**A Scorned Womans Revenge**
I never thought my life would take such a turn. Here I am, Anthony Whitmore, a physics teacher at a small village school in Devon, remarried at forty-one to a woman ten years my junior. My sweet, gentle Anniethirty, beautiful, and kindstole my heart the moment I saw her.
My first marriage, to Victoria, ended after nine years. We have a daughter, Evelyn, whom I adore. But after the divorce, Victoria moved back to her hometown, cutting off all contact between me and Evie.
“Anthony,” my old mate Stephenthe local constablehad said, “youre well rid of that drama. Marry again, why dont you?”
“Easier said than done,” Id replied. “Havent met the right woman. And after last time Im wary.”
Then Annie arriveda new nurse at the village clinic. I spotted her on my way home from school one afternoon. Blonde, composed, striking. I nodded politely as we passed, and she smiled first.
“Stephen,” I asked later, dropping by the station, “whos the new girl in town?”
“Who? Oh, you mean Nurse Annie? Just started at the clinic. Pretty thing. Dont dawdlesomeonell snatch her up!”
Two days later, I “accidentally” ran into her again.
“Anthony Whitmore,” I introduced myself. “Physics teacher. Unmarried, incidentally. And you?”
“Nurse Annie,” she replied evenly. “Why does my marital status interest you so much?”
“Immensely. More than you know.”
We courted, and soon after, a modest wedding at the village pub. Annie had been married beforebriefly, luckily without children. Her ex, a drunkard, had hounded her for money, so shed fled quietly to our village.
On the first of September, as tradition dictated, the teachers celebrated the start of term at the pub.
“Annie, love, Ill be late tonightstaff do, you know how it is.”
“Fine,” she said coolly. “Just dont come home smelling of another womans perfume again.”
I laughed it off. “That was just Margarets coat draped over mine!” But her jealousy was clear.
The evening was brisk, the mood lively. Toasts to careers, grandchildrenthe usual. I was merry, though Margaret, the spinster history teacher whod long fancied me, kept shooting me mournful looks.
I stumbled home tipsily, calling out, “Annie! Safe and sound!” The house was dark. I found her in bed, reading by lamplight.
“Evening went well,” I grinned. “Had a few, but nothing mad.”
She looked upher eyes cold, hollow.
“Whats wrong?” I asked. “Normally youre smiling. Is it the drink? Its just a bit of fun”
“Theres a letter for you,” she said tonelessly. “On the table.”
The envelope bore no return address, just my name in elegant script.
*Dear Anthony,*
*I never thought Id write, but Im expecting your child. What you do next is your choice. I know youre married now*
I was stunned. Who? When? This had to be a joke. I was devoted to Annie!
“Annie, you cant believe this!” I pleaded, sober now. “Someones playing games!”
She turned to the wall, silent. I begged, swore my lovebut she wouldnt listen. Finally, she said, “Sleep in the parlour tonight.”
The next day, I showed Stephen the letter.
“Youre having me on!” He laughed. “How am I to trace handwriting? No crime herejust a love note!”
“Stephen, my marriage is crumbling! Annie wont believe me!”
“Cant interrogate the whole village!”
Later, at school, a thought struck me*Margaret*. Her handwriting! I snatched the registerbut her scrawl was jagged, nothing like the letters.
At home, Annie was weeping. “Tell me why Im not enough,” she whispered.
“Youre perfect,” I vowed.
“Im filing for divorce.” Calm, resolvedthat was Annie.
She left that night, moving into the clinic.
Two days later, at the post office, I spotted an envelopethe same handwriting, addressed to *Lydia Hughes, 7 Oak Lane, Millfield*.
I sped to Millfield, waiting outside No. 7 until a heavily pregnant woman emerged.
*Lydia Porter.*
Years ago, shed been my studenteight years younger, infatuated. Shed spun gossip, then vanished.
“Lydia,” I said coldly. “Your letter ruined my marriage. Why?”
She smirked. “You made me suffer. Now its your turn.”
“Then Ill show your husband this.”
Her face paled. “No! PleaseIll confess to Annie!”
The next evening, the door creaked open.
“Anthony,” Annie called softly, “help me with my bag?”
She was smiling.
Rain lashed outside, but inside, all was warm and bright. We clung to each otherhappy, whole. And soon, our family would grow.
