The Price of Betrayal: How One Woman Lost Everything but Found Meaning in Life
Emily returned home earlier than usual—her colleague at work had asked to swap shifts. The woman quietly stepped into the flat, placed her keys on the side table, and headed to the kitchen. A pile of unwashed dishes filled the sink, and crumbs littered the table. A wave of irritation washed over her—neither her husband nor her daughter-in-law had bothered to tidy up. Without a word, she cleaned everything, put things in order, and made her way to the bedroom. Along the way, she peeked into Charlotte’s room—the girl wasn’t there. Emily frowned but thought little of it. Then, entering her own room, she froze as if struck by lightning—Charlotte lay entwined with… VICTOR. In her bed. Half-dressed. And this, despite Charlotte’s pregnancy.
It had all started with love. James had felt like he was walking on air when he was with Charlotte. Yes, she was flighty, too reckless in her ways, but he chalked it up to youth—she was only twenty. He was two years older, raised with discipline and affection—his mother, Emily Margaret, a well-respected midwife, had raised him alone. She had poured everything into him—her soul, her morals, her kindness.
When Charlotte told him she was pregnant, James didn’t panic—he proposed marriage, promising to raise the child together. But Charlotte only smirked. “No, I won’t marry you. But I’ll need money. This problem has to be dealt with somehow.” James was stunned but didn’t give up. He persuaded her—let the baby be born, then hand it over to him. He would raise the child himself. After some thought, she agreed. They married quietly. They lived with James, his mother, and his stepfather, Victor. But a few months later, James was gone—a car accident on his way home from work. Emily nearly lost her mind with grief. Her son was no more. The only thing left was hope—his child, still growing inside Charlotte.
But Charlotte didn’t mourn. She looked at Emily as nothing more than a source of comfort. She lived in her house, ate her food, lazed in a separate room, doing nothing. Victor had been angry at first. “I won’t stand for this freeloader under my roof.” Soon, though, his anger turned to… something far stranger. The way he looked at pregnant Charlotte grew unsettling. Emily noticed. But she refused to dwell on it—until that evening.
When she saw them together in her own bed—everything shattered. Calmly, in a voice like ice, she ordered Victor to leave. He didn’t argue. Ten minutes later, he was gone. Charlotte slipped silently back to her room. Emily sat on the edge of her bed, clutching her head. Should she throw Charlotte out? No. She needed her grandson. For his sake, she would endure anything.
The next morning, she said, “Stay until the baby comes. After that, you can go to hell for all I care. I never want to see or hear from you again.” Charlotte didn’t argue—she couldn’t have cared less. All that mattered was getting through this and taking what she wanted.
The labour was brutal. But the boy was born—healthy, strong. Emily wept with joy. As for Charlotte… she signed the official papers and walked away. No kiss, no glance. Just gone.
Emily named the baby Daniel. She adopted him. At first, it was terrifying—her age, the loneliness, the pain. But he became her breath, her purpose, her life. Instead of the son she had lost, fate had given her a second chance.
Charlotte vanished without a trace. Victor sent divorce papers. Emily signed them without flinching. She didn’t think of him or the woman who had shattered her home. Now she had Daniel. And for him, she would keep living.
