**Just Deserts**
When you do something reckless, you never imagine there’s a reason behind it—but fate has a funny way of sorting things out. Sometimes, it tests your patience, your resilience, or just how much nonsense you’re willing to put up with.
Slamming the door behind him, Jake stormed out of the house, fists clenched, teeth gritted. He was furious—at himself, at his wife, Emily, at the whole bloody mess.
*I’m a grown man, and yet I can’t stand up to my own wife. The woman I love, the woman I’d do anything for. What am I doing wrong?*
Honestly, he couldn’t understand why Emily was never satisfied. Her icy glare, that sneer, the way she mocked him—it chipped away at him bit by bit. Five years of marriage, a three-year-old son, Alfie, and still, she treated him like some useless bloke who couldn’t do anything right.
Just a little while ago, he’d rushed home from work, roses in one hand, a small gift in the other. It was their fifth anniversary, and he’d been so sure she’d smile, maybe even say thank you.
“Happy anniversary, love,” he’d said, handing her the bouquet and a little velvet box with a gold pendant inside.
She’d tossed the flowers onto the sofa, opened the box, and looked at him like he’d handed her a trinket from a pound shop.
“This is it?” she’d scoffed. “I married a man who can’t even be bothered to get me a proper diamond? Five years of my life, wasted on you.”
The box had landed next to the roses. Jake had barely held his tongue before bolting out the door.
He wandered into a pub, ordered a whisky, then another. “Happy anniversary, mate,” he muttered, downing the drink.
“Rough day?” a woman’s voice asked behind him.
He turned, saw her red-rimmed eyes, and sighed. “Yeah. You too?”
The next morning, he woke up in a stranger’s flat with a pounding headache. The memories came back in pieces—the pub, the woman, the stupid, stupid mistake. He crept out, sick with guilt.
At home, Emily was livid. “Where the hell were you?”
“Got drunk with Dave. Stayed at his place.” He lied smoothly, but the shame gnawed at him.
For a few days, things were oddly peaceful. Emily smiled, joked, acted almost like she used to. Maybe she felt bad. But Jake couldn’t shake the guilt.
He decided to make it up to her—properly. Borrowed money from his mum (who grumbled about him spoiling his “high-maintenance wife”) and bought a diamond ring. White roses in hand, he rushed home, ready to surprise her.
The flat was quiet when he walked in. Then he heard laughter.
Inside, the dining table was set with candles. Emily, in a slinky dress, was giggling over wine with some bloke lounging on their sofa.
Jake saw red. “Who the hell is this?”
Emily barely flinched. “This is Daniel. We were together before you. He’s back now. You can leave.”
Turned out, she’d never loved him. Just used him to get back at Daniel.
Jake stormed out, numb. His whole life had been a lie.
Then he remembered the woman from the pub—Sophie. He went back to her flat, awkwardly apologised. She forgave him. Let him stay.
Three days later, he returned for his things. The locks were changed. Daniel answered the door. Emily didn’t even come out—just shouted from the kitchen, “I filed for divorce.”
Jake moved in with Sophie. Slowly, the anger faded. She was kind, gentle—nothing like Emily. Alfie adored her. Eventually, he even called her “Mum.”
Then Sophie told him she was pregnant. He proposed right there in the kitchen.
Of course, Emily didn’t stay gone. She called one day, sweet as syrup. “Can you come over? It’s about Alfie.”
Jake arrived to find her clinging to him, tearful. “I made a mistake. Daniel left me—I’m pregnant. Take me back?”
He stepped away, disgusted. “Not a chance.”
As he walked out, he realised—fate had given him exactly what he deserved. And for once, it was something good.
