Deception
Fate deals different hands. Some are lucky enough to meet the love of their life early on. Others only find it after enduring betrayal, divorce, and the crushing weight of lost hope.
Edward was one of the latter. He’d met his future wife at university. Pretty, reserved Charlotte had come to study from a sleepy market town in Yorkshire. Edward took to her at once, though he was an unremarkable lad, and for years, she barely spared him a glance.
But in their final year, when many of their peers had already found their soulmates—some even settling down with families—Charlotte suddenly lowered her gaze to him. He was over the moon, and of course, proposed almost immediately. To his joy, she accepted.
Edward’s mother suspected Charlotte had no desire to return to her provincial roots. Marrying Edward secured her a place in a thriving city near London, a spacious flat in the center, and a comfortable life. But seeing her son so besotted, she chose not to shatter his rose-tinted glasses.
They married right after graduation. The countryside reception was packed, mostly with fellow students. Only Charlotte’s parents were absent.
She explained her father was bedridden, her mother unable to leave his side. Pressed further, she grew evasive, her eyes darkening with sorrow, tears clinging to her lashes. Edward’s parents decided not to pry. The girl was grieving—no need to add to her burden. She refused all offers of help.
“They’ve taken him everywhere. No one could do a thing,” she murmured, her voice thick with grief.
Edward’s parents did their best to fill the void, and for a while, they were happy. Charlotte fell pregnant almost immediately. Work was out of the question—money wasn’t tight, and soon she’d be on maternity leave anyway. Nine months later, their first son, Henry, was born, named after Charlotte’s father at her in-laws’ insistence.
A second child took eight years. By then, they’d moved into their own flat. The birth was premature, fraught with complications. A fragile little girl—Emily, named after Edward’s mother.
Neither of Charlotte’s parents ever met their grandchildren. Henry’s grandfather died a year after his birth; his grandmother followed eight months later.
When Emily started school, Charlotte grew restless. She wanted to work. Years at home had dulled her skills, and she’d never held a job before. Edward’s parents called in favours, landing her a role as a director’s assistant—fancy talk for secretary.
She spent hours at the gym now, dressed sharply, wore makeup. The picture of a career woman, not a housewife. Friends ribbed Edward for keeping such a stunner hidden.
Charlotte drifted from the children. Henry was finishing school, soon to forge his own path. Emily spent most days with her doting grandparents, spoiled rotten in lieu of a mother’s affection.
Edward endured endless jabs from his wife—his gut, his neglect of fitness, how he paled next to her boss, a man twice his age with the body of a thirty-year-old.
He knew what that meant. One day, he dropped by her office under the pretext of discussing his father’s upcoming milestone birthday—hardly a conversation for family ears.
The reception was empty. Edward knocked on the director’s door. No answer. He stepped inside, scanning the deserted office before spotting a side door. The sounds from within left no room for doubt.
Without thinking, he pushed it open. There was his shy, modest Charlotte, skirt hitched, straddling the director, trousers bunched at his ankles. Seventeen years together, and he’d have known her from behind anywhere.
Edward stood frozen, then shut the door and walked away. He didn’t lash out, didn’t drag her off, didn’t strike the smug grin from the man’s face. The shock was too much.
Charlotte returned home that evening, smug as a cat with cream. It all made sense now. The refusals, the excuses—headaches, exhaustion. She’d been too tired from pleasing someone else.
Edward confronted her. He’d seen it with his own eyes. She didn’t flinch.
“Well, if you know… Good. I’m leaving you,” she said breezily.
“The children?”
“Henry’s grown. Emily can decide for herself.”
Emily chose neither parent—no desire to live with her mother’s new husband or risk a stepmother. Grandparents spoiled her; their house was the obvious choice.
So Edward was alone. Not a boy, but a man in his prime. The director had his own flat, but Charlotte claimed the car out of habit. Edward let her. What use were possessions now?
Time passed. He met Margaret, another casualty of betrayal—childless after an illness in her youth. They simply lived together.
Henry graduated, married. Emily dropped out of school. Edward’s father died suddenly; his mother lingered two years longer. Emily inherited the flat outright.
Money drained fast. Work held no appeal for her. She began visiting Edward often. Margaret doted, packing meals for her to take home. Soon it was routine—every few days, Emily arrived for supper, left with tupperware.
“You coddle her,” Edward grumbled. “She’s grown, with a flat and inheritance. Spoiled rotten.”
“She’s stuck between you. Your parents indulged her, yes. But abandon her now? It’s no trouble,” Margaret defended.
“Now you’re doing it. Who else do I have?” Margaret’s voice wavered. “I’ll never have children. Let me pretend.”
Edward hadn’t seen Charlotte since the divorce. She lived in some gated estate, shopped elsewhere. Their paths never crossed.
One evening, Emily arrived distraught.
“What now? Not enough for a new dress?” Edward scoffed.
“Can’t you see she’s upset?” Margaret chided. “You’re pale. Are you ill?”
Emily buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.
“Tell us. We’ll help,” Margaret urged, pulling her close.
“No one can. I’m dying,” Emily choked out.
“Don’t be absurd. What’s wrong?” Edward demanded.
“A brain tumour. It’s growing. If they don’t operate—”
“Then operate. Medicine’s advanced these days.”
“We went to London. They can’t do it here. Too deep. I could die on the table.”
“Where can they?”
“Switzerland. America. But it’s expensive. Mum and her husband gave some, but it’s not enough.” She dissolved into sobs.
“How much more?”
“Seventy thousand. Just for the surgery. Then scans, flights… I’ll never manage. I could sell the flat, but that takes time. I’m going to die!”
Margaret squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out. When do you need it?”
“As soon as possible.”
The next day, Edward sold his car. A mate lent him fifty grand, savings earmarked for a holiday home. Emily returned, weeping with gratitude, clutched the money to her chest.
“You’re my daughter. I won’t let you die. We could come with you,” Edward offered.
“No, it’s too costly. The tickets are booked already.”
“Don’t they wire funds to the hospital?”
“Yes, I’ll deposit it—”
“I’ll come. It’s not safe carrying that much.”
“It’s fine. Mum can’t know I took money from you.”
Emily left. Edward and Margaret stewed.
“Something feels off. Shouldn’t she be in hospital?”
“Every case is different. She’s young, strong.”
“I should’ve been there more,” Edward muttered.
A week passed. No word. Another. Margaret’s birthday arrived. Edward insisted on a café—no cooking on her special day.
“It’s too dear,” she fretted.
“Once won’t hurt.”
Then he spotted Charlotte across the room. Radiant, ageless, with a man far younger than the director.
“Who are you staring at?” Margaret followed his gaze.
“Charlotte. Didn’t she fly with Emily?” He strode over.
They spoke at length. Charlotte seemed baffled, shaking her head repeatedly. Edward returned white-faced.
“I don’t understand,” he breathed.
Margaret forced wine into his hand. “What did she say?”
“She knows nothing about any illness. Emily’s fine—off to the Maldives with some bloke. She lied. Played us for fools.” His fingers clawed at his collar.
Margaret soothed him. “She’s spoiled, doesn’t grasp the cruelty. If she’d just asked for holiday money—”
“I’d have given less. Not sold my car. Bloody entitled.”
Emily’s phone stayed off. Edward fumed. “Wait till she’s back—”
“Calm down. She’ll regret this one day. At least she’s healthy.” Margaret paused. “Who was with Charlotte? Not the director—he was older.”
“New husband. Traded up. She was never the girl I married.”
“People don’t change. You were blinded.”
The betrayal festered. In time, the rage dullYears later, Edward would see Emily again—a chance encounter on a crowded street, her face clouded with regret as she clutched the hand of a child who would never know the grandfather she’d swindled.
