“Darling, could you pick me up from work?” Emily called her husband, hoping to avoid the exhausting forty-minute bus ride after a grueling day.
“Love, can you come get me?” she asked again, her voice weary. She dreaded the thought of squeezing onto a crowded bus, her feet aching.
“Busy,” came the curt reply from Oliver. In the background, the faint sound of the football match on TV betrayed his liehe was clearly at home.
Emilys heart sank. Their marriage was crumbling, and just six months ago, Oliver had promised to cherish her. What had changed so quickly? She didnt understand.
She took care of herself, spending hours at the gym. She cooked beautifullyno surprise, given her job at a bustling London bistro. Never once had she asked for money, never made a scene, always ready to fulfill his every whim
“Youll wear him out like this,” her mother warned whenever Emily confided in her. “You cant spoil a man rotten.”
“I just love him,” Emily would reply with a helpless smile. “And he loves me too”
*****
But in the end, hed grown tired of her. Emily bit her lip as she scrolled through the browser history. Oliver spent all his free time on dating sites, flirting with multiple women at once. Why hadnt he just told her? Shed have understoodshed have let him go. Why suffer, trapped with a woman he didnt love, tormenting her with indifference?
So, divorce. She was strongshed survive. But she wouldnt let him walk away without a little payback
That same night, Emily signed up on the same dating site. She found Olivers profile and messaged him, using a carefully edited photo shed found online. She knew hed take the bait. And he did.
Their exchange was ridiculous. Oliver claimed he was single, ready for commitment, desperate for children. He bragged about his “wonderful character,” making Emily laugh until tears blurred her vision. She knew all too well how difficult he really was.
“Lets meet,” she typed, grinning as she waited.
“Sounds perfect,” came his instant reply. “Though my sisters staying with me while she preps for uni exams. How about a neutral spot first, then a hotel?”
“Seriously?” Emily whispered, shaking her head. “Who assumes a woman would agree to that straightaway?” But it worked in her favor.
“How about my place instead?” she suggested. “Ive got a little cottage outside town, totally private” Would he fall for it?
“Brilliant!” Oliver replied, clearly thrilledlikely because it saved him money. “Send the address. Ill be there by ten, flying on loves wings.”
“25 Willow Lane, 10 p.m. Suit you?”
“Absolutely. Wait for me.”
At nine, Oliver faked an urgent work call. He couldnt find his car keys and reluctantly asked Emily if shed seen them.
“They were on the table,” she said innocently, gripping them tightly in her pocket. “Maybe the cat took them?”
But Emily had no intention of waiting. Instead, she packed her thingsthankfully, she still had her grandmothers old flat. The only thing she left behind was the divorce papers, placed prominently on the table.
Oliver returned the next morning, furious. Not only had the trip taken over an hour, but “Sophie” from the site wasnt at the cottage.
The address was real, the house existedbut the woman who answered the door wasnt the model-like beauty from the photo. She was twice his size, barely covered by a sheer robe, and Oliver wouldve paid any sum to erase the memory.
Escaping her took effort. He had to call a cab, shivering in his thin jacket as he waited. The driver took an inexplicable detour, dragging out the nightmare. By the time he stumbled home, frostbitten and exhausted, the divorce papers were waiting.
Beside them, scrawled in red lipstick, was a single phrase:
*Sweet revenge tastes best cold.*
