one who’d run from responsibility—was standing right here.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she whispered.
“I’m not asking you to. I just needed you to know the truth.”
He reached for her. She stepped away.
He grabbed his keys.
Charlotte stood frozen as the door clicked shut.
Hours crawled by. Pacing. Sitting. Pacing again.
She hated him. Then remembered his face—raw honesty, no excuses.
“He didn’t cheat,” she realized. “He’s trying to fix what he broke.”
Her phone glowed on the coffee table.
She picked it up.
*”I understand. I love you. We’ll help her.”*
A minute. Then—
*”Thank you.”*
Charlotte cried.
She’d made the right choice.
