A Message from a Wife
Love, could you pick me up from work? Emily had called her husband, hoping she wouldnt have to bear a forty-minute bus ride home after such a gruelling day.
Im busy, was Williams brusque reply. But in the background, Emily could clearly hear the television, confirming he was home.
Tears pricked her eyes with hurt. Their marriage was falling apart, although just half a year ago, William was utterly devoted, willing to pamper her at every turn. What had changed so swiftly? Emily simply didnt know.
She cared about her figure, spending ample time at the local gym. Her cooking was exceptionalshe was hardly employed at one of Londons most sought-after restaurants for nothing. She never pressed for extra money, pitched no fits, nor demanded anything unreasonable; she was always ready to fulfil her husbands wishes.
Youll smother him that way, her mother would sigh whenever Emily brought her grievances home. You cant give in to a man on every count.
I simply love him, Emily would answer quietly, mustering a helpless smile. And he loves me
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I have worn out my welcome, after all, Emily murmured to herself one evening, gloomily skimming through Williams browser history. It turned out, he spent all his free time on dating sites, chatting with several women at once. Why couldnt he just talk to me? I would have understood and let him go. Why torment us both with this charade?
So, divorce it was to be. She was strongshe would survive it. But there was no reason William should walk away without consequence. A touch of poetic justice was in order
That same evening, Emily registered on the very site William frequented. She found his profile, uploaded a photo sourced from the internetretouched it just enoughand waited, confident hed take the bait.
He did.
Their exchange soon became a whirlwind. In his messages, William bragged that he was a bachelor, ready for a serious relationship and eager for children, boasting of his sterling characterclaims so absurd they made Emily laugh till she cried. She alone knew just how obstinate he could be.
Lets meet, Emily suggested, her breath held as she awaited his reply.
Id fancy that, his response arrived in seconds. But my sisters staying at my flat for exam preparations. Lets meet somewhere else, then maybe continue the evening at a hotel.
Well, this is bold, Emily thought, unable to keep from chuckling. Why on earth does he assume a woman would march straight off to a hotel with him? Anyone with sense would be offended! But then, it suits my plan perfectly.
Perhaps youd prefer to come to mine? I live in a cottage on the edge of town, alone. No one to disturb us She debated inwardly whether hed go for it.
Brilliant idea! William replied at once, evidently delighted that it wouldnt cost him any extra pounds. Send me the address and time. Ill dash over, love-struck.
Number 25, Willow Lane. Ten oclock. Will that do?
Certainly! Wait for me.
As the clock approached nine, William feigned a late work call. He pretended to search for his car keys and reluctantly asked Emily if she had seen them.
They were on the bedside table, Emily responded, meeting his gaze steadily, while her hand gripped the keys in her coat pocket. Maybe the cat carried them off?
Oh, Ill just ring for a cab. Dont wait up, head to bed.
But Emily had no intention of waiting for him. Why should she? She spent the evening purposefully, packing her belongings. She was fortunateshe owned her own flat, bequeathed by her grandmother. The only mark she left on the marriage was a divorce petition placed squarely in plain sight.
William returned well past dawn, furious. Not only had the journey taken over an hour each way, but his would-be paramourAngela from the sitewas nowhere to be seen.
The address was real, the house genuine. But it certainly wasnt inhabited by the slender model hed seen in the photos. The door was answered by a woman near thrice his size, clad only in a sheer dressing gownWilliam would have paid any sum just to erase the sight from his memory.
After barely managing to extricate himself from the bizarre encounter, he was forced to hail another taxi, shivering in his thin jacket while he waited what felt like ages for it to arrive. To make matters worse, the driver seemed utterly lost, dropping him miles from where he should have been. In all, it was a devil of a night.
Only once he stepped into the flat and caught sight of the divorce papers upon the table did he realise who had orchestrated the entire comedy. For there, scrawled in lipstick across the sheet in bold English letters, was:
A taste of sweet revengeA bitter laugh escaped William as he stared at the papers, hands trembling with a realization far colder than the night air had been. His mind replayed the evenings farce, each foolish decision unraveling to reveal the web Emily had spundeft, invisible, and far, far cleverer than hed ever imagined.
He slumped onto the couch, surrounded by the silence left in Emilys wake. At last, he understood the full weight of what hed lostnot just a wife, but the quiet devotion and warmth that had once filled these rooms.
Meanwhile, dawn crept through parted curtains in Emilys new flat. She brewed herself strong coffee, the bitterness familiar but strangely sweet today. For the first time in months, her reflection in the glass smiled back, weary but free.
She sent one last text, not to William, but to herselfa message that rang out quietly but firmly, a vow: Enough.
And with that, Emily stepped out into the morning, sunlight warming her face. She had already begun to write her next chapter, no longer willing to settle for footnotes in someone elses mistaken story. As she closed the door behind her, relief and hope whispered togethera duet only she could hear, promising that this time, every ending was her own to choose.
