Charlotte tore through the bustling streets of Manchester, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded with fury—the neighbours had complained yet again about her brother-in-law, who’d turned her inheritance into a right dodgy dive. But what she discovered upon stepping inside the flat was the real gut punch. Her husband’s brother had just dropped the bombshell about her other half’s infidelity, and now her world was crumbling. Charlotte stood at a crossroads, torn between forgiving the betrayal or starting afresh.
“Lottie, he’s my brother—he’s got nowhere else to go,” her husband, James, had wheedled when it all began. “He’s divorced from Rebecca. Where’s he supposed to live?”
“I don’t want Simon in Nan’s flat,” Charlotte had replied weakly.
“He won’t wreck the place,” James had insisted. “Should he really move back in with Mum and Dad at his age?”
“And why not?” she’d snapped.
“He’s forty-five, love. Bit embarrassing, isn’t it? Plus, he’s got his own life,” James had pleaded, giving her that puppy-dog look.
“Fine, he can stay. But if the neighbours complain, he’s out!” Charlotte had finally relented.
“Brilliant! You won’t regret it,” James had beamed, rubbing his hands together like a man who’d just won the lottery.
Little did Charlotte know, James had his own agenda for the flat. Under the guise of “helping his brother,” he’d been using it for clandestine rendezvous with his mistress—something his thirty-four-year-old wife hadn’t the faintest clue about.
“Right, I’ll take Simon over now—get him settled,” James had chirped, snatching up the keys and bolting out the door.
“In such a hurry, you’d think he was moving in himself,” Charlotte had muttered, shaking her head before turning back to her chores.
James didn’t return for three hours. When she finally spotted the headlights pulling up, Charlotte rushed outside.
“Where’ve you been? I was about to send out a search party!” she joked, though her tone carried an edge.
“Just showing Simon the place,” James hedged, avoiding eye contact like a guilty schoolboy.
“Listen, is he at least going to cover the utilities?” she asked abruptly.
James hesitated, his gaze darting about. The topic hadn’t exactly come up.
“Come on, love, bit awkward charging family, isn’t it? Especially when he’s down on his luck,” he chided. “We’re paying the mortgage anyway—it’s not like he’ll rack up much.”
Reluctantly, Charlotte agreed that squeezing money out of family felt a bit off. But the moment Simon moved in, the flat descended into chaos. Music blared at all hours, rowdy crowds came and went, and the walls practically vibrated with shouting and laughter. The neighbours called the police, but the officer just issued fines, powerless to shut it down.
Simon whinged to his brother about the hassle.
“Neighbours are a nightmare,” he grumbled. “We’re barely making a peep, and they’re dialling 999. Sort it out, mate, or if I get booted, your little love nest goes kaput too.” He smirked.
“I’ll handle it, but tone it down, yeah?” James warned. “If Charlotte cottons on, we’re done for.”
“Course, course,” Simon promised—right before another raucous night sent the neighbours into another rage.
One fed-up neighbour managed to track down the flat’s owner through social media and messaged Charlotte, asking if she knew about the chaos and the police visits. Her horrified reply confirmed she’d been kept entirely in the dark.
An hour later, Charlotte stormed into the flat, fuming.
“Alright?” Simon grinned, swinging the door open.
“Simon, the neighbours are at their wits’ end!” she exploded. “I want you out. Now.”
“Out?” He scoffed. “Sorry, love, but you’ve failed as a landlady.”
“You’ve failed as a human being!” she shot back. “Pack your things!”
“Oh, is that how it is? Well, let me tell you something about dear old James,” he sneered.
“What are you on about?” She froze, staring him down.
“I’m not the only one causing a ruckus here,” Simon chuckled. “Your hubby’s been busy too.”
“Meaning?” Her voice wavered.
“He’s been shacking up with his bit on the side,” Simon blurted. “Three months now. And you, darling, had no idea.”
The words hit like a bolt from the blue. The floor might as well have vanished beneath her feet.
“Get. Out.” She jabbed a finger at the door.
“What’ll you do about James, then?” Simon taunted.
“Not your problem!” she barked. “Piss off!”
Still smirking, Simon threw his things into a bag and vanished twenty minutes later. Charlotte stood alone in the wrecked flat, barely recognising the home her nan had left her. The walls were grimy, belongings scattered like hurricane debris, the air thick with stale smoke—it reeked of deceit. She flung the windows open, as if the breeze could carry away the stench of betrayal.
At home, James was in for a reckoning. At first, he denied everything, but cornered, he cracked like a bad egg, begging for forgiveness. Charlotte listened, but her mind was made up. The lies, the sneaking around—it had all snapped the thread of trust between them. She filed for divorce and maintenance, refusing to let anyone trample her self-worth again.
Now, sitting in the empty flat, she stared at the city lights through the window. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but they weren’t just from pain—they carried resolve. The illusions were gone, but in their place was steel. Her life was starting over, and she wouldn’t let the past drag her back.
