12th May
I could hear the faint ticking of the kitchen clock as I brushed the last trace of flour off my hands and slid the tray of pasties into the hot oven. I wanted everything to turn out perfectly today. The pastry needed to rise just right and turn a lovely golden brown exactly the way Thomas liked them.
There was a time when life was simple and predictable. I had grown used to the hush of my own company, and I suppose I’d nearly convinced myself this would always be my lot. Then, there he was striding into my interview with the sort of confidence you couldn’t ignore. He was tall, certain, and with every word, I felt something inside me shift.
That was when my world changed for good. Love swept in, followed by a wedding and the wonderful feeling that at last, things were as they should be. I was happy, so much so that I barely noticed how completely Id moulded my days around him.
Two years on, Thomas packed his bags, claiming work was sending him up to Manchester for a month. That month stretched out into a year. He barely phoned, and when he did, it was all formalities and stiff silences. Still, I waited. I told myself it was all above board until a friend chanced to mention theyd spotted Thomas strolling around Oxford Street with another woman on his arm, not a care in the world.
The truth finally dawned. I could have shouted, demanded a straight answer, or rung him every hour till he answered my questions. But I didnt. I decided to wait. Revenge, after all, is best served quietly.
Then, a year later, the phone rang. It was Thomas. He announced his work trip had finished and hed be back by supper. Casually, as though nothing had happened, he added, “Could you bake those lovely potato pasties? Ive missed them.”
You’ve gone and made my favourite pasties after all! he grinned when he came through the door, just back from his mistress, as if hed never left. He looked so at ease, so sure of himself as he sauntered around the kitchen, plonking himself on the old wooden stool, crossing his legs and smiling as if nothing had happened, as if there hadnt been another woman.
He grabbed a pasty straight from the pile, took a confident bite, and in the next moment, all the colour drained from his face. He stared at me in utter panic. He certainly hadnt expected a bit of vengeance baked right in.
Earlier that morning I’d made the pastry just as carefully as ever, even mashed the potatoes just so, but this time Id hidden a pocketful of small glass shards in one of the pasties.
Thomas barely chewed before he spat it out, blood quickly staining his mouth, his tongue and gums lacerated by the invisible fragments. His scream was muffled, more panic than pain, as he clutched the table and started coughing.
“Youve really gone and baked my favourite pasties,” hed said, just before realising what was hidden inside.
I watched him calmly as I spoke. “Thats for the lies and those little trips of yours,” I told him coldly. “If the urge ever returns, remember this feeling.”
He was gasping, trying to grab his phone, but Id already turned away. I picked up my suitcase, shrugged on my coat, and opened the front door without a word.
I didnt phone for an ambulance. I didnt look back. I just left, shutting the door behind me and stepping into the crisp London air, knowing Id never return.
Today I learned that no matter how deeply you trust someone, always remember to trust yourself more. Betrayal comes quietly, but so can strength.
