— Daniel, are you sure you’ve got everything? Shouldn’t you double-check? — I called out, pausing outside the closed bathroom door.
— Emily, relax! I packed everything—saw the suitcase, didn’t you? — he replied over the roar of the shower. But his voice… it wavered. Or was I imagining it?
— I saw the suitcase. Not what you stuffed in it, — I muttered, stepping back.
— Em, could you make me a coffee? Strong. No milk, — he added smoothly, turning off the water.
I walked to the kitchen, silently pulled out the French press, poured in water, scooped ground coffee, a pinch of salt—just how he likes it. We have a fancy machine, but Daniel swears my coffee’s the best. *”You always take care of me,”* he’d said last night, coming home late, finding the dinner wrapped in a towel to keep warm—just like my nan used to do.
Lately, he was always “working late.” Climbing the ladder, prepping for a promotion. And I? I played the part. Cooked. Ironed. Waited.
— That divine smell of divine coffee! — Daniel strode in, shaking damp hair from his forehead. He slumped at the table, reaching for the mug.
— Em, car seat covers are being delivered today. Can you sign for them? Cash on delivery. — He stirred in a spoon of sugar.
— Of course. Same as always, — I sat across from 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 manager’s no joke.
— Right… Never thought regional travel came with the position.
— Boss’s whims. Anyway, I’ve got half an hour—need to check emails.
He left, mug abandoned. Typical. Stressed, distracted—what else was new?
I reached for his cup, and then—my phone buzzed. A message.
*”Emily, Daniel’s lying. No business trip. He’s flying to Italy with Charlotte Owens. Stop him before it’s too late. He’s wrecking his life.”*
Sarah. His younger sister.
Something snapped inside me. *Charlotte?* No. A cruel joke? But Sarah didn’t joke like this. And she wouldn’t lie.
The room swam. Air thickened like cement. I gulped water, sinking back into the chair.
I wanted to scream. Shatter everything. But I just sat there, one thought screaming louder: *Why?*
I clenched my fists. Rage begged me to storm in, tear off his mask. But… no. He didn’t deserve the drama.
Let him leave. I’d give him a surprise—not words, but action.
Opened the banking app. Joint account: £87,000. And—there. £20,000 already gone. *My* money. My freelance projects, my sleepless nights. And he—spending it on whisking his ex off to Italy?
I knew about Charlotte. He’d told me. Sarah hinted, too. High-school sweetheart, a serial heartbreaker. Left him twice—once for some rich bloke, another for a “promising” banker. Now she was back, and Daniel? Swallowed the lie whole.
He could’ve just said it: *”Emily, I’m in love with someone else.”* It’d have hurt. But not like this—sneaky, thieving, stuffing a suitcase with lies.
Fine. I’d take the rest. Every penny. Then divorce. His stuff? Courier to his parents.
Checked my calendar—big client presentation tomorrow noon. Nail it, and I’d take a holiday. Not Italy. Portugal, maybe. Somewhere his feet had never touched.
— Em, heading out early, beat the traffic. — He reappeared, tie neat, suitcase rolling behind him.
— Safe trip, — I rasped, gripping the mug.
— What’s with the tone?
— Imagining things.
— I’ll miss you…
— Doubt you’ll have time.
— Not walking me out?
— I’ll do the washing up.
— Right. See you.
— Bye.
The door slammed. Daniel had no clue he’d just left for good. Tomorrow, new locks.
I crumpled into the chair. Sobbed—harsh, ugly. Hurt. Humiliated. *Traitor.*
Another message from Sarah:
*”Emily, you okay?”*
I wiped my face, dialled her.
— Sarah, how’d you know?
— Charlotte’s mate spilled. She’s latched onto Dan again. Emily, I’m sorry—
— Thanks for telling me. I didn’t stop him. Let him crash.
— He’s a fool. She’ll trample him a third time.
— His choice. Sarah, don’t tell him I know.
— Wouldn’t waste my breath. Done with him!
— Thanks. Let’s stay in touch. Even if we divorce.
— Always, Em. Stay strong.
Back to the app. Another £7,000 gone. *Running.* No. Calm. Transferred the rest to Mum. *My* mum. He lost all rights.
— Mum, sending you £67,000. He took the rest.
— What’s happened, love?
— Divorce. He’s in Italy with his mistress.
— God… Emily, we’re here. It’ll pass. You’ll meet someone decent.
— Not looking, Mum. Maybe I’ll just have a baby alone. That’s it.
— Well… that’s your path. Aunt Margaret’s nephew’s single, lovely lad—
— Mum, *not now.*
— Alright, love. Just don’t lose heart.
Ended the call. Pushed the pain down. Tomorrow was mine. Daniel left—but I stayed. Whole. Real. And my life? Still ahead. No lies. No betrayal. Just *me.*
