Natasha was just finishing up dinner when there was a knock at the door. “Odd,” she thought, “weve got a doorbell, and everyone we know uses it.” She opened the door to find a woman her own age staring back at her.
“Good evening, you must be Natasha?” the stranger asked.
“Yes, and you are?” Natasha replied, tilting her head.
“Oh, weve never met. Im a close friend of your husbands.”
“Olivers?”
“Ollie,” the woman corrected with a soft smile.
Natasha scoffed. “Of course you call him that. Let me guessyoure in love, and Im in the way?”
The womanHelen, she said her name wasfidgeted. “How did you know?”
“Because youre not the first,” Natasha sighed. “Take him, if you want him. Whats his excuse this time? That the kids are too young? That he cant abandon me now?”
Helen shook her head. “No, nothing like that. He said we just have to wait until well, until your father passes.”
Natasha froze. Her father was in his sixties, healthy as a horse, and nowhere near deaths door.
“You must be mistaken.”
“Oh no,” Helen insisted. “Oliver said once your dads gone, youll move into his flat, and then hell finally be free.”
Natashas blood boiled. “Excuse me? That flats mineinherited from my grandmother! And my father isnt going anywhere!”
Helen wrung her hands. “I just want him to be happy. I dont care about the flatwe can live at mine.”
“Lovely. Then take him.”
Helen blinked. “Just like that?”
“Why not? I stopped holding onto him years ago. Thought hed grow out of it, then stayed for the kids But now? No. Pack his things yourself if you like.”
Helen hesitated. “Oh no, I couldnt carry them. Hell collect them when hes ready.”
Natasha smirked. “Fine. Ill file for divorce tomorrow. Hell get what the courts decidebut not my flat.”
Helen left, and Natasha started packing Olivers bags. She wasnt angryjust done.
When Oliver came home, he barely noticed anything amiss until she refused to eat with him.
“Darling, Im off for my evening walk,” he announced, straightening his tie.
“Of course, love. At your age, fresh airs important,” Natasha said sweetly.
Oliver frowned. “My age? Im in my prime!”
Natasha sighed. “Fifty-three isnt prime, dear. Even the bus drivers offer you their seats now.”
He sputtered. “Thats rubbish!”
“And lets not forget how weve slept in separate rooms for a year. But dont worryPeters been keeping me company.”
“Who the hell is Peter?!”
“Just a friend. Unlike you, he doesnt mind his age.”
Oliver turned red. “Thats it! Im leaving! A woman who pities me doesnt deserve me!”
Natasha gestured to the neatly packed bags. “Already done, darling. And dont bother contesting the divorceyoure not getting my flat.”
Oliver grabbed a suitcase and stormed out, straight to Helens.
The divorce went smoothlyOliver got the car and garage; Natasha kept the holiday home. She sold it, then set off traveling with her father, who was in perfect health and nowhere near “passing.”
Six months later, Helen caught Oliver on one of his “evening walks” and threw him out. He tried crawling back to Natasha, but she was off exploring the countryside with her dad again.
With nowhere left to go, Oliver considered crashing in his garage. Or maybe finding some naive young thingafter all, he was still a vibrant man in his prime wasnt he?
