Betrayal That Sticks: A Cold and Calculated Revenge
They spent thirty-five years togetheralmost half a lifetime. George and Emily. It began like an old-fashioned romancedancing in the rain, talking until dawn, sharing dreams of a house with a garden. Emily was petite, quiet, fragile in appearance but with a will of iron. George, ambitious and fiery-eyed, always chasing more.
They endured poverty, debts, moving towns, grief. When George started his business from scratch, it was Emily who held everything togetherhome, children, bills, illnesses. When success finally came, bringing comfort and stability, George fell in love. With his new secretary, tall and leggy, who laughed at his jokes and lingered a second too long when she touched his arm.
He made his decision quickly. He hired expensive lawyers to keep the housethe one theyd built brick by brick, renovated together, where Emily had planted roses and stitched cushions. The home that had once been their shared dream.
The court awarded it to George. Emily had two months to leave. But she was gone in two days. No tears, no drama. Silent. She packed her bags, called the movers. And as a parting gift, she scattered crumbs of boiled codbehind curtains, under windowsills, inside the vents. Leftovers from the farewell dinner shed made for herself at the empty table.
Georges new love moved into the “dream home” days later. Everything seemed perfectlight, space, a fireplace, a balcony. But within twenty-four hours, a putrid stench seeped through the walls. Nothing could erase itnot scrubbing, not air fresheners, not renovations.
The smell grew worse. They washed floors, replaced carpets, kept windows open. Bought air purifiers. Useless. Friends stopped visiting. No one could stand the stench.
George tried to sell. But word spread through the parish. Buyers fled after ten minutes. Estate agents refused to help. The house had become cursed.
The couple took out a hefty loan for a new place. Money ran dry. Then Emily called:
*”How are things, George?”*
*”Awful,”* he confessed, broken. *”The house wont sell. Were ruined.”*
*”How strange,”* she replied calmly. *”You know, I do miss that house. Would you sell it to me? For say, ten percent of the value?”*
George nearly wept with relief. He agreed instantly. Ten percent? Anything to escape the nightmare.
The next day, Emily arrived with a solicitor. Papers were signed in minutes. The couple left for their new home. She stepped inside the empty house, took a deep breathand smiled for the first time in years.
But the story didnt end there.
The couple took everything from their old homefurniture, curtains, even the curtain rods. *Especially* the rods. George wouldnt leave a single thing for his ex-wife. He dismantled them himself. And with them, he carried the source of the smell.
In their new home, the stench appeared the very next morning.
Emily knew it would. And she never called again.
Now, in her own house, she enjoys silence, clean walls, and roses in bloom. While George lives with a self-inflicted cursefor betrayal, for pride, for forgetting who stood by him when he had nothing.
The lesson? Some debts arent paid in pounds and pencetheyre paid in the weight of regret.
