That evening split Emily’s life into a clear “before and after.”
“Look, Em, I’ve met someone else. We just… click. Romance, passion—not like us, where it’s once in a blue moon,” declared James, sliding off his wedding ring with a smirk, as if the whole mess were her fault.
Emily stayed quiet. No begging, no tears, no last-ditch pleas. She let him go.
“We won’t be splitting anything. The flat’s mine—bought it before we married—and the car too. And I’m keeping Biscuit. Even if we got him during the marriage, he’s my comfort,” she said later, voice steady.
“Couldn’t care less about the mutt. Take him. But the flat and car? Those I’d fight for.”
“If you’d ever paid for them,” Emily cut in. “But since you didn’t—tough luck.”
James spluttered, failed to argue, and left in a huff. She stayed—with Biscuit, her corgi, and a simmering desire for revenge. For everything.
The betrayal stung. “Doubt I’ll trust anyone again,” she confided to her best mate, Sophie.
“Honestly, I don’t know how you let him walk so easily. Should’ve made him suffer.”
“How?”
“String him along, then dump him.”
Emily just shrugged.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold. Wait—he’ll be back.”
“Why?”
“Because you were together seven years, and this Jessica? Some fling from his gym. Fifteen years younger. He’ll realise his mistake soon.”
She was right.
Less than three months later, James reappeared.
“You home? I’m nearby—need to pop in.”
“Why?”
“Left my favourite umbrella. It’s autumn—I need it.”
“Fine. Take it.”
She humoured him, letting him rifle through cupboards for forgotten belongings. Watched as he fidgeted, inventing reasons to stay. When nothing was left, he conjured another excuse:
“Em, I’ll swing by. Wait up.”
“Forget something else?” She rubbed her hands, delighted he was playing exactly into Sophie’s prediction.
“Haven’t seen Biscuit in ages. Miss him. Bet he misses me too.”
“Biscuit? Miss you? Please. Dogs—and women—don’t wait around for traitors.”
“Still coming. Jessica’s locked me out for her fitness retreat. Need somewhere to crash till tomorrow.”
“Try a hotel.”
“But… can I at least grab dinner?”
“Fine,” Emily relented.
James arrived, inhaling her cooking like a starving man.
“Your roast potatoes… I’d sell my soul for these! Jessica only eats steamed kale. Screamed when I asked for chips—called me fat.”
Emily laughed. He looked pitiful—not just thinner, but aged, like he’d been shrivelled by stress.
“Eat. You need it,” she said, tossing a large slice of beef to Biscuit. James watched enviously—the dog ate better than he did now.
“Time to go,” Emily said as he lounged by the telly, slipping into old habits.
“Let me relax! Best evening I’ve had in ages—cosy, yeah?”
“I’ve got plans. Sorry.”
“What plans?” He squinted, unable to fathom his once-devoted Emily moving on.
“A date,” she said, watching his face.
“With who?”
“None of your business. Out. I’ll need the sofa.”
James paled. He’d hoped nostalgia would win her back—not just the sofa, but her affection.
As he left, he muttered, “Liar. No one’s coming.”
“Oh?”
“If they were, they’d fix that dripping tap. Any decent bloke wouldn’t leave his woman’s house like this.”
“My men come for pleasure, not plumbing. Off you go, James. Fix Jessica’s taps—though something tells me they’re beyond repair. That tap’s been leaking since you lived here, and you never lifted a finger.”
“Not my skill. But I’ve got other talents.”
“Not like my new man,” she said, shutting the door in his face.
Through the peephole, she grinned at his stunned expression. He loitered, then slunk away.
Two days later, he called.
“What now?”
“Just… miss you. Seven years together—habit, I guess.”
At first, Emily relished his complaints about Jessica, his dependency on her. But soon, his neediness grated. The anger faded—she felt nothing, not even spite.
“What do I do? How do I shake him off?” she asked Sophie.
“Time for revenge.”
“Honestly? He’s punished himself. Miserable with Jessica, and I’ve no interest in taking him back—even to dump him.”
“Then ghost him. No calls, no visits.”
She tried—but James doubled down, his “backup plan” slipping away. Calls from unknown numbers, flowers at work, lingering by her doorstep.
“James, stop. I’ve moved on,” she pleaded, stunned. Six months ago, she’d never have believed it.
Now she walked Biscuit across town to avoid him. The stalking was out of hand.
“Stay with me,” Sophie offered.
“But my flat?”
“Rent it. Know a colleague—needs a place for a month.”
“Perfect.”
“Fair warning—she’s a perfectionist. The type who tightens taps till they squeak.”
They laughed. Emily finally called a plumber—risking a fussy tenant’s wrath over a leak was madness.
When the doorbell rang, she flinched—but it wasn’t James.
“Hello, plumbing service?”
“Yes, come in.”
Michael was young, handsome, and brilliantly efficient. Fixed the tap in minutes.
“Mind checking the bathroom too?”
“Of course.”
Two hours later, her flat was pristine.
“You’re a gem, Mike.”
As she paid him, the doorbell rang again. James, ever persistent.
“Oh, for—”
“Husband? Don’t worry—I’m in uniform. He’ll assume I’m just working,” Mike joked.
Emily blushed. “Actually, I need him to assume the opposite.”
“Pardon?”
“My ex. Won’t take the hint.” She sighed. “Sorry—this is unprofessional.”
“Seen it all,” Mike chuckled. “You’d be surprised what clients ask.”
“Really?” Her cheeks burned hotter.
“Need an extra favour? Happy to help,” he winked, pulling on his jacket.
She let him out, heart racing as James skulked off—but not before spotting the handsome stranger leaving.
Bad news came next: Sophie’s colleague found another flat.
“No matter. Honestly, I can’t uproot Biscuit—your son’s allergic, and I won’t board him.”
“Right. Plan B, then.”
“I’ve got an idea… involving a certain plumber,” Emily smirked.
Sophie demanded details. Emily promised a full report later.
When she called Mike, he wasn’t surprised.
“Be over tonight.”
He arrived in jeans and a T-shirt—holding flowers.
“What’s this for?”
“You. For, well… your soul.”
“Thanks. Then this is for you.” She handed him a bowl of stew. “Hungry?”
“No argument here.”
They chatted until James called—again.
“Emily! Where’ve you been? I’ve been everywhere!”
“Busy. With my life.”
“What life? Work and telly? Stop lying! I’m coming over—need those old curtains. Rented a place near you. Bare walls. Thought of the ones on your balcony. Pack them up—make it cosy for me. Or maybe…”
“Not happening, James. I’ve got company. Feeding him stew,” she said, avoiding Mike’s amused gaze.
Silence. Then Mike played along—loud enough for James to hear.
“Let him come.”
“Liar! You’re just mad at me.”
“Tell him I’ll be waiting,” Mike said firmly.
Emily groaned.
“Relax. I’ve got you,” Mike reassured.
“Can you… pretend to be my boyfriend?”
“Easily.”
“I’m desperate. Blocked his number, warned the concierge, even alerted work security. He’s relentless.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“Do you charge extra for this?”
“The stew’s payment enough,” Mike grinned.
He was a stellar actor. When James barged in, he found Emily laughing in the kitchen—Mike at the stove, flour-dusted, rolling dough.
“You came? We’re making dumplings,” Emily beamed. “Potato and mushroom.”
“Who’re you?” James glared.
“Mike. Her fiancé. YouAnd as Mike handed James the curtains with a firm “cheers, mate,” Emily realised this wasn’t the end—just the start of something wonderfully unexpected.
