Revenge
Roderick grew up as a quiet, clever boy. His parents spared no expense for their only child, enrolling him in clubs and lessons to ensure he became well-rounded and educated. Roderick practiced aikido, played chess, and painted well. As he got older, he took up the guitar.
While his peers invited girls to the cinema, flirted with cheap wine and cigarettes, Roderick sat with his guitar, plucking chords and singing in a husky voice.
His parents dreamed of a bright future for him. He had to keep studying. In their small market town of fourteen thousand souls, there was nothing to do. After school, Roderick effortlessly secured a place at a prestigious university in the regional capital, studying the fashionable field of information technology.
The day before term began, his father drove him—armed with a sleek new laptop—to stay with his aunt. Her husband had died a year prior, and her children had moved on with their own families. The dorms were too rowdy, full of distractions that might hinder his studies. His mother wasn’t brought along to avoid a tearful goodbye. His father left some money for expenses and drove off.
For the first time, Roderick was on his own. His aunt took little interest in her nephew’s affairs, only ensuring he was fed and didn’t stay out too late.
Freed from parental oversight, his classmates plunged into mischief, often skipping lectures. Roderick kept to himself—he’d never had friends, nor was he used to wild nights out. From day one, his attention was seized by Vanessa, a striking blonde.
Rumour had it Vanessa had only enrolled in the male-dominated faculty to snag a good husband. She was a weak student, but few lecturers failed her. A girl like her didn’t need knowledge—it was enough just to look at her, to explain a problem, to lean close and correct her mistakes with a light touch.
But Vanessa had no shortage of admirers. She dismissed Roderick as a bookworm, ignoring him. What was there to talk about? Music? Chess? Dry computer science? By every measure, he didn’t measure up.
Yet he suffered from unrequited love. He longed to be near her every minute—in lectures, in halls. On his next visit home, Roderick announced he wanted to move into the dorms. His aunt lived too far from campus, wasting too much time on commutes. A screaming row ensued, his father furious, his mother in tears.
But Roderick promised it wouldn’t affect his studies—that he could be trusted. He was already an oddity—the only one in his group not living in halls. His parents had no choice but to relent.
Roderick was overjoyed. Now he could see Vanessa not just in lectures (which she rarely attended) but evenings too. He invented any excuse to visit her room. But Vanessa remained indifferent.
Even when they found themselves in the same crowd, she refused to dance with him, slipping away to smoke on the balcony. Roderick took up smoking too, but it brought him no closer to the golden-haired beauty.
The summer break was torture. For two months, he was home, unable to see Vanessa. He ached, pined, and willed the days to pass. Another year slipped by.
Roderick excelled, lecturers singing his praises, prophesying greatness. Returning to halls on the 31st of August (his mother had refused to let him leave sooner), he learned Vanessa had married. The news robbed him of peace. Her chosen was an older student, a star athlete, the university’s pride.
Vanessa vanished from halls, moving into his flat. Roderick could only watch her from afar during lectures. 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.
“The test is tomorrow. I’ll return them tonight. Promise,” he pleaded, eyes full of longing.
Vanessa hesitated, then handed over the notebook.
The next day, Roderick skipped lectures for the first time—just to return the notes in person. He’d overheard her complaining in the canteen that her husband was away again for competitions. His grades came easy.
He got her address from the girls. Timing it for when she’d be home, he went to her. He wanted nothing—just to be near her, to speak, to confess. Heart pounding, he rang the bell.
But the door was opened by a broad-shouldered athlete—her husband.
“What do you want?” he grunted.
“Returning Vanessa’s notes,” Roderick mumbled, crushed.
“Hand them over,” the man said, palm outstretched.
Roderick tried to peer inside, but the athlete’s bulk blocked the doorway.
“I wanted to give them to her myself,” he said, clutching the notebook.
The husband eyed him with contempt, snatched it, and slammed the door in his face.
Roderick switched groups and moved back to his aunt’s.
***
Fifteen years passed.
The office buzzed with congratulations as Roderick Carr stepped into his new role as director. His predecessor had been promoted and moved to London. Among the staff were old classmates—like unassuming, reliable Lydia Moore, mother of twin boys.
She pulled him aside, genuinely pleased. “I always knew you’d go far.”
“Grey mouse, but married,” Roderick thought, eyeing the framed photo on her desk of a smiling family.
“I’m happy too,” he said smoothly. “Now I can offer you the role you deserve.”
“Thank you,” she adjusted her glasses. “But that’s not why I mentioned it. Do you remember Vicky? Vanessa Ellington? From our year?”
Of course he remembered—his unreturned love, her indifference. But he feigned effort.
“She married in third year—changed her surname. Her husband was that star athlete, Michael Dalloway. Surely you remember?”
Of course he did—the humiliation as Dalloway shut the door.
“It’s ugly. Vicky got pregnant right away, but he talked her into an abortion—said there was no rush, she needed to finish school… They never had kids. A year ago, she found out he had a mistress, a son on the side. She filed for divorce. Stayed with me a week—the flat was his.” Lydia paused, studying him. “I always thought you fancied her.”
“Did I? Can’t recall,” he lied.
“Anyway, she needs work. I know she wasn’t brilliant, but I’ll help her.”
Roderick stayed silent, heart hammering. “She knows about my success, asked for a favour. I’ll see her soon—” He snatched Lydia’s glass, downed the champagne.
“Sorry. Needed that,” he said, handing it back.
“So, shall I call her? You’ll help?”
“Fine. I’m swamped now—taking over. Remind me next week.”
“Thank you, Roderick! I knew you’d come through.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If she can’t do the job, I’ll sack her.”
“She’ll manage,” Lydia assured.
As the office celebrated, Roderick thought, “Time to end this before they wreck the place.”
Driving home in his new Audi, he wondered, “Divorced. What does she look like now?”
***
After university, Roderick joined a top firm. His software innovations got him noticed.
He married a sweet but simple girl who knew nothing of his work, only caring for shopping and holidays. Bored, he divorced in two years. Women came and went—none could tie him down. He focused on his career.
***
On Monday, Lydia peered in.
“Hi. You asked me to remind you—Vanessa. When can she come?”
Roderick leaned back. “I’ll handle it. Thursday, one o’clock.”
“Thank you! I’ll call her.”
Thursday, he delayed intentionally, making her wait. When he entered reception, she was there. He nodded, passed her, and called her in five minutes later.
Vanessa hesitated at the door.
“Sit.”
He studied her. Her beauty had matured, subdued. Her movements spoke of defeat.
“Hello, Roderick. You recognised me?”
“Hard to forget.”
“You’ve changed.”
“Where did you work before? Why leave?”
She listed a few jobs—receptionist, secretary. Gathering courage, she met his gaze.
“I need work. Any position.”
“Any? Even cleaning?”
She flinched but stayed seated, gripping her handbag.
“Joke. I can start you as secretary. We’ll see.”
Her eyes lit up. “I accept.”
“Don’t rush.”
She started the next day. He tormented her—making her redo documents, shifting meetings without notice. Once, he hid her files, reducing her to tears.
“You’re doing this to me,” she sobbed.
“Maybe. Did you think I’d still be mad for you? Now I’m the boss, and you’ll take anything to keep this job.”
Mascara ran, lipstick smudged—she looked broken. Pity flooded him.He handed her a tissue and whispered, “Let’s start over,” and in that moment, the weight of years melted away as she finally saw the boy who had loved her all along.
