“Sorry it turned out like this.”
“John, are you sure you packed everything? Shouldn’t you double-check?” I called out, pausing by the closed bathroom door.
“Ellie, relax! It’s all packed—I’ve got a whole suitcase, you saw it,” he replied over the noise of the shower. But his voice… it wavered. Or was that just me?
“I saw the suitcase. Didn’t see what you stuffed in it,” I muttered, stepping back.
“Ellie, could you make some coffee? Strong. No milk,” he added calmly, turning off the water.
I walked to the kitchen, silently pulled out the cafetière, filled it with water, scooped in the ground coffee, added a pinch of salt—just how he likes it. We’ve got a proper machine, but John adores it when I make it by hand. “You take such good care of me,” he’d said the night before, coming home late from work to find dinner wrapped in a tea towel—just like my nan used to do—so it wouldn’t go cold.
Lately, he’d been staying late more often, claiming it was work. Building his career. Prepping for a promotion. And I played the dutiful wife—cooking, ironing, biting my tongue.
“Mmm, divine smell of a divine drink,” John said, striding into the kitchen, pushing damp hair off his forehead. He sat at the table, reaching for his mug.
“Ellie, there’s a delivery coming today—car seat covers I ordered. Can you handle it? Cash on delivery,” he said, stirring in a spoon of sugar.
“Sure. Business as usual,” I sat across from him.
“This trip couldn’t have come at a worse time,” he sighed. “But I can’t turn it down. You get it—big opportunity, maybe my only shot. Senior manager isn’t just handed out.”
“Right… Didn’t think regional travel came with the job.”
“Boss’s whim. Anyway, I’ve got half an hour—gotta get some work done on my phone.”
He stood, walked out. Left his mug behind. Whatever. No point nagging—he was wound tight enough already.
I reached for his cup, and then my phone buzzed. A message. I opened it.
“Ellie, John’s lying. It’s not a work trip. He’s flying to Italy with Sophie Wilson. Stop him before he ruins his life.”
Beth. His younger sister.
Something snapped in my head. Him… with Sophie? No way. A joke? But Beth wasn’t the type. And she’d never lie about something like this.
The room swayed. The air turned thick as cement. I could barely breathe. Gulped water, sank back into the chair.
I wanted to scream. Smash everything. But one thought looped: *Why?*
Clenched the rage into a fist. Wanted to storm in, tear off the mask. But… no. He didn’t deserve the drama.
Let him go. I’d give him a surprise—not a scene, but a move of my own.
Opened the banking app. Our joint account: £12,000. Of course, he’d already helped himself—£3,000 was gone. My money, by the way. My freelance earnings, my late nights. And there he was… blowing my savings on a holiday with his ex.
I knew about Sophie. He’d told me himself, Beth had mentioned it too. High school sweetheart, always chasing something better. Dumped him twice—once for some rich bloke, then for a “promising” type. Now she was back, and he’d fallen for it. Again.
He could’ve just said it. “Ellie, I love someone else. I’m sorry.” Would’ve hurt, sure. But not like this. Instead, he’d snuck around, lied about work, packed his bags like a coward.
Fine. The rest of the money was mine. Every penny. Divorce papers next. His things? Couriered to his parents’.
Checked the calendar—big online presentation tomorrow at noon. Nail it, and I’d take leave. Not Italy. Portugal, maybe. Somewhere he’d never been.
“Ellie, I’m off—decided to get ahead of traffic,” he said, stepping into the kitchen, sharp in his suit and tie.
“Bye. Good luck with the trip,” I rasped, gripping the mug.
“What’s with the tone?”
“You’re imagining things.”
“I’ll miss you…”
“Doubt you’ll have time.”
“Not walking me out?”
“I’d rather do the washing up.”
“Right. See you.”
“Go on, then.”
The door slammed. John had no clue he’d just walked out for good. Tomorrow, new locks.
Collapsed into the kitchen chair. Cried—hard, ugly sobs. Betrayal. Humiliation.
Another message from Beth:
“Ellie, you okay?”
Wiped my face, rang her.
“Beth, where’d you hear this?”
“Sophie’s mate let it slip. She’s latched onto John again. Ellie, I’m sorry—”
“Thanks for telling me. Didn’t stop him. Let him dig his grave.”
“He’s an idiot. She’ll wreck him a third time.”
“His choice. Beth, don’t tell him I know.”
“Wouldn’t waste my breath on him.”
“Thanks. Let’s stay in touch, even after the divorce.”
“Course, Ellie. Hang in there.”
Checked the bank again. Another £1,000 gone. Ha. Too late. Transferred the rest to Mum. My mum. Not his. Not ours.
“Mum, just sent you £11,000. He took the rest.”
“What happened, love?”
“We’re done. He’s off to Italy with his mistress.”
“Christ… Ellie, stay strong. You’ll get through this. Find someone better.”
“No, Mum. Not looking. Maybe just have a kid on my own. That’s it.”
“Well… that’s an option. Aunt Jean’s nephew’s single—nice lad…”
“Mum. Not now.”
“Alright, love. Just don’t let it break you.”
Hung up. Pulled myself together. Tomorrow was a new day. John was gone, but I was still here. Whole. Real. And everything ahead was mine—no lies, no betrayal, no him.
