I stand at 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 trembles as I call him the night before. You promised youd be home by seven.
He drops his keys on the side table without looking at me.
Work, Olivia. What am I supposed to tell my boss? That I need to rush 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. Just once,I cross my arms, holding back tears. Today is my birthday.
Finally, he glances at the table. His face tightens as realisation hits.
Damn it, Olivia, I forgothe mutters, running a hand through his hair.
Clearly,I reply coldly, the hurt choking me from inside.
Dont start,he snaps. Im doing this for us, you know that.
I let out a bitter laugh.
For us?I counter. Youre barely home, James. When was the last time we had dinner together? Watched a film? Talked like husband and wife?
Thats not fair,he scowls. Im building a career for our future.
What future? Were strangers under the same roof!my voice cracks. I earn more than you, so dont hide behind providing for the family.
His face hardens.
Of course, youd throw that in my face,he sneers. How am I supposed to keep up with my successful wife?
Thats not what I meant
Enough, Olivia. Im going to bed,he cuts me off and walks away, leaving me alone with the cold cake and melted candles.
I blow them out, whispering to myself that things will get better. Hes my husband. I love him. Every marriage has struggles, doesnt it?
How wrong I was to forgive him so easily.
Wed been married three years, but the last one was a slow, painful unravelling. We had no childrenand looking back, I thank fate for that. My job as a marketing director brought in most of our income, while James, a sales executive, constantly complained about stress, long hours, traffic everything but the truth, which I discovered too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I come home earlier than usuala pounding headache driving me to bed. But when I reach our house on the outskirts of Manchester, something feels off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, now gleam with shiny new steel.
What?I murmur, sliding my key in. It doesnt turn.
I try again, but the key wont budge. Confused, I double-check the address. This is definitely my home.
Then I spot a note taped to the door. Jamess familiar handwriting stabs like a knife: This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.
The world tilts. My blood turns to ice.
Youve got to be joking,I hiss.
I pound on the door, screaming his name. Finally, it swings open. James stands there, and behind hima woman wearing my cashmere robe, a gift from my mother.
Seriously?my voice shakes with fury and hurt.
Olivia, listen,he crosses his arms, smirking. Ive moved on. Emma and I are together now. We need this place. Go stay with a friend.
Emma. The same just a colleague hed mentioned for months. She steps forward, hands on hips, glaring.
Your things are boxed up in the garage. Take them and go.
I stare at them, unable to believe this is happening. Then I turn on my heel and march to the car, determination burning inside me. They think they can toss me aside and get away with it. But Im not done yet. I needed a plan. A ruthless one.
I knew exactly who to call.
Olivia? Oh my God, whats wrong?my sister Charlotte flings open her flat door, takes one look at my tear-streaked face, and pulls me inside. What happened?
I collapse onto her sofa, the story pouring out between sobs.
That absolute bastard!Charlotte hisses when I finish. And that Emma woman had the nerve to wear your robe?
Mums birthday gift,I choke out, wiping my eyes. The cashmere one from last year.
Charlotte storms to the kitchen and returns with two glasses of wine.
Drink,she orders. Then well figure out how to ruin them.
What can I do?I take a shaky sip. The flats in Jamess name. The mortgage was under his credit because mine was still recovering from my masters.
Charlotte narrows her eyes.
And who paid for everything else?she asks.
Both of us, butI pause, realising. I bought everything. The furniture, the appliances, the bathroom renovation last year. All 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 all the receipts. Ive always managed the bills.
Of course you have, Miss Accountant,she laughs. Queen of spreadsheets!
For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a flicker of control.
They think theyve won, dont they?I whisper.
Charlotte clinks her glass against mine.
Theyve no idea who theyre dealing with.
The next morning, I call my lawyer friend, Sophie.
What he did is illegal,she says after a sip of coffee. 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.
Sophie smiles.
Then lets make a list.
We spend the morning cataloguing every item I bought for the flatthe sofa, the TV, the fridge, even the rugs. By noon, I have a detailed inventory with receipts, dates, and amounts.
Impressive,she nods. With this, no one can argue its not yours.
So I can take it all?I ask.
Legally, yes. But Id bring a police escort to avoid accusations of trespassing.
I remember Jamess smug smirk. Emma in my robe. Their confidence that theyd outplayed me.
No,I say slowly. Ive got a better idea.
That same day, I contact a removal company. The owner, Mark, listens to my story and nods in understanding.
Had a similar case last year,he says.
The very next day, while James and Emma are out for coffee, the movers arrive with my old key and strip the flat bareleaving nothing but echoes in the empty rooms.
