I stand outside the door of my own home in Manchester, clutching the key that no longer fits the new lock, feeling my heart shatter into pieces. The marriage I fought so hard to save has crumbled in an instant. But my cheating husband and his mistress have no idea whats cominga lesson theyll never forget.
*James, its nearly ten,*my voice trembled when I called him the night before*You promised youd be home by seven.*
He drops his keys on the side table without looking at me.
*Work, Lucy. What am I supposed to tell my boss? That I need to go home to my wife?*his tone drips with irritation, as if Im an inconvenience.
I swallow hard, staring at the table I set for a simple birthday dinner. Two candles flicker beside the cake I bought on my lunch break.
*Yes, James. Thats exactly what you couldve done. For once,*I cross my arms, holding back tears*Its my birthday.*
Finally, he glances at the table. His face twists in realisation.
*Bloody hell, Lucy, I forgot*he mutters, running a hand through his hair.
*Clearly,*I reply coldly, the pain choking me from inside.
*Dont start,*he snaps*I work for us, you know that.*
I laugh bitterly.
*For us?*I counter*Youre barely home, James. When was the last time we had dinner together? Watched a film? Spoke like husband and wife?*
*Thats not fair,*he frowns*Im building a career so we have a future.*
*What future? We live like strangers under the same roof!*my voice cracks*I earn more than you, so dont hide behind providing for the family.*
His face hardens.
*Right, there it is,*he sneers*How could I ever measure up to my successful wife?*
*Thats not what I*
*Enough, Lucy. Im going to bed,*he cuts me off and walks away, leaving me with a cold cake and burnt-out candles.
I blow them out, whispering that things will get better. Hes my husband. I love him. Marriages have rough patches, dont they?
How wrong I was to forgive him so easily.
Wed been married three years, but the last one was a slow, painful unraveling. We had no childrenand looking back, I thank God for that. My job as a marketing director covered most of our bills, while James, a sales executive, endlessly complained about stress, long hours, traffic everything but the truth, which I discovered far too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I come home earlya splitting headache driving me to bed. But as I reach our house on the outskirts of Manchester, somethings off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, now gleam with shiny new metal.
*What the?*I murmur, sliding in my key. It doesnt turn.
I try again. Nothing. Confused, I check the address. This is definitely my house.
Then I spot a note taped to the door. The handwriting, so familiar, stabs through me: *This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.*
The world tilts. My blood turns to ice.
*Are you kidding me?*the words rip out of me.
I hammer on the door, screaming his name. Finally, it swings open. James stands there, and behind hima woman wrapped in my cashmere robe, a gift from my mother.
*Seriously?*my voice shakes with rage.
*Lucy, listen,*he crosses his arms, smirking*Ive moved on. Anna and I are together now. We need this place. Go stay with someone.*
Anna. The same *just a coworker* hed mentioned for months. She steps forward, hands on hips, and sneers:
*Your stuffs in boxes in the garage. Take it and leave.*
I stare at them, numb. Then I turn and walk to my car, determination burning inside me. They think they can toss me aside and win. But I wont let them. I need a plan. A brutal, calculated one.
I knew exactly who to call.
*Lucy? Oh my God, what happened?*my sister Charlotte flings open her flat door, sees my tear-streaked face, and drags me inside*Talk to me.*
I collapse onto her sofa, the story pouring out between sobs.
*That absolute bastard!*she hisses when I finish*And that Anna woman was wearing your robe?*
*Mums gift,*I sniff, wiping my eyes*The cashmere one, from last Christmas.*
Charlotte marches to the kitchen and returns with two glasses of wine.
*Drink,*she orders*Then we figure out how to ruin them.*
*What can I do?*I take a sip*The flats in Jamess name. The mortgage was under his credit because mine was still recovering from my MBA.*
She narrows her eyes.
*And who paid for everything else?*
*We both did, but*I pause, realising*I bought it all. The furniture, the appliances, the bathroom renovation last year. Everythings in my name.*
*Exactly!*she grins*What does James have left? An empty flat.*
I pull up my banking app and scroll through transactions.
*I have every receipt. Ive always managed the finances.*
*Of course you did, Miss Spreadsheet,*she laughs*Queen of organisation!*
For the first time today, I feel in control again.
*They think theyve won, dont they?*I whisper.
Charlotte clinks her glass against mine.
*Theyve got no idea who theyre dealing with.*
The next morning, I call my lawyer friend, Eleanor.
*What he did is illegal,*she says after a sip of tea*He cant change the locks and kick you out, even if the flats in his name. You have a right to live there.*
*I dont want to go back,*I say firmly*But I want whats mine.*
Eleanor smiles.
*Then lets make a list.*
We spend the morning cataloguing everything I bought for the flat: the sofa, the TV, the fridge, even the rugs. By noon, I have a detailed recordreceipts, dates, amounts.
*Impressive,*she nods*With this, no one can deny its yours.*
*So I can take it all back?*
*Legally, yes. But Id bring a police escort to avoid trespassing claims.*
I remember Jamess smug smirk. Anna in my robe. Their confidence that theyd won.
*No,*I say slowly*Ive got a better idea.*
That same day, I hire a removal company. The owner, Mark, listens to my story and nods.
*Had a similar case last year,*he says*Well handle it.*
The next morning, while James and Anna sip lattes at a café, the movers arrive. With my old key, they strip the flat bareleaving nothing but echoes in the empty rooms. Every last fork, every painting, even the lightbulbs. Gone.
By the time they return, their victory will be a hollow one.
And this?
This is only the beginning.
