“Darling, the flat isn’t mineit’s Mum’s, so go ahead and file for divorce,” Emily said calmly to Oliver.
“Are you certain?” the estate agent checked the paperwork again. “A gift deed is legally binding. Itll be hard to overturn later.”
“Im sure,” Emily signed without hesitation. Her hand was steadyshed made up her mind.
The May morning sun streamed into the solicitors office. The air conditioning hummed softly, and the waiting area smelled of fresh coffee. Just another ordinary day where life-changing decisions were being made.
“Mum knows best,” Emily said, slipping the documents into her handbag. “Just in case.”
That was a year agolong before Oliver started working late. Before the unfamiliar floral perfume on his shirts. Before the hushed phone calls in the evenings.
Emily wasnt naive. Shed grown up in a family of solicitors, taught from childhood to think ahead. Theyd bought the flat with her inheritance from Gran. Oliver was just starting out back then, barely covering his car payments.
“Love, put the flat in my name,” her mother had suggested one evening. “Not because I dont trust himjust as a safety net. Lifes unpredictable.”
And Emily agreed. No arguments, no explanations to Oliver. She simply transferred ownership to her mother. On paper, it was a clean transaction. In reality, it was her backup plan.
Her phone buzzeda text from Oliver: *”Running late tonight. Big meeting.”*
Emily sighed. *Big meeting.* Just like yesterday. And the day before. She opened the photo the private investigator had sent: Oliver and a blonde walking into a posh restaurant, his arm around her waist, both grinning.
“Coffee?” the secretary offered.
“No, thanks,” Emily stood. “Are the documents ready?”
“Theyll be here within the hour.”
Outside, the May air was warmthe lilacs had faded, but their scent lingered. She and Oliver had met in May, six years ago. Hed seemed so dependable, so loyal. Shed believed him.
Her phone buzzed again: *”Sorry, love, gonna be really late. Dont wait up.”*
“Fine,” she replied. *”Ill be out too. Sorting a few things.”*
The café was quiet, the lunch rush over. Emily chose a window seat and pulled out a folder. This was hers and her mums spotcosy, with cakes that tasted like childhood.
“Got everything?” Her mum slid into the chair opposite, shrugging off her blazer. At fifty-five, Helen Carter looked a decade youngera sharp family solicitor whod seen every divorce trick in the book.
“Bank statement,” Emily laid out the papers. “He drained nearly all the joint account yesterday.”
“Hes preparing,” Helen nodded. “And this?”
“The investigators report. Three months of dinners, hotels, a jewellers…”
“Jewellery?” Helen raised an eyebrow. “Has he bought *you* anything lately?”
Emily shook her head. “But his new girlfriends wearing a Cartier braceletthe same one on our statement.”
A waitress brought their usual lavender tea. Emily stirred in two sugars, just like always.
“Right then,” Helen flipped open her diary. “The flats been in my name for a yearcompletely legal. No joint debts. His car? Let him keep it. The accounts, though… well need to fight for those.”
“Mum, I dont care about the money.”
“You should,” Helen said firmly. “Its not just cashits *your* years. Youve worked hard. And he…”
“I know,” Emily gripped her cup. “He rang a solicitor yesterday. I overheardtalking about splitting assets, the flat…”
“Let him talk,” Helen smirked. “He doesnt know about the gift deed, does he?”
“No. He thinks he can claim half.”
“Sure about the divorce?”
Emily glanced outside. A young couple walked by, hand in hand, just like she and Oliver once had.
“Remember when you taught me to drive?” she said suddenly. “You told me to check the mirrorsdanger could come from anywhere.”
Helen squeezed her hand. “And what do you see in the mirrors now?”
“Lies. Cheating. A double life.” Emily pulled out her phone. “Look. This was last week at *The Sky Lounge*. Three days ago at the cinema. And this…”
“Thats enough,” Helen gently took the phone. “I get it. When?”
“Tonight. Hell come home late, straight from *her*. Ive got everything ready.”
“Papers?”
“In your office safe. Ive packed my essentials. The rest can wait.”
Her phone buzzedOliver: *”Want me to grab dinner?”*
“No need,” Emily typed. *”We need to talk.”*
She got home by seven. The flat smelled freshwindows open, new cushions, vases rearranged. A final tidy-up.
On the side table, their wedding photo. Shed worn a simple ivory dress; hed been in navy. No fuss, just close family. *”The weddings not the main eventits the marriage,”* Oliver had said. Pretty words.
Emily traced the frame. Six years. Six years shed believed in him.
Her phone dingedthe investigator: *”Leaving the restaurant now. Photo attached.”*
Oliver, kissing the blonde. Right there on the pavement, not a care. Wearing the shirt Emily had bought him last week.
*”Thanks. Thats all I need.”*
Keys jangled in the hallearlier than usual. Emily set the photo down and sat calmly.
“Love, Im home!” Oliver sounded chirpy, reeking of wine and someone elses perfume. “Got a surprise!”
“Oh?” She watched him pull out champagne, swaying slightly.
“Promotion! Head of Development now. Double salary, and”
“More time for *meetings*?” Emily cut in quietly.
He froze. “What?”
“Meetings. At *The Sky Lounge*. The cinema. The *Riverside Hotel*…”
Oliver set the bottle down slowly. His smile vanished.
“Youve been *following* me?”
“Not me. The investigator.” Emily tapped her phone. “Want to see? Crystal clear. Especially the kiss outside the restaurant. And in the car. And”
“Wait,” he held up his hands. “Its not what you think.”
“What *do* I think, Oliver?” She stood. “That my husbands shagging another woman? That hes buying her bracelets while emptying our account?”
“How did you?”
“Doesnt matter.” Emily walked to the window. “The point is, Ive known for ages.”
“Sweetheart,” he stepped closer. “Its a mistake. Ill explain. Gemmas just a colleague”
“Gemma?” Emily laughed dryly. “In your phone, shes *Sophie*.”
“Emily”
“Dont.” She moved away. “No explanations needed. Ive decided.”
“What?”
“Divorce.”
Oliver scoffed. “Over a few dinners? Really?”
“A few?” Emily opened her gallery. “March 15threstaurant. 20ththeatre. 25thanother restaurant. Aprilfour hotel stays. Mayeight so far…”
“You *counted*?”
“The investigator did. Detailed reportdates, times, receipts. And photos. *Lots* of photos.”
Oliver slumped onto the sofa, tie crooked, dark circles under his eyesnothing like the grinning man in the photos.
“So what now?” He rubbed his face. “Blackmail?”
“Why bother?” Emily shrugged. “Just divorce. You want it too, dont you? Why else drain our account?”
He flinched. “How?”
“Bank statement. Yesterday£40,000 gone. Preparing to cut and run?”
“So what if I did?” Oliver snapped. “Its *joint* money. And the flats half mine!”
“The *flat*?” Emily smiled. “Darling, the flats Mums. File for divorce.” She slid the Land Registry papers across. “See for yourself.”
Oliver snatched them, hands shaking as he read.
“How? When?”
“A year ago. Legally airtight. Mums a solicitorshe knows her stuff.”
“You… you *planned* this?” His face paled.
“Insurance,” Emily grabbed her packed bag from the closet. “Mum taught mealways look ahead. Especially when your husband starts working late.”
“Christ…” Oliver hissed.
“No need for that,” she buttoned her coat. “Ill collect the rest later. Keysll be with Mumits *her* flat. You can stay till the divorce. Shes fine with that.”
“Youre *joking*.”
“No. Game over, Oliver. You lost.”
“Wait!” He blocked the door. “We can fix this!”
“Fix what?” Emily fastened
