A Message from the Wife
Harry, could you pick me up from work? Emilys voice crackled with hope as she rang her husband, longing to avoid another bone-rattling, forty-minute bus ride after her gruelling day at the restaurant.
Im busy, came Harrys gruff reply. But as Emily listened, she could hear the television in the backgroundhe was clearly at home, not engaged in anything urgent.
The pain stung deep, almost bringing tears to her eyes. Their marriage was hanging by a thread, though just six months ago he wouldve carried her over every puddle. What had changed so quickly? Emily couldnt fathom it.
She took care of herself, religiously going to the gym, and was a brilliant cooka point of pride, working at one of Londons buzzier eateries. She never asked for money, never threw tantrums, and was always willing to please her husband.
Youll bore him right out, her mum would sigh, gently shaking her head as she listened to Emilys complaints over tea in their tiny kitchen. You cant always let a man have his way, love.
But I just love him, Emily would smile weakly, helpless. And he loves me
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Turns out I really have bored him, Emily bit her lip as she scrolled through Harrys internet history. He was spending his free time on dating sites, chatting up several women at once. Why couldnt he just talk to me? I wouldve understood and let him go. Why torture himself and me by pretending?
Sodivorce it was. Well, she was strong and shed see it through. But she wouldnt let him off without a little taste of justice.
That evening, Emily registered on the same dating site Harry used. She found his profile and messaged him, using a picture shed found online, tweaked in Photoshop until it was almost unrecognisable. Emily felt sure Harry would take the baitand he did.
A feverish exchange began. Harry claimed he was single, ready for kids, and wanted something serious. He bragged about his charming personality, making Emily stifle a laugh; she knew all too well how difficult he really was.
Lets meet up, Emily typed, heart pounding, waiting for his reply.
Id love to, came his quick response, but my sisters crashing at mine while she prepares for her A-levels. Lets meet somewhere neutral, then finish the night at a hotel
Unbelievable, Emily muttered under her breath. How can he be so sure a woman would leap at that? Anyone would take offence! Still, it suits my plan.
Or, why not my place? Emily continued. I live in a cottage just outside town, alone. No one will bother us She wondered if hed take the bait.
Brilliant idea! Harry replied, sounding thrilledmost likely at the chance to save a few quid. Text me the address and time. Ill fly there on the wings of love.
25 Rosewood Lane, ten oclock. That suit you?
Absolutely! Cant wait.
Around nine, Harry pretended hed been called into work. After a frantic search for his car keys, he reluctantly asked Emily if shed seen them.
They were on the hallway table, Emily said, her voice serene, hand closing calmly over the keys in her pocket. Maybe the cat knocked them off?
Ill just get a taxi then. Dont wait up, get to bed.
But Emily had no intention of waiting up. Why should she? Instead, she spent the evening packing her things. Thankfully, she had her own flat from her late grandmother. The only thing she left behind was the divorce paperwork, right in the middle of the dining table.
Harry didnt return until the next morning, raging. The late-night journey out to the supposed models house had taken over an hour, and when he finally arrived, Angela from the dating site was nowhere to be found.
The address was real, the house genuinebut the door was answered not by a stunning woman, but a lady three times his size, draped in a semi-transparent robe Harry would have paid a fortune to unsee.
He barely escaped from her overbearing attentions! Another lengthy wait for a taxiHarry shivered in his blazer, teeth chattering from the cold. The cabbie was odd, taking him god-knows-where before eventually getting him home. It was a night to rememberfor all the wrong reasons.
Only when Harry stepped into the flat and caught sight of the divorce petition laid square on the table did he grasp who was behind it all. Just beneath it, written in bright red lipstick on the tabletop:
This sweet revengeAs Harry stared in disbelief, a slow dawning crept across his facea mixture of embarrassment, rage, and something almost like regret. He sank onto the sofa, the silence around him louder than any scolding could ever be.
On top of the papers Emily had left a single note:
Next time, try honesty. Yours, Emily.
Meanwhile, Emily unlocked the door to her grandmothers cozy flat, the familiar scent of lavender greeting her like an old friend. She set down her suitcase and closed her eyes, inhaling a slow, steady breath. Outside, the city was waking up; sunlight streamed through the lace curtains and painted golden patches on the worn floorboards.
For the first time in months, Emily felt the tightness in her chest begin to ease. She brewed herself a pot of tea, curling up by the window, and let herself smilea real, blooming smileat the thought of all the ways her life could begin anew.
Yes, shed loved him. Maybe part of her always would. But love, she realized now, could never thrive where honesty had died. With the weight lifting from her shoulders, Emily gazed out onto the street, ready to greet her first day of freedom. And somewhere deep inside, well beneath the scars, she felt hope uncurldelicate and unstoppablelike springs first morning after a long, hard frost.
