I heard my husbands voice tangled with his mothers, and the reason hed married me finally snapped into focus.
George, have you seen my blue folder with the documents? Im sure I left it on the sideboard, and now its only your magazines that sit there.
Emily fanned through a stack of papers in the hallway, glancing at the clock every few seconds. Forty minutes left until the crucial board meeting, and the traffic outside the city centre had already begun to coil into thick, red serpents on the navigation screen. She loathed being late. Fifteen years as finance director of a major construction firm had welded punctuality into her very bones.
George emerged from the kitchen, chewing a ham sandwich. He wore the soft, velour tracksuit that Emily had given him for his birthday dark navy, flattering his blue eyes. At thirtytwo he looked immaculate: fit, freshhaired, a stylish cut framing his face. Beside him stood Emily, fortythree now, who sometimes felt out of place despite expensive creams, regular facials and a strict gym schedule.
Darling, why are you in such a panic? he said with a gentle smile, swiping crumbs from his chin. I moved it onto the shelf in the cupboard so it wouldnt gather dust. You know I love order. Ill fetch it now.
He bounded, boyish, to the builtin wardrobe and, a heartbeat later, handed her the missing folder.
Thanks, love! Emily planted a kiss on his cheek, still scented with aftershave lotion. What would I do without you? Im off. The dinners in the fridge, youll heat it up later. Ill be late; we have an audit looming.
Good luck, my queen! he called after her as she hurried out onto the landing.
In the lift, Emily smiled at her reflection. How lucky she felt. Three years earlier, after a bruising divorce from a first husband whod drained her emotionally, shed never imagined love again. Then George appeared young, ambitious, a modest carsales manager, not a stargrabbing tycoon, but utterly attentive. He showered her with unsolicited flowers, breakfast in bed, endless compliments. Friends whispered about the match, suggesting he was after her money or her flat, but Emily brushed it off. Could you ever forge that spark in someones eyes? Could you pretend for three whole years?
She slipped into her SUV, tossed the folder onto the passenger seat and turned the key. Her gaze fell on the back seat, where a bag of drycleaning items forgotten from yesterday lay. Inside the coat pocket was a second phone, the work device auditors were supposed to call on.
Bloody hell! she muttered, cursing aloud.
She had to shut off the engine and turn back. The lift creaked upward at a glacial pace. Emily unlocked the front door with her key, trying to be quiet; she didnt want to disturb George, who was about to settle at his laptop for some project.
Stepping into the entry hall, she heard her husbands voice drifting from the sitting room, loud and animated as if he were pacing the room.
Mum, stop nagging! I told you, everythings on track! Georges tone was sharp, no longer the warm timbre of moments before.
Emily froze, hand suspended midair near the coat rack. The intonation was foreign, hostile. She knew eavesdropping was rude, yet her legs felt rooted to the parquet.
What does she want anyway? George continued. Mum, are you even listening? Im not a fool. Ive tolerated that old witch for three years just to keep the peace about that cottage.
Her breath caught. An icy sphere seemed to explode in her chest. Old witch? He meant her?
Yes, Mum, Ill put up with it a bit longer! George laughed, a sound that grated like metal. Did you see her up close without plaster? No injection helps now. Every night when I crawl into bed I imagine Im still at work, paying my dues, milking the system!
Emily pressed her palm to her mouth, stifling a scream. Tears burst, smearing mascara. She wanted to storm the room, strike him, drive him out. Yet a cold, malignant force held her in place. She had to listen, to learn the whole truth.
Look, dear, itll all pay off soon, Georges voice softened dreamily. She blurted out yesterday she wants to transfer the country house to me. The one in Silverwood. She says itll be an anniversary gift. Can you imagine the price? Ive already called the estate agent. If we sell, well have enough for a central London flat for you, capital for my business, and still enough to vanish far away. And Lucy what will Lucy do? Shell cry, then get over it. Shes a strong lady, shell earn again.
A question on the line seemed to rattle him, and he tried to justify:
Dont you remember how she gushed at your jubilee, warning about mayo and cholesterol? Shes a proper aristocrat. I hate her sometimes to the point my teeth hurt, especially when she lectures me: George, develop yourself, read more.
Emily sank to her knees, the ceiling spinning. Three years of lies. Every I love you, every embrace, every bouquet had been an investment. He was biding his time for a big payday. The country house, inherited from her father, was indeed worth a fortune, and she had once considered retitling it to make him feel like a rightful owner. How foolish shed been!
Enough, Mum, George said. Shell come back, forget something, drift away like a cloud. Ill call you tonight after shes asleep. I love you. Youre the only woman Id do anything for.
Footsteps approached the kitchen. Gathering resolve, Emily slipped out of the flat, closing the door gently behind her.
In the hallway she pressed her forehead to the cold wall, heart thudding in her throat, a fine tremor rattling her limbs. Should she return now? Throw a tantrum? He would spin, claim shed misunderstood, say it was a joke about his boss No. With people like that, emotions are a liability.
Emily wiped her face with the cuff of her expensive coat. She was a finance director; she could calculate, plan, and strike when the opponent least expected it. He wanted a game? Shed give him one.
She drove down, glanced at the rearview mirror: her eyes reddened, mascara running. Old witch, she whispered. Three years of tolerance. Well, George, lets see who endures whom.
She didnt go to work. She called her deputy, saying she felt ill and asked for the meeting to proceed without her. Instead she headed to a small café on the outskirts, a place where no one would recognise her. She needed a plan.
That evening she returned home, bags of groceries in hand, a practiced smile on her face.
George met her in the hallway, leaning in for a kiss. Emily barely held back a recoil, turning her cheek away from his scent, now a mix of decay masked by expensive perfume she had bought for him.
Are you tired, love? he asked, taking the bags. Ive made dinner seafood pasta, just how you like it.
Thanks, dear, Emily replied, voice a little hoarse but steady. My head feels like its splitting. Works a madhouse.
At the table she watched him spoon salad, pour wine, gaze at her with an honesty that made her think of the audits endless demands. In her mind the mantra echoed: I must pay the badness.
George, she began, swirling the glass. Ive been thinking a lot about us today.
George tensed, his eyes flickering for a split second. Emily met his gaze now with different eyes; she saw the flicker of fear.
What about?
That house in Silverwood. Remember?
Georges face smoothed, a predatory glint flashing before he masked it with affection.
I remember, of course. But you know I dont need anything from you. The fact were together is enough.
Liar, Emily thought.
I get it, she nodded. But I want to do something meaningful for you, make you feel secure. Ill handle the paperwork next week, transfer the title to you.
George almost dropped his fork. He tried to stay composed, but the corners of his mouth curled upward.
Emily, thats a huge step Are you sure? Maybe we shouldnt rush.
Sure. Youre my husband, my rock. Who else? Will your mum mind? Maybe we invite her for lunch this weekend, celebrate my decision, let her see how much I value you.
Mum? Absolutely! Shell be thrilled. She always says, What a wise lady you are, Emily.
Emily lowered her eyes, a sly smile playing on her lips.
Fine then. Let her come Saturday. Ill cook something special.
The next three days became a slow, excruciating torture. She slept in the same bed, endured his touches, listened to his chatter. Yet the goal gave her strength. Shed already consulted a solicitor and knew exactly what to do.
Saturday arrived. Margaret, Georges mother, appeared in full pomp a blouse with ruffles, a massive brooch shed only ever worn at big family gatherings. She radiated saccharine friendliness.
Emily, dear, youve lost weight! Working so hard, you never pamper yourself. And George says you want to treat us with something? she chirped.
Please, come in, Emily invited, leading them to the table.
The spread was lavish: roasted duck, assorted salads, caviar, a pricey vintage wine. George flitted about, serving the ladies, but his eyes betrayed a nervous appetite for the main course the property discussion.
When the appetizers were cleared and George poured wine, Emily tapped her fork against the crystal, demanding attention.
My dears, she began ceremoniously, Ive gathered you not just for a meal. Youre my family, and I wish to share my plans.
George and Margaret froze, eyes wide like rabbits caught near a snake. Margarets hand tightened around her napkin.
You know I own a house in Silverwood, Emily continued, savoring the moment. George and I have talked about transferring it.
Yes, indeed, Emily, a very wise decision, Margaret cooed. A man should feel like a proprietor; it strengthens the marriage.
I agree completely, Emily nodded. Thats why I met a solicitor this morning.
George lunged forward, greed flickering in his gaze.
So? he prompted.
I realised that in these uncertain times you shouldnt put all your eggs in one basket, Emily paused theatrically. Thus I decided not just to transfer the house, but to act more strategically.
Hows that? George asked, smile fading.
I sold the house this morning. The deal is closed, money transferred.
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the ticking of a hallway clock. Margaret opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.
Sold? But how? Without me? We had an agreement You said she stammered.
I said Id handle the paperwork, Emily fluttered her lashes innocently. A buyer offered double the price, on the condition of an immediate sale. I couldnt let that slip away.
Wheres the money? Margaret demanded, discarding her motherly façade.
Oh, the money! Emily beamed. I donated it all to a charity for women survivors of domestic abuse. Imagine that, the whole lot!
A cracked wine glass shattered the quiet. George leapt up, overturning his chair, wine spilling across the pristine tablecloth like a crimson stain.
Youve gone mad! he shouted, face twisted in fury. What charity? These are my funds! My house! You promised me!
Your? Emilys smile vanished, her face hardening like stone. Since when did my fathers inheritance become yours, George?
Emily, is this a joke? Margaret gasped, clutching her chest. Tell me youre joking. You couldnt do this to the family!
Could I? Emily replied calmly. I could do anything to parasites.
George stood, breathing heavily, fists clenched. The mask finally slipped. Before Emily stood not a loving husband but a furious, cheatedup albatross of a man.
You knew everything, he accused, eyes narrowed. You were watching me?
How could I not? All it took was returning home for a forgotten phone and hearing you call me old witch, tolerating me for a cottage. Discussing with Mum how to sell my property and run away.
Margaret turned pale, sinking into a chair, trying to disappear. George was speechless, caught in his own trap.
So, Emily rose, the circus ends here. I never sold the house. I never gave money to a charity. That was a test, and you both failed spectacularly. Youve shown your true, rotten cores.
You bitch! Margaret shrieked. Youve ruined us! My son spent his best years on you! You owe him a life! What are you, a hanging coat?
Out, Emily whispered.
What? George sputtered.
Out of my house. Both of you. Now.
This is my house too! George protested. Im on the title! Were married! Ill split the assets!
Split? Emily smiled wryly. The flat was bought before we wed. The car belongs to the company. Your only possessions here are socks and underwear. As for the title Ill evict you through the courts in two installments. And if you dont leave this instant, Ill upload our conversation online. Yes, I installed a hidden camera and mic in the hallway months ago for security. Im sure your future employers will love hearing how loving you are.
It was a bluff. No camera existed, but George believed it. The fear of public disgrace outweighed his greed.
Gather your things, Mum, he grumbled, ignoring his wife.
But George! Well just leave? Margaret whined.
Leave, Mum! Lets go!
Take your stuff later when Im not home. Leave the keys with the concierge, and make sure no ones spirit lingers here after ten minutes, Emily said, watching them shuffle out, cursing, stomping.
When the door slammed, Emily walked to the table, poured herself a full glass of wine. Her hands trembled, not with fear but with adrenalines release.
She drank, moved to the window and looked down. A few minutes later two silhouettes emerged from the buildings entrance one bulky in a bright coat, the other a slumped man, arguing wildly.
Emily finished her wine and laughed, loud and free.
Old witch, you say? she told her reflection in the dark glass. Well, that old witch just saved a million pounds and a heap of nerves. Lifes just beginning, George. Just beginning.
The next day she filed for divorce. The process was swift and messy for George he tried to claim even the coffee machine, but the prenuptial agreement (which Emily had finally forced him to sign three years earlier, despite his love) and seasoned solicitors left him with nothing.
She changed the locks, renovated the bedroom, tossed the hateful bed, and finally drove to her own house in Silverwood. Alone on the terrace, she sipped mint tea, listening to birdsong. She was not lonely; she was calm. She knew she would never again allow anyone to use her. If love returned, it would be a love of equals, not a transaction masquerading as romance.
And the house? She kept it. A reminder that she was the master of her own fate.
