My son needs it.
Fifty thousand, Martin. Fifty thousand. On top of the thirty grand child maintenance.
Charlotte slammed her phone onto the kitchen table so hard it slid across the surface and nearly hit the floor. Martin managed a heroic snatch just as it teetered at the edge, which, naturally, made her even more furious.
He needed trainers and kit for football club, Martin placed the phone face down, as if disposing of evidence. Hes growing, Char. Kids do tend to get taller from time to time.
Trainers worth fifty grand? Is he heading straight to the Olympics, then?
There was a backpack, too. And a jacket. Autumns coming.
Charlotte turned away, not wanting to see his face for another second. She knew about these transfers. Every month, no exceptions. Always with the same noble explanations: son, duty, responsibility. Fancy words disguising very concrete sums siphoned off from their family purse to someone elses.
I love him, Martin said, stepping closer, just a foot behind her. Hes my boy. I cant just”
Did I say leave your child? I said, why are you spending so much extra on top of the child support? Thirty thousand a monthis that not enough? Is Susan unemployed?
She works.
So whats her emergency this time?
Martin kept silent. Charlotte recognised his patented guilty hush; it meant he had no answer. Just habitsaying yes, helping out, never arguing. Playing stellar ex-husband, doting father, good bloke. All on the familys dime.
She spun round, leaning against the sink. I keep track, you know? She tapped her temple. Mentally. How much goes out each month. Want to know the annual total?
I really dont.
Nearly six hundred thousand. And thats not counting todays extra fifty.
Martin pinched the bridge of his nose, which Charlotte knew meant, Lets skip this. But she couldnt stop. Shed been quiet too long, played the understanding wife far too well.
We had plans, remember? Annual leave in November, two weeks by the sea. And where did that money go?
Char, I get it, I do. But Susan called, apparently it was urgent”
Susan. Its always Susan. Shes perpetually urgent.
Martin plonked himself on a stool, elbows to knees. For a moment, Charlotte saw how tired he lookedreal tired, not from work, but from this endless tug-of-war between two women. Sympathy flickered somewhere deep inside, but she squashed it before it gained traction.
She wants to buy a flat, Martin muttered to the floor. So Tom gets his own room.
Hold on. A flat?
A bigger one. Theyre crammed in a studio, you know that. She says its cramped.
Cramped, is it? Whos paying for roomier?
Martin finally met her gaze, guilt flashing. Charlotte went cold.
Youre not seriously considering…?
She asked for help. The first instalment. Im just thinking about itfor now.
Thinking? ItsMartin, its a fortune! Where will you get that?
We saved a bit. For the car.
We saved! For our car! For our family!
Her voice collapsed into a scream. Charlotte slapped her palm over her mouth, pitifully trying to stuff her words back inside. Too lateout they flew, hanging heavy between them.
Martin rose, wandered to the window, hands in pockets.
Toms my family too, Char. I cant just pretend he doesnt exist.
No one asked you to feign amnesia! You pay child supportlegal, official. Everything else is just goodwill. And mine too, by the way. Because its all our money.
I know.
But nothing ever stops you.
Silence settled thick. Somewhere, a neighbours TV murmured a comedy programme, its laughter ridiculously out of place.
Charlotte sat at her spot, smoothing the creases in the tablecloth. Inside, she seethedhurt, angry, lostforcing her voice to stay level.
How much is she asking for?
Two hundred thousand for the deposit.
The number hung there. Charlotte let out a laughsharp, joyless.
Two hundred thousand. Thats everything.
I know.
And you seriously plan to give her everything?
Its for Tom.
Im against it. That moneys mine toodont forget.
Martin said nothing. There was nothing left to argue.
A week later, Charlotte opened her banking app just to see if payday had arrived. She scrolled absent-mindedly to savingsthe account theyd been building for three years.
Balance: £475.02.
She blinked. Rebooted the app. Checked again.
Four hundred seventy-five pounds instead of two hundred thousand…
Her phone slipped from her grip and landed on the carpet.
Charlotte stood frozen in the centre of the room. Two hundred thousand. Three years of denying holidays, weighing each major purchase. And now£475. The stub of their shared future. She picked up the phone, peered at the transaction history. Transfer: Susan Margaret Clarke.
He hadnt even bothered to hide it.
Martin was sat on the sofa with his laptop when Charlotte stormed into the room. He looked up, managed half a smilewhich quickly vanished when he saw her face.
You blew all our savings on your ex?!
Her voice pitched shrill and highlet the neighbours hear, let the whole building know.
Char, wait, I can explain”
Explain?! Two hundred thousand pounds, Martin! Two! That was ours!
He set down the laptop, stood up slowly. There wasnt an ounce of guilt in his eyesjust stubbornness.
Its for Tom. He needs a proper room, decent conditions. Im his dad, I have to”
You have obligations to this family! To me! Not to the woman you divorced four years ago!
Shes the mother of my child.
And Im what?!
Youre my wife. I love you. But Tom”
Oh, stop hiding behind Tom! Charlotte stepped forward, Martin shrank back. You bought Susan a flat. Not Toma flat for her! It goes in her name, right? Shell live there, shell control it, she can sell it and spend it any way she likes. So what does that have to do with Tom?
Martin opened his mouth, shut it again. No comebackbecause she was right and he knew it.
You still love her, Charlotte said softly, barely a whisper. Thats it, isnt it? Its not about Tom. You just cant say no to her. Never could.
Thats not true.
Then why? Why didnt you ask me? Why did you decide for us both?
Martin took a step, reached out his hands:
Char, please. Can we just calm down and talk? I know youre angry, but its for my son…
Charlotte shrank away.
Dont touch me.
Three wordsthe chasm opened wider. Martin froze mid-reach, and finally, something like understanding dawned in his eyes. Too late.
I cant do this, Charlotte grabbed her bag from the bedroom. I cant live with someone who makes decisions for both of us. Who lies. Who”
I didnt lie!
You didnt tell me. Thats the same thing.
She tossed essentials into her bagunderwear, documents, phone chargerwhile Martin watched his life crumbling from the doorway.
Where will you go?
To Mums.
How long?
Charlotte zipped the bag and heaved it over her shoulder. She paused, looking at her husbandgrown man, lost eyes, still clueless about the mess hed made.
I dont know, Martin. HonestlyIve got no idea.
Three days at her mums flat went strangely. Day one, Charlotte lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling. Her mum brought tea, asked nothing, just stroked her hair like she was five again. Day two, rage arrivedsharp, liberating. By day threeclarity. She rang her lawyer friend.
I want a divorce. Yes, Im sure. No, no reconciliation.
Martin called every day. Messaged endlesslyrambling, apologetic, full of explanations. Charlotte read them but replied to none. Nothing left to say. Hed made his choice. Now she made hers.
A month later, Charlotte moved into a rented studio on the opposite side of town. Tiny, with a view of the local retail parkbut hers, all hers. She picked the curtains, set the furniture, decided where every paycheque went.
The divorce was quickMartin didnt fight, signed everything without protest. Maybe he hoped shed change her mind. She didnt.
Sometimes, in the evenings, Charlotte would sit by the window and marvel at the oddness of life. Three years ago, shed been certain shed found her person. Nowshe was alone in an empty flat. And somehow, it wasnt frightening.
Charlotte opened her notebook, scrawled a figure: zero. Starting point. Next to ita plan for the month, six months, a year. How much to save, where to invest, what courses to take for promotion.
For the first time in ages, her future was hers alone.
