**Reckoning**
“Charlotte, your life is so full of drama, you could star in your own film,” Emma teased her friend and colleague, who just laughed in response.
“Oh, it’s certainly eventful,” Charlotte replied. “Though I’m not sure how this story will end… But I’ll figure it out. It’s time I got married—I’m already twenty-eight. I’ll work hard to make it happen.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Charlotte,” Emma scoffed. “I don’t think you really want to settle down. You’re fine as you are. Marriage means responsibility—and just one man for the rest of your life.”
“Who said anything about *just* one man? That’s how *you* live with your Simon, but I’ll do things differently.”
Emma gasped. “What on earth are you saying? How can you even think about marriage and still dream of other men? I could never accept that.”
“Well, that’s you, and this is me,” Charlotte said with her signature dazzling smile.
She was a real beauty—slender, striking, with a smouldering gaze that made men turn their heads. Charlotte never missed an opportunity, living by the creed: *Take what’s given, and if you’re hit, hit back twice as hard.* Whatever she set her mind to, she excelled. She’d joined the office after Emma, yet she’d already climbed higher, leaving her friend as her subordinate.
Plenty of men worked in the office—married or not, they all fancied Charlotte. But she’d made up her mind.
“My goal is to get married, so the married ones are off-limits—though some of them are *quite* the catch,” she mused. “Out of the single ones, I’ve narrowed it down to three colleagues. But which one should I pick?”
She’d asked Emma for advice, but her friend refused to get involved.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I won’t be giving opinions here,” Emma said. “This is your decision. If things go wrong, I won’t be the one to blame.”
Charlotte didn’t leave it to chance. She analysed each suitor carefully and decided Henry was the best—reliable, handsome, skilled, earning well, and, most importantly, he always listened to her.
Henry noticed her growing warmth immediately. He’d seen the signs before, but rivals—Oliver and James—stood in his way. They adored Charlotte, and she flirted with them too, driving him mad with jealousy.
“She must’ve realised I’m the best choice,” Henry thought triumphantly. “I can’t let this moment slip. I’ll propose right away.”
And so he did. On their next date, he handed her a lavish bouquet and a small velvet box with a ring inside.
“Charlotte, will you marry me? I’ve thought long and hard about this—you’d make a wonderful wife. And I’d love to wake up beside you every morning.”
“I will, Henry. Though I didn’t expect you to propose so soon. But we know each other well, and I’m happy to say yes.”
At first, they lived in her small flat. But soon, Henry suggested selling it to fund a grander plan.
“Let’s build a proper house. We’ll take out a loan if needed, but with our salaries, we’ll manage.”
“And where will we live in the meantime? Rent?” Charlotte asked.
“No need. My father’s been alone since Mum passed three years ago. His place is spacious—plenty of room for us. He won’t object, I’m sure. So, what do you say?”
She agreed. The plot was bought, the flat sold swiftly, and they moved in with Henry’s father. Edward was delighted. Charlotte had always gotten along well with her father-in-law, though they didn’t see each other often—their bond had always been warm.
Edward, Henry’s father, had lived alone since his wife’s death. At fifty-three, he cut a distinguished figure—far from old, not even “middle-aged” by most standards. After their first meeting, Charlotte had remarked,
“Your father looks like one of those men who model for luxury watch ads,” and Henry had laughed in agreement.
Edward was tall, muscular—hitting the gym twice a week—with a well-groomed beard and a deep, commanding voice. Women flocked around him, but he had no intention of remarrying.
Of course, he was thrilled to have his son and daughter-in-law move in—life was less lonely now. Time passed smoothly, though Henry spent every free moment at the construction site, overseeing the build. Charlotte saw less of him—and more of Edward.
One day, it dawned on her: Edward was looking at her differently. At first, she dismissed it. But no—he’d find excuses to touch her, compliment her, smile in that way.
“Well, well,” she thought. “My father-in-law can’t take his eyes off me. And why not? He’s quite the catch. Maybe I should take advantage.”
The next time Edward embraced her, she didn’t resist—and before she knew it, they’d crossed a line. Neither questioned if it was right. Guilt never troubled them; to them, it simply *was*. Henry was always at the site, sometimes overnight—especially on weekends—driven to finish the house. He’d return exhausted, barely dragging himself home. Meanwhile, Charlotte missed male company.
This went on until she realised—she was pregnant. She told Edward first.
“I don’t doubt the child is yours. These things happen, you know,” she said with a sly smile.
“I’m thrilled, Charlotte. Truly.”
Henry, however, wasn’t pleased. A baby hadn’t been part of his plans—not until the house was done. Still, he forced a smile.
“Henry, don’t worry—I’ll help with the baby. What else is an old man to do but dote on his grandchild?” Edward clapped his son on the back, leaving Henry no choice but to accept.
The pregnancy was rough, but Charlotte bore it—the child was wanted, and time wasn’t on her side, now in her thirties. Edward accompanied her to every check-up. No one batted an eye; they knew Henry was busy building their future home.
A boy, Nicholas, was born in due time. Charlotte and Edward were overjoyed—Henry, too, in his way. The house was nearly finished; they’d move soon.
Edward adored Nicholas, fussing over him constantly. Age had given him a deeper appreciation for fatherhood—he’d missed Henry’s childhood, but now, he savoured every moment.
Then came moving day.
“Pack your things, love. We’ll move in tomorrow or the next day,” Henry said.
“What about me?” Edward asked. “I have to help with Nicholas—he’s used to me.” He wanted to go with them.
“You’ll stay here. Visit whenever you like,” Henry replied. “We’ve imposed long enough—you deserve peace.”
But Edward wasn’t having it. He kept showing up at their new home.
Then, at three, Nicholas needed nursery registration—and during the medical check, the doctor flagged a serious concern. To rule out genetic issues, they advised a paternity test. Charlotte and Edward faced a dilemma: what now? Henry would learn the truth.
She agonised but finally decided:
“For Nicholas’s sake, I’ll do it. Let Henry know.”
As they waited for results, her nerves were frayed—Henry assumed it was worry for their son. But he, too, was restless. Unable to wait, he collected the test himself.
What he read shattered him.
“Nicholas… isn’t mine? Is this a mistake? Or is it true?”
The fallout was explosive. Henry demanded answers, and Charlotte confessed—Nicholas was Edward’s.
His shock deepened.
“How? I can’t believe this. You’re dragging my father into this? Tell the truth!”
Then Edward stepped in.
“Son, it’s true. You were always at the site. A woman needs attention. We didn’t plan it…” He couldn’t meet Henry’s eyes.
“I hate you both. Traitors.” Henry stormed out.
Soon after, he filed for divorce. Charlotte and Edward lived in the house; he stayed in his father’s old flat. Nicholas needed treatment—the illness was severe. She spent long months in hospitals with him. Edward did his part, and in time, the boy recovered.
“God is punishing me,” Charlotte thought. “Nicholas’s illness—it’s retribution for my sin. A terrible sin.”
Henry suffered too. He withdrew, drowning in betrayal.
“It’s bad enough being lied to. Worse when it’s by those you trusted most.”
Finally, the doctor gave the all-clear—Nicholas could start nursery. Edward rejoiced. He, too, carried guilt, visiting his late wife’s grave and the church, seeking absolution. But repentance came too late.
Ten years passed. Charlotte kicked Edward out—age had caught up with him, while she’d only grown more radiant. She’d buried her regrets and
