Retribution
“Emily, you live such a thrilling life—it could be a film,” said Alice to her friend and colleague, who only laughed in response.
“Oh, life does keep me on my toes, though I haven’t the faintest idea how this story will end. Still, I’ll think of something. It’s time I married—twenty-eight already. I ought to work harder at it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Emily,” Alice scoffed. “You don’t truly want marriage. You’re perfectly content as you are. A husband means responsibility, and just one man for the rest of your days.”
“Who said anything about just one? You may live that way with your Simon, but my life will be different.”
“How can you say such things?” Alice gasped. “How could you marry and still dream of other men? I’d never tolerate it.”
“Well, that’s you,” Emily replied with a bewitching smile.
She was a rare beauty—slim, graceful, with a hypnotic gaze. Men often turned their heads when she passed. Emily was the sort of woman who took what she wanted, living by the creed: *Take what’s given, strike back if struck.* Whatever she set her mind to, she excelled. She had joined the firm after Alice, yet swiftly overtook her, leaving her friend as her subordinate.
The office was full of men, and Emily charmed them all—even the married ones. But she had made up her mind.
“My goal is marriage, so the taken ones must wait—though some are rather tempting.” She had narrowed her choices to three colleagues. The question was, which to pick?
She sought Alice’s opinion, but her friend refused.
“Emily, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m no help here. You must decide for yourself. If luck turns against you, I won’t be to blame.”
Emily didn’t rely on chance. She studied each suitor carefully and settled on James—reliable, handsome, skilled with his hands, earning well, and, most importantly, always eager to please her.
James sensed her warmth at once. He had noticed her flirting with Robert and Paul, and it rankled him.
“At last, she sees I’m the best choice,” he thought. “I mustn’t hesitate—I’ll propose straightaway.”
And so he did. On their next outing, he presented her with an extravagant bouquet and a small velvet box.
“Emily, will you marry me? I’ve thought long about this. You’d make a fine wife, and I can’t imagine waking without you beside me.”
“I will, James. Though I didn’t expect you to ask so soon. Still, we know each other well. Yes, I accept.”
At first, they lived in Emily’s modest flat. But soon, James suggested selling it to build a grand house, taking a loan if necessary.
“But where shall we live in the meantime? Rent?” Emily asked.
“No need. My father’s been alone since Mum passed three years ago. His place is spacious—plenty of room. He won’t mind, I’m sure of it. Agreed?”
She agreed. The sale was swift, and work began on the plot. They moved in with James’s father, Henry, who was overjoyed. Emily had always gotten on well with him, though they’d met seldom.
Henry, a dignified man of fifty-three, hardly looked his age. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard and a deep voice, he turned heads wherever he went. After their first meeting, Emily remarked,
“Your father reminds me of that gentleman in the cologne adverts,” and James laughed in agreement.
Henry had no shortage of admirers, but remarriage was out of the question.
He was glad for the company, though as time passed, James spent more and more hours at the construction site, leaving Emily alone with Henry.
Then, one day, she realized Henry was watching her differently—lingering touches, compliments, tender smiles.
“Well, well,” she mused. “My father-in-law has taken a fancy to me. And why not? He’s quite the catch.”
The next time he embraced her, she didn’t resist. Neither questioned if it was right. To them, it simply was. James was always at the site, sometimes overnight, especially on weekends, desperate to finish the house. He’d stumble home exhausted, while Emily longed for companionship.
This went on until—inevitably—she discovered she was with child. She told Henry at once.
“No doubt it’s yours. These things happen, as you well know.”
“And I’m glad, Emily. Truly.”
James was less pleased. A child hadn’t been in his plans—not until the house was done. Still, he forced a smile.
“Don’t fret, James,” Henry said, clapping his son’s shoulder. “I’ll help with the little one. What else have I to do but dote on my grandchild?”
James had no choice but to agree.
The pregnancy was difficult, but Emily endured. The child was wanted, and time was not on her side—past thirty now. Henry accompanied her to every appointment while James toiled at the site.
In due course, a boy, William, was born. Emily and Henry were elated; James, too, in his way. The house was nearly done.
Henry adored the child, doting on him in a way he never had with James. Age had softened him.
But soon, James announced the move.
“Start packing, love. We’ll shift in a day or two.”
“And what of me?” Henry asked. “William needs me—he’s used to me now.” He longed to join them.
“You’ll stay here. Visit whenever you like. We’ve imposed long enough.”
Henry was displeased but visited often.
Then, at three, William fell ill during a routine check-up. The doctor advised genetic testing to rule out grave conditions. Emily and Henry faced a choice—let James learn the truth.
After much agonizing, Emily decided.
“For William’s sake, he must know.”
As they awaited results, James, thinking her distress was for their son, retrieved the report himself.
The words struck like a hammer.
“William isn’t mine? Is this a mistake? Or the truth?”
The confrontation was brutal. Under pressure, Emily confessed—Henry was the father.
James reeled.
“Lies! You’d drag my father into this?”
But Henry stepped forward.
“Son, forgive us. It’s true. You were always at the site… Women need attention. It just… happened.”
“Traitors!” James spat before storming out.
Soon after, he filed for divorce. Emily and Henry remained in the house; James took his father’s flat.
William’s illness was relentless. Emily spent months at his bedside, Henry beside her. Slowly, the boy recovered.
“This is God’s punishment,” Emily thought. “His sickness is retribution for my sin—a terrible sin.”
James, too, suffered. He withdrew, haunted by betrayal.
“To be deceived is bitter. Worse still when it’s by those you trusted most.”
When the doctor finally declared William well enough for nursery, Henry wept with relief. He, too, carried guilt—visiting his wife’s grave, begging forgiveness, then the church. But repentance came too late.
Ten years passed. Emily cast Henry out—age had withered him, while she bloomed anew. The past forgotten, she set her sights on another colleague—Daniel, newly divorced, fresh to town, instantly smitten. Life went on. Emily hadn’t changed.
James remarried—happily this time—to a doctor he met while she was on assignment. Fate brought them together, and he left for the Lake District, never to return.
