The Vengeance of a Scorned Woman
Anton, a physics teacher at a village school, had married for the second time. He was forty-one, while his beloved wife, Emily, was just thirtyyoung, beautiful, gentle, and kind, everything that had stolen his heart.
His first marriage to Tanya had ended after nine years, leaving behind a daughter, Victoria, whom Anton adored. But after the divorce, Tanya moved back to her hometown, cutting off all contact and refusing to let him see their girl.
“Anton, youve moved on from that mess. Why not marry again?” his close friend Stephen, the local constable, had urged him.
“Id consider it, but I havent met anyone who truly fits. And after last time Im wary of getting it wrong.”
Then Emily arrived in the villagea new nurse at the clinic. Anton spotted her one afternoon on his way home from school.
“Whos that?” he wondered, catching her eye as she greeted him warmly.
Later, he swung by Stephens office. “Whos the new girl? Blonde, slenderlooked serious but lovely.”
Stephen grinned. “Ah, thats Emily. Just started at the clinic. Old Mrs. Wilkins retired, so shes taken over. Dont dawdlesomeonell snatch her up!”
Anton didnt waste time. Two days later, he “accidentally” ran into her again.
“Hello, Im Anton. Physics teacher. Single, by the way,” he teased. “And you? Married? Single?”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Why? Is my marital status that important?”
“Absolutely. More than you know.”
They started dating, and soon, a small wedding was held at the village pub.
Emily had been married before, brieflyjust a yearand thanked her lucky stars she hadnt gotten pregnant. Her ex was a drunk whod hounded her for money, so shed fled quietly to this quiet village.
On the first of September, after the schools opening ceremony, the teachers gathered to celebrate.
“Emily, love, Ill be late tonightyou know how it is. Staff tradition.”
“Fine. Just dont come home smelling of someone elses perfume again.”
He laughed awkwardly. “That was just Miss Bennetts coat draped over mine!” But he knew thenhis wife had a jealous streak.
The evening was lively, the air crisp. Toasts were madecareers, grandchildren, all the usual. Anton was in high spirits, though Miss Bennett, the never-married history teacher, kept shooting him melancholy looks. Shed had her eye on him for years, but Emily had swooped in.
Anton stumbled home tipsy. The house was dark.
“Emily? Im back in one piece!” He hung up his coat, wandered into the loungeempty. Must be in bed reading.
And there she was, curled under the lamplight, book in hand. But her eyescold, hollowstopped him dead.
“Emily? Whats wrong? Did I drink too much? Its just a bit of fun”
She nodded toward the lounge. “Theres a letter for you. Read it.”
He found the envelope on the table, his name written in elegant cursive. No return address.
*Dear Anton,*
*I never thought Id write this. But Im carrying your child. What happens next is up to you. I know youre married now*
His stomach dropped. He couldnt think of a single time hed strayed. Was this a joke?
“Emily, you cant believe this!” He was stone-cold sober now. “Someones playing games!”
She turned away, silent. Shed opened it thinking, *We share everything. No secrets.*
He pleaded, swore his lovebut she wouldnt listen. Eventually, he gave up. “Mornings wiser,” he muttered.
But as he moved to bed, she said, “Sleep in the lounge.”
The next day, he showed Stephen the letter.
“Youre joking! How am I supposed to trace handwriting?” Stephen scratched his head. “No crime herejust a love note.”
“Stephen, my marriage is crumbling! Emily wont believe me!”
“Should I interrogate the whole village? Might not even be from here!”
Anton sighed. He knew it was hopeless.
That evening, silence hung heavy at home. Emilys tear-streaked face said it all.
“Tell me, Anton. What did I do wrong?”
“Youre perfect. I love youonly you.”
“If you cheated, Im clearly *not* perfect. I want a divorce.”
She wasnt hystericaljust devastatingly calm. Anton couldnt sway her.
“Ill stay at the clinic for now.”
He couldnt stop her. She left.
Two days later, at the post office, his eyes caught a familiar script on an envelopeaddressed to someone else, but the return address was nearby: *Lydia Hughes, 7 Oak Lane, Little Crawley.*
The same handwriting.
He sped to the neighboring village, parked outside No. 7, and waited. At dusk, a woman stepped outround with child. And then he recognized her.
“Lydia?!”
Years ago, Lydiaeight years his junior, once his studenthad pursued him relentlessly, spreading rumors until shed vanished. Now here she was, married, pregnant.
“Anton?” Her face paled.
“That letterwhy? Youve wrecked my marriage!”
She smirked. “You made me suffer. Now youll suffer too.”
“Fine. Ill show your husband this letterlet him read your little confession.”
Her bravado crumbled. “No! Please! Im pregnantI cant handle this stress! Ill tell Emily the truth!”
“Youd better. Pray she forgives me.”
The next evening, the door creaked open.
“Anton, help me with my bag? The neighbor carried it this far.”
Emily stood there, smiling*his* smile. He hugged her fiercely, brought her inside. Outside, autumn rain fell heavy, but their home was warm, bright.
They were happy againdoubly so, for soon, their family would grow.
