**Diary Entry**
Sorry it had to end this way.
“Edward, are you absolutely sure you packed everything? Should I double-check?” I called out, pausing outside the bathroom door.
“Emily, stop fussing. I’ve got a whole suitcase—you saw it yourself,” he replied over the noise of the shower. But his voice wavered. Or did I imagine it?
“I saw the suitcase. What you stuffed in it? That’s another matter,” I muttered, stepping back.
“Em, could you make me a coffee? Strong. No milk,” he added smoothly, turning off the water.
I went to the kitchen, silent, pulled out the French press, poured water, scooped in the ground coffee, a pinch of salt—just how he likes it. We have a proper coffee machine, but Edward insists on the way I make it. “You’re so thoughtful,” he’d said just last night, coming home late from work, finding dinner wrapped in a tea towel to keep warm—an old habit from my gran.
Lately, he’d been staying late more often—supposedly at work. Climbing the ladder, prepping for a promotion. And I? I played the dutiful wife. Cooking, ironing, waiting.
“God, that smell—pure heaven,” Edward said, stepping into the kitchen, pushing damp hair off his forehead. He sat at the table, reaching for the cup.
“Em, there’s a delivery coming today—car seat covers. Could you handle it? Cash on delivery,” he said, stirring in a spoonful of sugar.
“Of course. Same as always,” I sat opposite him.
“This business trip couldn’t have worse timing,” he sighed. “But I can’t say no. You know how it is—opportunity of a lifetime. Senior management 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—need to check emails.”
He stood, disappeared into the next room. Left his cup on the table. Fine. What can you expect? The man’s wound tight.
I reached for his cup—then my phone buzzed. A message.
*Emily, Edward’s lying. It’s not a business trip. He’s flying to Italy with Sophie Whitmore. Stop him before it’s too late. He’s ruining everything.*
Claire. His younger sister.
Something in my head snapped. Him… with Sophie? Impossible. A joke? But Claire doesn’t joke about things like this. And she wouldn’t lie.
The room swayed. The air turned thick, like concrete. I could barely breathe. Stumbled to my feet, poured water—collapsed back into the chair.
I wanted to scream. Rage. Smash everything. But one thought drowned the rest: *Why?*
I clenched my fists. Nearly stormed in, ripped off the mask. But… no. He didn’t deserve the drama.
Let him go. I’d give him a surprise—not words, action.
Opened the banking app. Joint account: £86,000. Shockingly, he’d already helped himself—£20,000 gone. *My* money, mind you. My freelance work, my late nights. And him? Funding a getaway with his first love on *my* savings.
I knew about Sophie. Edward had mentioned her, Claire too. School sweetheart, a proper flirt. Dropped him twice—first for some rich bloke, then some ‘up-and-comer’. Now she’s back, and he’s fallen for it. Again. And lying. Again.
Could’ve just said it: *”Emily, I’m in love with someone else. Sorry.”* Would’ve hurt, yes. But not like this. Instead? A rat. Sneaking off, spinning tales, packing his bags.
Fine. I’d take the rest. Today. Every penny. Then—divorce. His things? Courier to his parents’ house.
Checked the calendar—big client pitch tomorrow at noon. If it goes well? Holiday. Not Italy. Portugal, maybe. Somewhere his feet haven’t touched.
“Em, I’m off. Heading out early,” he said, leaning into the kitchen—sharp suit, tie in place.
“Bye. Good luck with your *trip*,” I rasped, gripping the cup.
“What’s with the tone?”
“Must be imagining things.”
“I’ll miss you…”
“Doubt you’ll have time for that.”
“Not walking me out?”
“I’ll do the washing up instead.”
“Right. See you.”
The door slammed. Edward had no idea he’d just left for good. Tomorrow, new locks.
Sat down. Cried. Hard. Bitter tears—rage, humiliation. Traitor.
Another message from Claire:
*Emily, you okay?*
Wiped my face, dialled her number.
“Claire, how’d you know?”
“Sophie’s mate spilled. She latched onto Edward again. He fell for it. Em, I’m sorry—”
“Thanks for telling me. Didn’t stop him. Let him burn.”
“He’s a fool. She’ll drop him a third time.”
“His choice. Claire—don’t tell him I know.”
“Wouldn’t talk to him if you paid me. Sick of him!”
“Thanks. Let’s stay in touch. Even after the divorce.”
“Always, Em. Stay strong.”
Back to the bank app. Another £7,000 gone. *Running scared now, eh?* No. Calm. Transferred the lot to Mum. *My* mum. He’s lost his rights.
“Mum, sending you £79,000. He took the rest.”
“Love, what’s happened?”
“We’re done. He’s in Italy with her.”
“Oh, Emily… Hold on. We’re here. You’ll get through this. Find someone better.”
“No, Mum. Not looking. Might just have a baby on my own. That’s it.”
“Well… that’s an option. Aunt Margaret’s nephew is quite nice—”
“Mum. *Not* now.”
“Alright, love. Just—don’t lose heart.”
Hung up. Pulled myself together. Tomorrow’s a new day. Edward’s gone, but I’m still here. Whole. Real. And my life’s still mine—no lies, no betrayal, no him.
