Revenge
Rodney grew up as a quiet, intelligent boy. His parents spared no expense for their only child, enrolling him in every activity they could to ensure he became well-rounded and well-educated. Rodney practised aikido, played chess, and had a talent for drawing. As he got older, he picked up the guitar.
While his peers invited girls to the cinema, sipped cheap wine, and sneaked cigarettes, Rodney sat with his guitar, strumming chords and singing in his raspy voice.
His parents dreamed of a successful future for their son. There was nothing for him in their small market town of fourteen thousand people. After finishing school, Rodney—with his stellar grades—easily got into a prestigious university in Manchester, enrolling in the trendy IT programme.
A day before term started, his father drove him to stay with his aunt. Her husband had died a year earlier, and her grown children had moved away to start their own families. The university halls were too rowdy, full of distractions. His mother stayed behind to avoid a tearful goodbye. His father left him some money and returned home.
For the first time, Rodney was on his own. His aunt took little interest in her nephew, only making sure he was fed and didn’t stay out too late.
Freed from their parents’ watch, Rodney’s classmates went wild, skipping lectures and partying. Rodney kept to himself—he’d never been one for crowds or drinking. From the very first day, his attention was seized by Vanessa, a beautiful blonde.
The lads joked that Vanessa had only enrolled in what they considered a “male-dominated degree” to find a wealthy husband. She was a poor student, but lecturers rarely failed her. A girl like that didn’t *need* knowledge. It was pleasure enough just watching her, explaining a concept, or leaning in to correct her mistakes with a hand on her shoulder.
But Vanessa had no shortage of admirers. She thought Rodney was a nerd and ignored him. What would they even talk about? Music? Chess? Boring IT? In short, Rodney didn’t meet her standards.
Meanwhile, he pined for her. He wanted to be near Vanessa every minute—in lectures, in halls. During a visit home, he announced he wanted to move into student accommodation. His aunt lived too far from campus, wasting precious time. His father yelled; his mother wept.
But Rodney promised it wouldn’t affect his studies—that he could be trusted. He was already an outsider, one of the few in his group still living off campus. Reluctantly, his parents gave in.
Rodney was overjoyed. Now he’d see Vanessa not just in lectures (which she often skipped), but in the evenings too. He invented any excuse to drop by her room. But Vanessa remained indifferent.
Even in company, she refused to dance with him, slipping out to the balcony for a smoke. Rodney took up smoking, too, but it didn’t bring him an inch closer to the golden-haired beauty.
Summer break was torture—two months at home without her. He ached, counting the days until term resumed. Another year passed.
Rodney excelled in his studies, his tutors unanimously praising him and predicting great things. Returning to halls on the 31st of August (he couldn’t escape his mother any sooner), he learned Vanessa had married. The news shattered him. Her new husband was a star athlete, a senior and the university’s pride.
Vanessa no longer stayed in halls—she and her husband had their own flat. Rodney only saw her in lectures, watching from afar. Once, before winter exams, he asked to borrow her notes, claiming he’d missed a class.
“Ask someone else. I need to study too,” she refused.
“It’s just for tonight—I’ll return them tomorrow. Promise,” he pleaded, gazing at her adoringly.
She hesitated, then handed over the notebook.
The next day, Rodney skipped lectures for the first time—just to return the notes in person. He’d overheard her complaining in the canteen that her husband had left again for a tournament. His grades came easy.
Rodney got her address from a classmate. Calculating when she’d be home after lectures, he set off. He wanted nothing—just to be near her, to confess his love. Heart pounding, he rang the bell, hoping to see Vanessa. But the door was opened by her burly husband.
“What d’you want?” the man grunted.
“Just returning Vanessa’s notes,” Rodney mumbled, crestfallen.
“Hand ’em over,” the athlete said, holding out a meaty palm.
Rodney tried peering past him, but the man’s frame filled the doorway, blocking any glimpse of Vanessa.
“I wanted to give them to her myself,” Rodney said, clutching the notebook to his chest.
Her husband gave him a withering look, snatched the notes, and slammed the door in his face.
Rodney switched groups and moved back to his aunt’s.
***
Fifteen years later
The office cheered as Rodney Edward Carpenter was named director. His predecessor had been promoted and relocated to London. Among the staff were old classmates, like Lydia Shore, a quiet, dependable woman and mother of twins.
She pulled Rodney aside, genuinely pleased for him.
“I always knew you’d go far,” she said, adjusting her glasses with one hand while holding champagne in the other.
Rodney eyed the framed photo on her desk—her happy family, all smiles. “A plain Jane, but married,” he thought.
“Thanks,” he said smoothly. “I’ll see about getting you that promotion you deserve.”
Lydia adjusted her glasses again. “Actually… I wanted to ask about Vanessa. Vanessa Whitmore? Remember her?”
Of course he did—his unrequited love, her indifference. But he pretended to think.
“She married in third year. Her husband was that rugby star—Michael Donnelly. Ring a bell?”
Rodney shrugged. But he remembered the humiliation when Donnelly had shut the door on him.
“It’s awful, really. She got pregnant right away, but he talked her into an abortion. Said they weren’t ready, she needed to finish her degree… Then they couldn’t have kids after. A year ago, she found out he’d been cheating—has a son with another woman. She filed for divorce. Stayed with me a week—the flat was his.” She paused, studying him. “I always thought you fancied her, too.”
“Did I? Can’t recall,” Rodney lied.
“She needs a job. She wasn’t the brightest, but I’ll help her.” Lydia waited, hopeful.
Rodney feigned thought, heart hammering. *She knows about his success. She asked Lydia to speak for her. He’d see her soon…* He snatched Lydia’s glass and downed the champagne.
“Thirsty,” he muttered, handing it back.
“So… should I tell her to come in? You’ll help?”
“Fine. I’m swamped now—taking over, you know. Remind me next week.”
“Thanks, Rodney!” Lydia beamed. “I knew you’d come through.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If she can’t hack it, she’s out.”
“She’ll work hard,” Lydia assured him.
The staff drank, toasting better days. *Time to wrap this up before they wreck the place,* Rodney thought.
Driving home in his new Audi, he remembered Vanessa—how he’d felt. *Divorced. Wonder what she looks like now…*
***
After uni, Rodney was snapped up by a top firm. His software designs stood out; he climbed fast.
He married a sweet but dim girl who knew nothing about his work. Shopping and holidays were her life. Bored, he divorced her after two years. Women came and went, but none tied him down. Work filled the void.
***
On Monday, Lydia appeared at his office.
“Hey. Got a minute? About Vanessa—when can she come in?”
Rodney leaned back in his chair.
“If you’re busy, Oleg could interview her—”
“No, I’ll do it.” He pretended to check his diary. “Thursday, 1 PM.”
“Brilliant! I’ll call her.”
On Thursday, Rodney deliberately delayed his return, making Vanessa wait. When he strode past reception, he nodded curtly, then summoned her inside.
Vanessa entered timidly.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing.
He studied her. Her beauty had matured—less dazzling, but real. Her movements spoke of defeat. She wore a smart dress, minimal makeup.
“Hello, Rodney,” she said softly. “Did you… recognise me?”
“Hard to forget.”
She looked down.
“You’ve changed…”
“Where’ve you worked? Why leave?” he cut in.
She listed a few firms—secretary, office manager. She met his gaze now, steadier.
“I need work. Any role.”
“*Any*? Even a cleaner?”
She flinched, flushing. He expected her to storm out. Instead, she gripped her handbag, knuckles white.
“Joking,” he said. “Lydia explained what we do? You’ve no experience, right? I can offer a secretary role—for now.”
Her eyes lit up. She needed this—needed to payShe stayed, proving her worth, and in time, he realized that love, once buried, had never truly died, only waited for the right moment to bloom again.
