**Diary Entry**
Seventeen yearswas that a long time or barely a blink? I stood by the window, watching the rain trace delicate paths down the pane. Every memory, every glance, every anniversary played in my mind like an old film reel. And now, it was all crumbling, like a sandcastle at high tide.
“We need to talk,” James said, his voice oddly detached.
I turned slowly, meeting his gaze. That lookdetermination laced with guiltwas unmistakable. It was the look of a man about to deliver a blow.
“I’m leaving, Emily. For Sophie.”
Silence. Only the rhythmic ticking of the antique clockhis mothers wedding giftfilled the room.
“The student from your department?” My voice was eerily calm.
“Yes. My feelings have faded. I need something new. Youre a clever womanyoull understand.”
I smiled. *Clever woman.* How often hed used that phrase when he wanted his way.
“Are you certain?” That was all I asked.
“Completely,” James replied. “Ive already packed.”
I merely nodded, then walked to the cabinet and retrieved the bottle of vintage wine wed been saving.
“Well, this is an occasion, isnt it?” I said, uncorking it. “Lets have a proper farewell. Invite your family, your friends. Seventeen years deserve a send-off.”
James blinked, bewildered.
“Youwant to host a party for our divorce?”
“Why not?” I smileda smile that made him flinch. “Lets celebrate the end with some dignity. After all, I *am* a clever woman, remember?”
I took out my phone, typing swiftly.
“Tomorrow at seven. Ill make your favourite dishes. Consider it my parting gift.”
James stood there, lost. Hed expected tears, rage, accusationsanything but this quiet acceptance.
“And do invite Sophie,” I added without looking up. “Id love to meet the girl who reignited what I apparently couldnt.”
The next morning, I woke before dawn.
I called the bank, met with my solicitor, gathered documents. Each step was deliberate, preciselike a chess player closing in on checkmate.
By evening, the flat smelled of rosemary-roasted lamb and buttery potatoes. I laid out the fine chinahis mothers wedding gift to us.
“Everything must be perfect,” I murmured, smoothing the linen napkins.
Guests arrived promptly at seven. His parents were first. His mother, Margaret, hugged me awkwardly.
“Emmy, surely theres still a chance?”
“No, Margaret. Sometimes the kindest thing is to walk away.”
Friends trickled in. James and Sophie arrived last.
“Come in, sit,” I said, gesturing to the head of the table. “Tonight, you two are the guests of honour.”
Once everyone was settled, I raised my glass.
“Dear friends, tonight is unusual. Were here to toast the end of one chapter and the start of another.”
I turned to James.
“James, thank you for seventeen yearsfor the laughter and the tears, the highs and the lows. You taught me many things. Like how love can shift, twist, and sometimes vanish entirely.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Sophie twisted her napkin, eyes downcast.
“You also taught me to pay attention to details,” I continued, pulling out a thick envelope. “Especially financial ones.”
I spread the documents across the table.
“Heres the loan for your carunder our shared account. Heres the overdue tax for your firm. And thesequite intriguingare receipts from restaurants and jewellers over the past year. I assume these were for Sophie?”
James paled. Sophies head jerked up.
“But the most interesting,” I said, producing one last paper, “is our prenup. Remember signing it without reading? Theres a clause about infidelity and asset division.”
The silence was deafening. Even the hum of the fridge seemed to pause.
“The flat is in my name,” I went on. “The accounts are frozen. And I filed for divorce yesterday.”
I glanced at Sophie.
“My dear, are you certain you want to tie yourself to a man with no home, no savings, and mounting debts?”
Sophie sat frozen.
“II should go,” she stammered, pushing back her chair.
Margaret shook her head.
“James, how could you? We didnt raise you this way.”
“You dont understand, Mum” James began, but his father cut in.
“No, son. *You* dont understand. Seventeen years is no small thing. And you threw it awayfor a fling with a student?”
Friends shifted uncomfortably. Only Thomas, Jamess oldest mate, muttered, “Youve really done it now.”
I stood, glass in hand, serene as a summer morning.
“The funny thing is, I truly believed ours was a love for the ages. Like those couples in storybooks who grow old together. I ignored the late nights, the hushed calls, the sudden interest in new cologne.”
I took a sip.
“Then I noticed the receipts. The jewellery. The dinners at *The Ivy*. The spa days. The same places you once took me.”
Sophie returned but lingered by the door, clutching her handbag.
“James, we need to talk. Alone.”
“Of course, darling,” he said, rising, but I stopped him with a raised hand.
“Wait. Im not finished. Remember our first flat? That tiny place in Camden? We were happy there. You said all we needed was each other.”
I smiled.
“And look at you now. Designer suits, a flashy car, a mistress half your ageall built on lies and debt.”
“James,” Sophies voice quavered, “you told me you were divorced. That you lived alone. That you were buying us a flat.”
“Sophie, let me explain”
“Dont bother,” I said, sliding another envelope forward. “Here are your bank statements. Sophie might like to know that, alongside her, there were two others. Or should I saystudents?”
The room held its breath. Sophie turned and fled, her heels clicking down the stairs.
“Emily,” James groaned, gripping his head, “why are you doing this?”
“Why?” I laughed, hollow. “Did you think Id weep and beg? Roll over and let you walk away unscathed?”
I swept my gaze across the room.
“The strangest part? I loved him. Every grey hair, every wrinkle. Even his snoring was endearing. Id have grown old with him, welcomed grandchildren with him.”
“Dear,” Margaret whispered, “perhaps thats enough.”
“No, Margaret. Let them all see. Let them see how your son took loans to shower his mistresses with gifts. How he squandered our money. How he liedto me, to you, to everyone.”
I unfolded one last sheet.
“And this ones particularly lovely. Three months ago, you had me sign something for the accountant, remember? It was a loan guarantee. You used my car as collateral.”
Chairs scraped. Guests murmured apologies, edging toward the door. Only Jamess parents and Thomas remained.
“Son,” his father said heavily, standing, “well go. Call us when youve sorted yourself out.”
Margaret hugged me.
“Forgive us, love. We never imagined hed”
“Dont apologise, Margaret. This isnt your fault.”
After they left, Thomas clapped James on the shoulder.
“Mate, youve botched this proper. Ring me if you need anythingbut dont ask for money.”
Then he, too, was gone.
James sat slumped, his expensive suit suddenly ridiculous.
“You know,” I said, tucking the papers away, “I couldve made a scene months ago when I found out. I couldve keyed your car, burned your suits, caused a scene at your office.”
“But I chose a different path,” I added, pulling out a plane ticket. “I leave tomorrow. The Maldives. Id always wanted to go, but you said it was frivolous.”
I set the keys on the table.
“The flat must be empty by weeks end. Im selling it. And dont bother with the accountstheyre frozen pending court proceedings.”
James stared, dazed.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“Thats no longer my concern,” I said, slipping into my coat. “The funniest part? Im grateful. You shook me awake. Made me see life doesnt end with you.”
At the door, I turned one last time.
“Goodbye, James. I hope it was worth it.”
The door clicked shut. James was left alone among half-eaten food and unfinished wine. Outside, an engine purredme, driving toward a new beginning.
The rain returned, just as it had the night he chose to ruin us. Only now, no one was left to watch it streak the windows.
