Lucy’s dead certain now that women who divorce their husbands young and live without one end up happier. She says this from her own experience, looking down from her perch.
“Maybe some women won’t agree,” she tells her mate Hannah, “but that’s how I see it now.”
“Could be,” Hannah says, hesitating. “But everyone’s got their own path, haven’t they? You can’t speak for the lot. Some are miserable in their first marriage but happy in their second—or even their third.”
“Maybe,” Lucy shrugs. “Won’t argue, but I’m sticking to my guns. My bloke put me through hell, and now there’s just… emptiness. Don’t even trust anyone anymore.”
Last New Year’s Eve, Lucy, her husband James, her mother-in-law (who lives just down the hall), and their fourteen-year-old son, Ollie, celebrated at home. Lucy had laid out a proper spread, her mother-in-law pitched in, and they toasted midnight as a family. First of January, they slept in—late night, fireworks still popping outside. Her mother-in-law had slipped off to her own flat earlier.
Then the year kicked off rough. After lunch, James vanished. Just hopped in his car and drove off without a word. Gone.
By nightfall, Lucy couldn’t sleep. Her head spun with worst-case scenarios.
“What if he’s had an accident?” Her temples throbbed. She waited for a call, some news—but nothing. His phone was off. She barely slept, woke with a migraine and sky-high blood pressure. Put the bloody kettle on. Then, as Ollie still slept, a text buzzed through:
*”Don’t bother looking for me. I’ve left.”*
Her hands shook. Heart hammered. Didn’t know whether to scream or cry.
*Should I show his mum?* she thought. Then, *No—why upset her?* But suspicion flared: *What if she’s in on it?*
She marched next door and rang the bell.
“Have a look at this,” she snapped, shoving her phone at her mother-in-law.
“Lucy, love—that can’t be right! He never said a word! Did you notice anything off?”
“I thought you might’ve known. Been in cahoots.”
“Don’t be daft! If I’d known, I’d have boxed his ears!” Her hands trembled too. “But… too late now. I’m on your side, love. Always. That little—” She spat out a curse.
Lucy realised she hadn’t known either. At least James was alive. She’d imagined worse.
Couldn’t stomach breakfast. Furious he’d sneaked off like a coward. Couldn’t even say it to her face.
*One more call. Maybe he’ll pick up.*
A woman answered.
“Who’s this?” Lucy asked.
“His wife,” the woman said. “Who’re you?”
Lucy lied smooth. “I’m a friend’s wife. Need to chat about my husband. What’s your address?”
Got it. Fed Ollie, then left.
“Mum, Dad’s not back yet?” Ollie asked. “Where is he?”
“Dunno, love.” She avoided his eyes. Didn’t want him charging off in a rage.
“Han. Happy New Year. James left me. For another woman. Going to see her today.”
“He *what*? You having me on?”
“Wish I was.”
“Want me with you?”
“No. I’ll handle it.”
“Call me after. I’ll come straight round.”
The bus took her to a neighbourhood of terraced houses. Found the place. Door was unlocked. Walked in.
James and the woman sat eating.
He spotted her first, leapt up, gobsmacked. The woman frowned. “Who’s this?”
Silence.
“His *wife*,” Lucy said. “We’ve a son. Who’re *you*?”
The woman paled.
“Who invited you?” James roared. “Get out!”
The woman stepped closer. “You said your wife died two years ago. *Liar.*”
James turned pathetic, whimpering, “I was scared to lose you, Sarah. Meant to tell you later—”
Lucy nearly laughed. *”Wife died”? While I’m standing here?* If he fancied someone else, why not just say? But *this*—spitting on their life together?
“How long’s this been going on?” Lucy asked Sarah.
“A year. We’re in love.”
*Bloody hell.* A *year*. And she’d missed it.
“He said his *mum* was ill. Now she’s ‘dead’ too.” Lucy barked a laugh. “I’m alive. So’s his *mum*. But don’t worry—I’ll file for divorce myself.”
She left, head high. Let them untangle that mess.
Home, hollow. Hannah rang.
“Where are you? I’m worried.”
“Home. Come over.”
Ten minutes later, Hannah gaped. “You look wrecked.”
“Han, he told her I *died*. And his *mum* too.” Lucy laughed, brittle. “How’s that for a send-off?”
Hannah was speechless. “Bloody *hell*.”
The divorce papers came. James “generously” left her the flat—took just the car.
Lucy told her mother-in-law, “Your son buried us both. Left me the flat like some *payout*. As if I married for *stuff*. What about the years? The hard times?”
Her mother-in-law was stunned. Never expected this from her only boy.
Lucy remembered James’s surgery last year. She’d nursed him, slept in that grim ward. Then, weeks later, he’d started with *Sarah*. And spun her a tale of dead wives.
*Doesn’t have the spine to face the truth. A coward.*
She told Ollie straight.
“Don’t stress, Mum,” he said, hugging her. “We’ll manage. Forget him.”
“My brave lad.” She kissed his cheek.
Now it’s just Lucy and Ollie. Her mother-in-law still nearby—still treats her like family. But James? Doesn’t call. Doesn’t visit.
Guess he really did bury them.
