**The Deception**
Life has a curious way of shaping people’s fates. Some are fortunate enough to find their one true love early on, while others must endure betrayal and heartbreak before stumbling upon happiness when they’ve nearly given up hope.
George fell into the latter category. He met his future wife, Emily, at university. She was a quiet, pretty girl from a small provincial town, and George was immediately smitten. He was nothing remarkable—just an ordinary bloke—and for a long time, Emily paid him no mind.
But in their final year, when many of their peers had already paired off, some even starting families, Emily suddenly gave him a chance. George was over the moon and wasted no time proposing. To his delight, she accepted.
George’s mother suspected the girl had little desire to return to her backwater hometown. Marrying George meant staying in a bustling regional city near London, a spacious flat in the city centre, and a comfortable life. But seeing her son so happy, she bit her tongue.
They married straight after graduation. The countryside reception was packed with students, though Emily’s parents didn’t attend. She explained her father was bedridden and her mother couldn’t leave him. Pressed further, she grew tearful, and George’s parents dropped the subject. No use upsetting her more.
*”Mum took Dad everywhere, but no one could help,”* Emily murmured, her eyes darkening with sorrow.
George’s parents treated her like their own. Life was peaceful—until Emily fell pregnant almost immediately and quit work. Money wasn’t an issue, and nine months later, their son James arrived, named after Emily’s late father.
A second child, little Sophie, came eight years later, after they’d bought their own flat. The birth was difficult, premature. Emily’s parents never met their grandchildren—her father died a year after James was born, her mother soon after.
When Sophie started school, Emily grew restless. She wanted a job but had no experience. George’s parents pulled strings, landing her a role as a director’s assistant—really just a secretary.
She transformed. Gym membership, designer clothes, immaculate makeup. Colleagues ribbed George for hiding such a stunner at home. But she neglected the kids—James was off to uni soon, Sophie spent all her time with her doting grandparents.
Emily’s sharp critiques became routine. George had let himself go, she said. Why couldn’t he be more like her boss, a man twice his age with the body of a thirty-year-old?
The penny dropped.
One day, George dropped by her office under the pretence of discussing his father’s milestone birthday gift. The reception was empty. He knocked on the director’s door, then walked in. Empty—except for stifled moans from the adjoining room.
He opened the door.
There was Emily, skirt hiked up, straddling the red-faced director on the sofa.
George stood frozen, then quietly closed the door and left. He didn’t know why he didn’t rage, didn’t drag her out by the hair.
That evening, Emily strolled in all smiles. Now it made sense—the excuses, the headaches, the sudden lack of intimacy. She was too busy pleasing her boss.
*”If you know, then good,”* she shrugged when confronted. *”I’m leaving.”*
*”What about the kids?”*
*”James is grown. Sophie can decide for herself.”*
Sophie chose neither. She’d stay with her grandparents—spoilt rotten.
And just like that, George was alone. Not a boy, but a man in his prime. The director already had a house; Emily kept the car. George didn’t argue. Let her take it all.
Then he met Lucy, a divorcee with no children of her own. They moved in together.
James graduated and married. Sophie dropped out of school. George’s father passed unexpectedly; his mother followed two years later. Sophie inherited the grandparents’ flat.
The money vanished quickly. Sophie never worked but started dropping by George’s. Lucy fed her well, packing leftovers. Soon, it was routine—dinner every few days, always leaving with a full bag.
*”You’re spoiling her,”* George grumbled.
*”She’s caught between you and her mother. And I… I can’t have children. Let me feel like a mum, just a little.”*
George hadn’t seen Emily since the split. She and the director—now ex-director—lived in a posh gated community. Different world.
Then Sophie arrived one day, tear-streaked and trembling.
*”What now? Not enough for a new dress?”* George scoffed.
*”She’s upset!”* Lucy scolded. *”What’s wrong, love?”*
Sophie burst into sobs. *”I’m dying.”*
A brain tumour, she claimed. Inoperable here. Only Germany or Switzerland could save her.
*”Mum gave me some, but it’s not enough. I need £700,000.”*
George sold his car, borrowed from mates. Sophie wept with gratitude, clutching the cash.
*”I’ll wire it to the clinic,”* George said.
*”No, I—I’ll handle it.”*
*”I’ll come with you. That much cash isn’t safe.”*
*”Don’t tell Mum,”* she begged before vanishing.
A week passed. No word. Lucy insisted foreign calls were expensive.
Then, at Lucy’s birthday dinner, George spotted Emily across the restaurant. Younger bloke. Not the director.
He marched over.
*”Sophie’s sick? Flying to Germany?”* Emily frowned. *”She’s in the Maldives with some lad.”*
The realisation hit like a brick. His own daughter had scammed him.
*”She’s just spoilt,”* Lucy soothed. *”At least she’s healthy.”*
Sophie never showed her face again. George repaid his debts, bought a second-hand car.
Then James arrived with news: Emily was dying.
*”Now she wants money?”* George snapped.
But Lucy pressed for details. Cancer. Weeks left.
They visited. The once-vibrant Emily was a shadow. She rasped apologies between laboured breaths.
And George forgave her.
How could he not? On death’s doorstep, what grudges mattered?
If she hadn’t left, he’d never have found Lucy—his true match.
