A Message from the Wife
Will you pick me up from work, darling? Emily calls her husband, hoping that after a gruelling day she wont have to endure forty minutes rattling about on the number 17 bus.
Im busy, comes a curt reply from Oliver. Yet, in the background, she can distinctly hear the television, which means Oliver is at home.
Tears prick in Emilys eyes with frustration. Their marriage is falling apart, and just half a year ago, Oliver couldnt do enough for her. What changed so quickly? Emily has no idea.
She takes care of herself, spends plenty of time at the gym. Her cooking is exceptional its no wonder she works at a popular London brasserie. Shes never begged for money, never started rows, and has always been keen to make her husband happy.
Youll only wear yourself out, her mother sighs, shaking her head as Emily pours out her misery. Men never value it when you let them walk all over you.
I just love him, Emily smiles weakly in reply. And he loves me
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Turns out hes tired of me after all, Emily mutters, biting her lip while scrolling through the browser history. It turns out that Oliver spends all his free time on dating websites, constantly chatting with several women at once. Why couldnt he just talk to me? I would have understood and let him go. Why force himself to live with someone he doesnt love and make her suffer with his indifference?
So, a divorce then. Well, shes strong; shell get through this. Still, shes not going to let him off that easily. He deserves a little payback…
That same evening, Emily registers on the very dating site Oliver uses, finds his profile and sends him a message. She grabs a photo off the internet, gives it a subtle Photoshop touch, and is certain Oliver will take the bait. And indeed, he does.
A lively correspondence ensues. Oliver insists he isnt married, claims hes ready for a serious relationship, for children and praises his supposedly wonderful character, something Emily finds laughable. She knows very well how impossible he can be.
Lets meet, Emily finally suggests, holding her breath as she waits for a response.
Absolutely, comes back after just a moment. Though, my sisters crashing at my flat while she preps for her finals. How about we meet somewhere neutral and see where the evening goes; maybe end up at a hotel?
Really? Emily almost laughs out loud after reading this. Why is he so sure a woman would instantly agree to go to a hotel with him? Anyone normal would be mortified! Still, it plays perfectly into my hands.
How about you come to mine? Ive got a little cottage just outside of town, and I live by myself. No one will disturb us she types, wondering if hell take the bait.
Brilliant idea! Oliver is clearly excited probably relieved he wont have to shell out for drinks in Oxford circus. Send me the address and a time. Ill fly there with the wings of love.
Meadow Lane, number 25, at ten tonight. Is that okay?
Of course! Just wait for me.
By half past eight, Oliver pretends hes urgently needed at the office. He cant find his car keys and, begrudgingly, asks Emily if shes seen them.
They were on the dresser, she replies, watching him calmly while she keeps the keys tightly in her pocket. Maybe the cats dragged them off somewhere?
Never mind, Ill call for a cab. Dont wait up, go to bed if youre tired.
But Emily isnt planning to wait up. What for? She uses the evening wisely packing her belongings. Luckily, she owns her own place, left to her by her grandmother. The only thing she leaves behind is the divorce papers, placed front and centre on the dining table.
Oliver returns home only the next morning, fuming. Not only did the journey take over an hour each way, but there was no Amy from the website at the address.
The house was real, the address checked out but the woman who answered the door was definitely not the model-type girl in the photos. Instead, its a lady easily three times his size, wearing just a sheer robe, and Oliver would gladly pay every penny in his wallet just to erase the memory.
He barely escaped this maddening situation! Called for a taxi again, just to get away. The wait was endless, and he froze half to death standing outside in his blazer. To top it off, the driver was a peculiar chap who drove him all over the place before finally getting him home. All in all, it was quite the night.
Its only when Oliver walks into the flat and spots the divorce papers on the kitchen table that he realises who orchestrated this little drama. Next to the papers, a message written in bright lipstick reads:
This is sweet revenge…
