Im thirtyseven and have been divorced for ten years, ever since David Whitaker threw me aside for another woman. He cheated, I never forgave him, and now he lives with his new wife, Emily Clarke. She got pregnant by him, gave birth to their son James, and they married shortly after. I cut all contact; I have no idea what goes on behind their closed doors.
My salary is more than enough, and a few weeks ago I finally sold the old terraced house Id inherited from my grandmother in Leeds. The cash is sitting in my account, ready for whatever I decideperhaps a sleek new car, though I still need to learn to drive. Im not in any rush to part with it.
Then, out of the blue, David turned up at my flat in Manchester. We hadnt spoken in years, so his sudden appearance knocked me off balance. He lunged straight into his misery, telling me that James had been diagnosed with cancer and that the treatment would cost a fortune. Were flat broke, he said, his eyes pleading. I thought maybe you could help.
I could have given him the money. I have the cash, after all. But I wondered what would happen if the tables turnedif I fell ill, would he still be there? I didnt think so.
Havent you any idea how desperate we are? he cried, as if my feelings mattered. He never once considered mine, nor even Emilys. He had once swapped me for her without a second thought, and during the divorce we split everything down the middle. He claimed the money would be useful for his new family, even tried to demand I return the flat Id bought before we were married. That saved me from losing it. He was never happy, and now hes back, begging for cash while droning on about his feelings.
He promised to show me all the medical documents if Id only believe him. I didnt need proof; I didnt even want to think about it. He swore hed pay everything back, that Jamess rehabilitation would be covered, that the £150,000 would be returned. I doubted Id ever see a penny.
Why dont you go to the bank for a loan? I asked, my voice flat.
He burst into a tirade, even suggested I should get on my knees and beg. I refused. I have no desire to humiliate myself before a man who betrayed me. I want nothing to do with him or his family. He promised hed be back once Id calmed down and thought things over. Theres nothing to think over.
You could call me heartless, but I intend to keep my money under my own control. I wont share it with anyone whos used me. After that conversation I felt a sting of guilt, but Ill let him fend for himself. Itll be a lesson, and perhaps the price he pays for his sins.
