I checked my husbands location on the phone hed claimed he was out fishing, yet the pin blinked at the doors of a maternity ward.
Thats the first thing I dont get, I snapped at the foreman over the line, my voice as cold as a January morning. Why does the invoice show thirty thousand pounds less than the original estimate?
Olivias tone was icy as she scolded the site manager from the latest job site. We agreed on Italian tiles, item 712. What did you supply? A Chinese knockoff?
MrsHarriet, whos going to sort that out? the foreman cooed, trying to sound persuasive. It looks exactly the same, one for one! Imagine the savings. Ill even give you half the kickback nobody will notice!
Ill notice, Olivia snapped. And thats enough. Have the tiles replaced by lunch tomorrow, or well meet in court. I guarantee youll lose not just this contract but your licence as well.
She slammed the handset down, her hands trembling with fury. It was always the same. You pour your soul into a project, stay up nights sketching every centimetre of a future interior, then a slicktalking expert shows up and tries to milk you, treating you like a fool. A designer needs iron nerves and a steelhard character both of which Olivia possessed in abundance. After twenty years in the trade she had learned to defend her designs and put the most brazen contractors in their place.
She drove home late, exhausted and angry. At the front step, Simon waited with a steaming mug of her favourite mint tea.
War again? he asked with a soft smile, taking her heavy bag of material samples. Come in, my lady, dinners on the table.
Simon was her opposite calm, homebound, unambitious. He worked as a modestly paid design engineer in a quiet office, content in their snug little world. He was the island of silence she fled to after daily battles.
They had been married twentytwo years, raised a son who now studied in another city. Their life ran smooth, without dramatic peaks. Olivia built her career; Simon kept the rearguard stable. He always greeted her with a meal, listened to endless complaints about the wrong shade of beige, and never blamed her for disappearing for days at work. Their friends called him the perfect husband, and she believed it.
Lately, though, he seemed different thoughtful, detached. Hed taken up a new hobby: fishing. Every weekend he and his mate Colin would head off to a lake.
Simon, doesnt fishing in November sound odd? Olivia asked.
Whats the problem? he shrugged. The fish are biting now. Its quiet, good for thinking. You could use a break too.
Olivia didnt argue. She packed his thermos with hot tea, wrapped sandwiches, and sent him off with a light heart. He needed his space.
That Saturday he left at dawn. After finishing an urgent job, Olivia decided to treat herself. She stopped at a salon, then drifted through a huge supermarket, wandering between aisles while mentally planning the weeks meals. She thought to call Simon to see if he needed anything for his return. She dialed his number long rings, silence, again the same.
Strange. He always answered. A thin thread of anxiety twitched inside her. Had something happened? A flat tyre, a slip on ice? Half a year earlier theyd installed a familytracking app on their phones, just in case they needed to keep tabs on their universitygoing son. Olivia rarely used it, feeling it invaded privacy, but now
She opened the app. Three dots appeared: hers, her sons in his dorm, and Simons. Her heart thudded. His dot wasnt out of town or by a lake. It was in the city, in a residential area. She zoomed in. The point froze on a specific building: Flower Street, number7. She typed the address into a search engine. The screen displayed something her brain refused to accept: London Maternity Hospital, Ward5.
Glitch, she muttered. Bad app, error, anything. Colins friend had just become a grandfather maybe theyd dropped by to congratulate? But why lie about fishing?
She tried calling again. The line was dead. Panic hardened into a cold, sticky fear. She flung the shopping trolley into the middle of the aisle. A woman scolded her, but Olivia barely heard. She bolted from the store, fumbled with the car keys, her hands shaking so hard she almost missed the ignition.
All the way she chanted a mantra: Its a mistake. Just a mistake. She conjured a hundred rational explanations a broken car, a mixup with Colins son, any excuse short of the nightmare her mind painted.
She parked opposite the maternity block, a plain yellowbrick building surrounded by people clutching flowers and balloons, proud fathers and beaming grandparents. Olivia sat in her car, too scared to step out, fearing the sight that would shatter her meticulously arranged world.
And then she saw him.
Simon stepped out of the ward, not in a fishing jacket but in the crisp white shirt she had ironed for him the night before. Beside him walked a young woman, about twentyfive, her face tired yet radiant. In Simons hand was a white envelope tied with a blue satin ribbon.
An elderly lady presumably the girls mother rushed over, embraced Simon, whispering joyfully. He smiled, the kind of bright, slightly bewildered grin Olivia hadnt seen in years, the one he wore twentytwo years ago when he first carried baby Tom home from the hospital.
Through the windshield Olivia watched the tableau. The world dissolved: no cars, no crowds, no city. Only the image of her husband, a strangers partner, and a foreign baby. And her, the betrayed fool, sitting in a car bought with her own money.
She didnt get out. She didnt scream. Her steelhardened resolve, forged in clashes with foremen and clients, whispered a different plan. Not a shout, but an action cold, calculated, ruthless.
She turned the car around and drove home to their flat, the one shed always regarded as her fortress. Inside, everything bore her touch, bought with her earnings, and all of it now reminded her of him. She walked to the bookcase, where his collection of model ships a hobby from his childhood stood in proud rows. She seized the largest frigate and hurled it to the floor. The ship splintered into countless shards, and a wave of relief washed over her.
Methodically, as if drafting a quotation, she called her solicitor.
ArthurBarnes, good morning. I need to start divorce proceedings immediately and arrange the asset split.
Next she opened her laptop, logged onto her bank, and transferred every penny from their joint savings to her personal account. The password was their wedding date a bitter irony. She moved the remainder of her salary there too, leaving exactly one pound on the joint account a token for the sandwiches Simon always took on his fishing trips.
She packed his belongings wrinkled shirts, his battered fishing boots, the toy sailboats into big garbage bags. She ordered a removal van and sent the lot to a single address she knew well: his mothers house.
When the flat fell silent and hollow, she sank onto the sofa and finally let the tears flow. Not from hurt, but from rage at herself, at her own blindness, at the trust shed placed in someone shed thought she knew. How could she, so sharp at work, be so foolish at home? How had she missed the lie?
That evening Simon called, his voice shaky and confused.
Olivia, I dont get it I got home and none of my things are here. The accounts are empty. What happened? Did we get robbed?
We werent robbed, Simon, she replied, voice as steady as steel. Just a redesign. I cleared out the clutter.
What clutter? Where are my things? Wheres the money?
Your stuff is with your mother. The money consider it child support for your newborn. I happened to be at the fifth maternity ward today a touching scene, congratulations. Hope the fishing was fruitful.
A dead silence stretched over the line.
Olivia Ill explain everything! Its not what you think!
I dont need your explanations. I need nothing from you. My solicitor will contact you tomorrow about the divorce. Dont look for me, and delete this number.
She hung up, blocked his number, then slipped into the kitchen. From the cupboard she pulled out a stack of drafting paper and her favourite pencils, and began to draw. She sketched the blueprint of a new life, without him, without lies, without compromises. It would be her most honest project yet, coloured not with almost the same shades but with the true hue of freedom.
Betrayal from someone close cuts deep, yet sometimes it marks the point from which a genuine life truly begins. How would you have acted in Olivias place? Would you have listened to explanations, or taken the same decisive step?
