“You dont care about your own sondo you?”
“Have you lost your mind? You spent the money weve been saving for five years on a flat for your pregnant mistress? My money toojust thrown away on some… I cant even find the words! How could you?”
Thirteen yearsthats how long Anna had been married to James. Shed loved him blindly, simply because he existed. Adored his perpetually messy chestnut hair and that particular, slightly weary smile he always wore when looking at their eight-year-old son, Oliver. Life in their quiet little town had rolled along predictably, barely changing over the years.
…James walked in at exactly nine thirty. Lately, hed been coming home late, but up until recently, Anna hadnt thought much of ithe was working hard for the family, after all. The door slammed shut as he shrugged off his jacket, which smelled oddly sweet, floralnothing like his usual cologne. Anna noticed it immediately.
“Hello,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head. “Im knackered. Rough day.”
“Hi. Are you eating? Come on, Ill fix you something.”
“No, thanks. Just need a shower.”
He walked past her, and Anna felt a sudden twist of unease. Refusing food again. Was there someone else? James had been coming home later, his phone always on him. Before, hed leave it on the nightstandnow it was either in his pocket or face down, locked. Even touching it made him jumpy.
“Youre late,” she said, picking up a cup. “Busy at work?”
James paused by the bathroom door.
“Yeah, Annie. You know how it isend of quarter. Reports. Endless paperwork.”
“Why do you smell like that?” The question came out sharper than she meant.
James froze. She could tell shed caught him off guard.
“Smell like what?” He tried to sound casual, but his shoulders tensed.
“Like flowers. Something sweet. Thats not your aftershave.”
“Ohmust be someone at the office. Lucy from accounting was showing off new perfume. Probably rubbed off.” He waved a hand. “Dont keep me, Ann. Im shattered.”
“Lucy from accounting,” Anna thought, stepping back onto the patio. “Right, of course.”
That scent had been clinging to him for weeks. At first, shed tried to convince herself it was nothingjust a coincidence. His coworkers wore perfume too…
…Their familys dream had lived inside a savings account at Barclays, opened five years ago. A dream of buying Oliver his own flat by the time he turned eighteen. Theyd stashed away every spare pennyJames from his salary as an engineer at the local factory, Anna from her modest income sewing custom pieces. Theyd skipped holidays for five years, held off on a new car, pinched pennies everywhere except when it came to Olivers future. By now, there shouldve been nearly two hundred thousand poundsa fortune in their town, almost a guarantee that their son could go to uni in London without cramming into student housing.
The blow came out of nowhere. A client had paid Anna extra for a rush job, and shed gone straight to the bank to deposit it. She couldve done it online, but the weather was nicemaybe she just wanted the walk.
The teller, a young woman named Emily whod known her for years, smiled politely.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson. How can I help?”
“Hi, Emily. I need to check our savings balance. And if possible, Id like to add a bit more.”
“Of course. May I see your ID?”
Anna handed it over. Emilys fingers tapped at the keyboard.
“Right…” she murmured, frowning. “Mrs. Wilson, its… empty.”
“What do you mean, empty?” Anna didnt understand.
She thought Emily mustve made a mistake.
“The account is completely empty. Zero pounds, zero pence.”
Anna felt the floor drop beneath her. She gripped the counter hard.
“Emily, thats impossible. Are you sure? Check the dateswe opened it five years ago under James Edward Wilson, my husband. I deposit into it every month!”
“Yes, Mrs. Wilson,” Emily said softly, realizing the gravity. “Im looking at the transaction history. The last large withdrawal was two weeks ago. Cash. A… very large sum.”
“How large?” The words barely came out.
“Two hundred and forty-nine thousand pounds. Withdrawn on Tuesday before last. Mr. Wilson closed the account.”
The Tuesday before last… James had come home late that night, said hed been stuck in a meeting.
“Thank you, Emily. I need a full statementevery transaction for the past month. Now.”
…Anna left the bank in a daze. She didnt remember driving home. Two hundred and forty-nine thousand. James had taken it all…
***
When James returned, Anna was sitting at the kitchen table, the printed statement folded neatly in half in front of her. Her face showed no tearsjust a chilling calm, the kind that comes before disaster.
James walked in, tossed his keys onto the shelf, rubbing his forehead.
“Hi. Hows things?”
“Sit down, James,” Anna said. Her voice was low, steadynothing like her usual tone.
James glanced at her, then at the papers. Understanding crept over his face.
“Whats this?” he asked, still standing.
“Sit. We need to talk.”
He lowered himself slowly into the chair opposite her.
“Ann, I dont get what this is about.”
“Stop lying, James. You know exactly what. I went to the bank today. The savingsgone. Two hundred and forty-nine thousand. Vanished two Tuesdays ago.”
James looked down at his hands. He didnt deny it.
“How did you find out?”
“Do you think that matters? What did you do with it, James?”
“I… I bought a flat.”
“A flat? Where? For who?”
James took a deep breath. When he looked up, there wasnt guiltjust irritation and a bitter sort of resolve.
“For her.”
“Her who?” Annas voice was eerily calm. “James, say her name.”
“Sophie. Sophia…”
Anna stared at him. James shrank under her gaze, then started talking.
“Annie, I dont know how it happened… Remember that work retreat last year? The one the boss forced us all to go on for team bonding? Thats where I met her…”
James trailed off. Annas voice was ice.
“Keep going. Tell me everything.”
“Right… Sophieshe was different. Youre warm, steady, safe. She was a whirlwind. Made me feel alive again. Shes only nineteen, Ann. Rides a motorbike, covered in tattoos, piercingsI lost my head. With you, its comfortable, but like an old jumper. With her…”
Annas throat locked. She wanted to scream, slap him, smash every dish in the kitchenbut she held it in. She wouldnt give him the satisfaction.
“Go on.”
“We didnt talk for a while. She dumped me, said I was boring. I was wrecked, Ann. Called her, begged for another chance. Then she got with some bloke, and I tried to move on. I swear, I was getting over it. Remember that weekend in Brighton? But then she rang me out of the blue, and we… started up again. Thenbam. Pregnant. Ann, I couldnt just leave her with a kid. Her mum kicked her out. I couldnt let my daughter end up on the streets!”
Anna stood and walked to the window.
“So your mistresss daughter matters, but your own son doesnt? Brilliant. Heres whats going to happen: Tomorrow, youll sign over your half of our flat to Oliver. When hes older, Ill sell itmy son will have his own place. What happens to you? Not my problem. Im filing for divorce in the morning, and if you try to stop me, Ill drag you through the mud. Everyone will know exactly what you are.”
Of course, James tried to win her backcamped outside the house, called daily, sent pleading texts. None of it mattered. The divorce went through. And in the end, even the mistress didnt want him. The baby girl, born right on time, couldnt have been histhe sharp Asian features made that perfectly clear.
Some stories just write themselves.
