**Sorry It Turned Out This Way**
“James, are you sure you packed everything? Shouldn’t you double-check?” I called out, pausing outside the bathroom door.
“Emily, stop fussing! I packed everything—an entire suitcase, you saw it,” he answered over the rush of the shower. But his voice—his voice cracked. Or did I imagine it?
“I saw the suitcase. Not what you stuffed inside,” I muttered, stepping away.
“Em, could you make coffee? Strong. No milk,” he added calmly, turning off the water.
I went to the kitchen, silently pulled out the stovetop pot, poured the water, spooned in the ground coffee, a pinch of salt—just how he liked it. We had a machine, but James adored the coffee I brewed. “You’re so thoughtful,” he’d said the night before, coming home late from work to find me—like some relic of my gran—keeping his dinner warm under a tea towel.
Lately, he’d been staying out later and later—supposedly at work. Climbing the ladder. Gunning for a promotion. And I—I went along with it. Cooking, ironing, enduring.
“Divine scent of a divine brew!” James declared, stepping into the kitchen, shaking damp hair from his forehead. He sat at the table, reaching for his mug.
“Em, I’ve got a delivery coming today—car seat covers. Can you take them? Cash on delivery,” he said, stirring in a spoon of sugar.
“Sure. Same as always,” I sat across from him.
“This trip couldn’t come at a worse time,” he sighed. “But I can’t say no. You get it—this might be my only shot. Senior manager—it’s serious.”
“Right… Didn’t think a role like that would mean trekking across the countryside.”
“Boss’s whims. Anyway, I’ve got half an hour—need to check emails.”
He stood, walked out. Left his mug on the table. Fine. What did I expect? He was wound tight.
I reached for his cup—then my phone buzzed. A message. I opened it.
*”Emily, James is lying. It’s not a work trip. He’s flying to Italy with Charlotte Walsh. Stop him before it’s too late. He’s ruining his life.”*
Sarah. His younger sister.
Something snapped in my head. Him… with Charlotte? No way. A joke? But Sarah wasn’t the type for cruel pranks. And she wouldn’t lie.
The room spun. The air turned thick as cement. I could barely breathe. Managed to stand, poured water—then collapsed back into the chair.
I wanted to scream. To smash everything. But all I could think was: *Why?*
I balled my fists. Wanted to storm in, rip the lies from his throat. But… I didn’t. He didn’t deserve the drama.
Let him go. I’d give him a surprise—not with words, but action.
Opened the banking app. Joint account—£120,000. Of course, he’d already helped himself—£30,000 gone. *My* money, mind you. My freelance earnings, my late nights. And him… spending my savings on a holiday with his first love.
I knew about Charlotte. James had mentioned her, and Sarah had let it slip. School sweetheart, flighty as they come. Left him twice—once for some rich bloke, then for a hotshot entrepreneur. Now she was back. James fell for it again. And lied again.
He could’ve just said it: *”Emily, I’m in love with someone else. I’m sorry.”* It would’ve hurt, sure. But not like this. Like vermin. Stealing money, spinning tales, packing his bags…
Fine. I’d take the rest. Today. Every last penny. Then—divorce. His things? Courier to his parents.
Checked my calendar—big online presentation tomorrow at noon. If it went well, I’d book a holiday. Not Italy. Portugal, maybe. Somewhere his shadow had never touched.
“Em, I’m off—figured I’d leave early,” he said, stepping into the kitchen, crisp in his tie.
“Bye. Safe trip,” I rasped, gripping my mug.
“What’s with the tone?”
“Imagining things.”
“I’ll miss you…”
“Doubt you’ll have the time.”
“Not walking me out?”
“I’ll do the dishes.”
“Alright, then.”
“Go on.”
The door slammed. James had no idea he’d just left for good. Tomorrow, new locks.
I sat. Sobbed. Bitter, ugly tears. Betrayal.
Another message from Sarah: *”Emily, you okay?”*
Wiped my face, dialed her.
“Sarah, where’d you hear this?”
“Charlotte’s mate spilled it. She’s latched onto James again. He’s fallen for it. Em, I’m sorry, I—”
“Thanks for telling me. I didn’t stop him. Let him crash.”
“He’s a fool. She’ll chew him up a third time.”
“His choice. Sarah, don’t tell him I know.”
“Wouldn’t waste my breath.”
“Thanks. You and I—we stay in touch. Even after the divorce.”
“Course, Em. Hang in there.”
Back to the bank. Another £10,000 gone. Hurrying, was he? No. Took a breath. Transferred the rest to Mum—*my* mum. He had no claim now.
“Mum, I’ve sent you £110K. He took the rest.”
“What happened, love?”
“Splitting up. He’s off to Italy with some tart.”
“Christ… Em, stay strong. We’re here. You’ll be alright. Find someone better.”
“No, Mum. I’m not looking. Maybe I’ll have a baby on my own. That’s it.”
“Er—well, that’s… a path. Your Aunt Joan’s nephew’s actually quite—”
“Mum, *not now.*”
“Fair enough. Just don’t give up, love.”
Hung up. Pulled myself together. Tomorrow was a new day. James was gone, but I was here. Whole. Real. And I had everything ahead—without lies, without betrayal. Without him.
