A Message from the Wife “Darling, can you pick me up from work?” Jane called her husband, hoping that after a tough day she wouldn’t have to endure forty minutes on the bus. “I’m busy,” he replied abruptly, though the sound of the TV in the background made it clear that Tom was at home. Jane was so hurt she could have cried. Their marriage was crumbling, even though just six months ago her husband was treating her like a queen. What had changed so quickly? Jane had no idea. She kept in great shape, spent plenty of time at the gym, cooked amazing meals — she did work at a top restaurant, after all. Never asked for money, never threw a tantrum, was always willing to do anything to please her husband… “He’ll get bored of you quickly,” her mother shook her head as Jane confided in her. “A man shouldn’t always get his way.” “I just love him,” Jane replied with a helpless smile. “And he loves me…” ****************************** “So, he is bored of me,” Jane bit her lip as she scrolled through the browser history. As it turned out, Tom spent all his free time on dating sites, chatting to several women at once. “Why couldn’t he have just talked to me? I would have understood and let him go. Why live with someone you don’t love, and make her miserable too?” So, divorce it was. Fine, she was strong — she would survive. But she wasn’t going to let him off easily. He deserved a little revenge… That same evening, Jane registered on the very same dating site as her husband, found his profile, and messaged him. She used a photo from the internet, gave it some Photoshop magic, and was sure Tom would fall for it. He did. A whirlwind of messages began. In them, Tom claimed he was single, ready for a real relationship and kids, and gushed about his wonderful character, making Jane laugh till she cried. She knew just how hard it was to actually live with him. “Let’s meet up,” Jane messaged, holding her breath as she waited for a reply. “I’m all for it,” came his reply in seconds. “But my sister is staying with me at the moment, revising for her entrance exams. We’ll need to meet on neutral ground and… maybe take it to a hotel afterward.” “You what?” Jane burst out reading it. “Why are you so sure a girl would head straight to a hotel with you? Any sensible person would be offended!” Still, this played into her plan. “Or we could meet at my place? I’ve got a cottage out of town, I live alone. No one will bother us…” She wondered if he’d go for it. “Great idea!” Tom was delighted—probably at the thought of saving money. “Send me the address and the time. I’ll fly over on wings of love.” “25 Maple Lane, ten o’clock tonight. Deal?” “Of course! I’ll be there.” Around nine, Tom pretended to be called in to work suddenly. He couldn’t find his car keys and grudgingly asked Jane if she had seen them. “They were on the side table,” Jane replied honestly, while clutching the keys in her pocket. “Maybe the cat ran off with them?” “Fine, I’ll just get a taxi. Don’t wait up, go to bed.” But Jane had no intention of waiting. Why would she? She spent the evening packing her things. Luckily, she had her own flat, left to her by her grandmother. The only thing she left behind was the divorce application, placed in plain sight. Tom only came home the next morning, furious. Not only had the journey to the address taken over an hour, but Angela from the site was nowhere to be seen. The address was real, the house was real. But the woman living there looked nothing like the model in the photos. The door was opened by a woman three times his size, wearing only a see-through dressing gown, and Tom would have given anything to erase the sight from his mind. In fact, it took everything he had to escape her clutches! He had to call a taxi just to get away. The wait was so long, he nearly froze in his thin jacket. Then the driver turned out to be strange, taking him to who knows where at first… All in all, quite an eventful night. It was only when he entered the flat and spotted the divorce papers on the table that he realised who was behind this entire escapade. Next to the papers, written in lipstick, were the words: This Sweet Revenge…

Dear Diary,

“Hey love, could you pick me up from work?” I heard Emily’s weary voice over the phone. It was one of those damp, grey Mondays in London, and she was hoping to avoid the forty-minute rattle home on the packed bus.

“I’m a bit tied up,” I answered, barely taking my eyes off the telly. Truth is, I was sprawled out on the sofa, feet up, watching Match of the Day with our cat, Marmalade, purring next to me. The disappointment in her silence stung after we hung up.

Things between us had felt strained lately not that we were ever the picture-perfect couple, but just six months ago, I was ready to cross oceans for her. Now? I couldnt even be bothered to cross town. What had shifted in such a brief time? I wish I knew.

Emily always keeps herself looking sharp, going to Pilates classes three times a week. Shes a fantastic cook too not surprising since she works at that trendy gastropub in the city centre. She never nags for money or starts rows, shes always gone out of her way to make me happy.

Mum never hesitated to give her two pence on the matter. “Youre too easy on him,” shed say, shaking her head, listening to Emilys confessions over tea at the kitchen table. “No man appreciates a doormat.”

“I just love him, Mum,” Emily would mumble with a helpless half-smile. “And he loves me too doesnt he?”

*****

She didnt need to ask for proof anymore. That night, while tidying up, Emily happened to glance at the family computer and browsed through the history. My digital tracks were everywhere. Id been spending my evenings chatting away on dating sites, messaging with several women at once. She felt sick. Why hadn’t I just talked to her? Wouldnt it have been easier to be honest, to walk away, rather than carry on this farce making us both miserable?

So, divorce then. Emily knew shed survive, but she wasnt planning to let me off lightly. She reckoned I deserved at least a bit of comeuppance.

That night, she made herself an account on the same dating site. Searched for my profile, tweaked a photo she found online something you couldnt trace back and waited. Right on cue, I took the bait.

We chatted daily, me boasting about being single and ready to settle down. I spun a web about wanting children, played up my charming side all of which gave Emily a fit of giggles. She knew better than anyone how prickly and hard to please I could be.

“How about we meet up?” Emily, stuck behind her fake identity, asked. She anxiously awaited my reply.

“Id love to,” I texted back within seconds. “But my sisters staying over while she revises for her A-levels… Maybe we could meet somewhere neutral and carry on at a hotel?”

She nearly burst out laughing when she read that. Did I really think any self-respecting woman would trot off to a hotel with a complete stranger? But she played along.

“Why not come to mine? I live in a cottage out in the countryside, all alone no one will disturb us”

“Brilliant idea!” I messaged back faster than a heartbeat. Clearly, I liked the idea of saving a few quid on a fancy dinner out. “Send me your address and a time Ill be there in a flash!”

“25 Rose Lane, ten oclock tonight. Suits you?”

“Perfect. Ill see you then.”

About nine, I pretended my boss had called me in unexpectedly. I wandered around, acting frustrated, searching for the car keys, and finally asked Emily if shed seen them.

“They were on the sideboard earlier,” she said, meeting my eyes with a smile. All the while, she was gripping the keys in her fist. “Maybe Marmalades dragged them off somewhere?”

I shrugged, feigning annoyance. “Never mind, Ill just order a cab. Dont stay up for me, love.”

Emily had no intention of waiting, of course. She spent the time wisely, packing her things. Luckily, she had her own flat in Battersea, left to her by her gran. The only thing she left behind was the divorce papers, left dead centre on the kitchen table.

I made it home just after dawn, absolutely fuming. The trip there had taken over an hour and there was no ‘Angela’, the supposed beauty from the site. The house was real, but the woman who answered the door was nothing like the airbrushed photo. She was thrice my size and wore nothing but a shoddy dressing gown. If I could have paid in sterling to erase that sight from my memory, I would have.

She wouldnt let me leave straightaway, tried to drag me inside for a cuppa. In the end, I had to call another cab, shivering on the curb as the driver took ages to find the place and drove the scenic route back. What a bloody night.

It was only when I let myself inside and saw the stack of papers and Emilys lipstick scrawl on the table that I finally twigged. Shed planned the lot.

This was a slice of sweet revenge and honestly, I had it coming.

Lesson learned: Dont take the person who loves you for granted because eventually, theyll remind you in the most English way possible that every action has consequences.