That evening split Emily’s life into “before and after.”
“You see, Em, I’ve met someone else. We just click—romance, passion—not like us. Once in a blue moon, and even then, it’s forced,” declared James, sliding off his wedding ring.
He said it with a sneer, as if the problem had always been hers. Emily listened silently. No begging, no tears, no clinging. She let him go.
“We won’t split anything. The flat’s mine—bought before marriage. The car too. And I’m keeping the dog. Even if we got him together, he’s my comfort,” she said later.
“Couldn’t care less about the mutt. Keep him. But the car and flat? I’d want a share.”
“If you’d ever contributed,” Emily cut in. “But since you didn’t… tough luck.”
James tried to argue but left empty-handed. She stayed—with Max the spaniel and a simmering hunger for revenge.
Betrayal weighed on her.
“I’ll never trust anyone again,” she confided in her best mate, Sarah.
“Honestly, I don’t know how you let him walk away so easily. Should’ve taught him a lesson.”
“How?”
“Hold him close, then drop him when it hurts most.”
Emily just shrugged.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold. Wait—he’ll come crawling back.”
“Why d’you think that?”
“Because you were together seven years. This… Rebecca? Just some fling from his gym. Fifteen years younger. He’ll realise his mistake soon enough.”
And he did.
Within three months, James was back.
“You home? I was nearby—need to swing by.”
“Why?”
“Left my favourite umbrella. It’s autumn—need it back.”
“Fine, take it.”
She didn’t argue, letting him rifle through cupboards for forgotten bits. She watched, amused, as he scrounged for excuses to stay.
Once every last item was gone, he invented another reason:
“Em, I’m coming over. Wait up.”
“Forgot something else?” she asked, rubbing her hands—just as Sarah predicted.
“Missed Max. Bet he misses me too.”
“Max? Miss you? Don’t be daft. Dogs—and women—don’t wait for traitors.”
“I’m coming anyway. Rebecca’s locked me out—gone to some fitness retreat. Need a place tonight.”
“Try a hotel.”
“But… can I at least pop round for dinner?”
“Fine,” she relented.
He arrived, shameless.
“Your roast potatoes… I’d sell my soul for ’em!” he gushed, praising her cooking. “Rebecca’s food’s so… bland. Always on a diet. Asked for chips once—she screamed! Said I’m getting fat…”
Emily laughed. Pathetic. Three months of “passion” had left him gaunt—older, wearier.
“Eat up. You could use the weight,” she said, tossing Max a generous slice of beef. James tracked it jealously—her dog ate better than he did now.
“Time to go,” she said, watching him slump before the telly like old times.
“Let me rest! Been ages since I had a proper night in.”
“I’ve got plans. Sorry.”
“What plans?” He squinted. His “loyal” Emily, stepping out? Unthinkable.
“A date,” she said, gauging his reaction.
“Who with?”
“None of your business. Clear out. The sofa’s needed.”
His face fell. But he left—expecting nostalgia to win her back, only to find the door shut firmly behind him.
Through the peephole, she watched him dawdle, then go.
Two days later, he called.
“What d’you want?”
“Just… miss you. Seven years is a long time. Hard to shake the habit.”
At first, his whinging about Rebecca, his dependency, had been satisfying. She’d flaunted her happiness, dreaming of his regret. Now? Exhausting. Each call, each visit, hammered it home—she felt nothing. No hate, no thirst for revenge.
“What do I do? How do I shake him?” she asked Sarah.
“Get even. It’s time.”
“Honestly… I think he’s punished himself. Miserable with Rebecca, but I won’t take him back just to dump him.”
“Then ignore him. Block his number. Bar the door.”
She tried… but it backfired. The rejection ignited his persistence.
Calls from unknown numbers. Flowers at work. Lingering by her door like a stray.
“James, stop. I’ve moved on,” she pleaded, stunned. Six months ago, she’d never have believed it.
Now, she walked Max across town to avoid him. It was suffocating.
“Stay with me,” Sarah offered.
“But the flat?”
“Let it out. A colleague’s hunting for a short let—perfectionist type, the sort who tightens taps ’til they squeak.”
They laughed, and Emily finally fixed that dripping kitchen tap. No scaring off potential tenants.
A knock startled her. Not James, thankfully—a stranger.
“Hello, plumbing job?”
“Yes, come in.”
Michael—young, handsome, skilled—had the tap fixed in no time.
“I’ll check the bathroom sink.”
“Please… and maybe the shelf? The cupboard door creaks…”
Two hours later, her flat was flawless.
“You’re a lifesaver, Mike.”
As she paid him, another knock. James—smelling weakness.
“Damn it…”
“Husband home? No worries—I’m in uniform. He won’t suspect a thing,” Mike joked.
An idea struck.
“I need the opposite…” she blushed. James hammered the door.
“Opposite?”
“My ex. I can’t shake him,” she admitted, staring at the floor. “Sorry—this isn’t your problem.”
“Mate, I’ve heard it all,” Mike chuckled. “You’d be surprised what clients ask.”
“Really?” Her cheeks burned hotter.
“Need more than plumbing help? Happy to oblige,” he winked, shrugging on his jacket.
She showed him out… and James, lurking, spotted the handsome stranger leaving.
By Monday, Sarah had bad news:
“Sorry, love—my mate found another place.”
“No worries. Honestly, I couldn’t uproot Max anyway. Your lad’s allergic, and I won’t kennel him.”
“Oh, right… Plan B, then.”
“I’ve got one… tall, dark, and handy,” Emily smirked. “Excuse to call him—bathroom shelf collapsed.”
“Details. Now,” Sarah demanded. Promising to spill later, Emily rang Mike.
Strangely, he wasn’t surprised.
“I’ll come. Tonight. Wait up.”
He arrived out of uniform—jeans, a tee, and… flowers.
“These… why?”
“For you. Not for fixing pipes—just because.”
“Thanks. Then this is for you.” She handed him a bowl of stew. “Homemade. Fancy some?”
“Wouldn’t say no.”
They chatted easily—until James rang.
“Em! I’ve been at your door for days! Where’ve you been?”
“Busy. Living.”
“Living? Work and telly, more like! Stop lying! Anyway, I’m coming over. Need those old curtains—new place, empty as a tomb. Thought of your spares on the balcony. Pack ’em up… or maybe—”
“No ‘maybe.’ I’m busy—feeding stew to a man.”
Silence. Then Mike played along—loudly.
“Let him come,” he said. James heard.
“If so… I will.”
Emily sank onto a chair, face in hands.
“Don’t fret. I’ll handle it,” Mike assured.
“Can you… pretend to be mine?”
“Course.”
“I’m just… tired. I’ll do anything to end this. Blocked his number, warned the concierge, alerted work security… He’s a bulldozer.”
“We’ll send him packing.”
“Charge extra for that?”
“A bowl of stew’s payment enough.” That grin again.
Mike acted as well as he plumbed.
When James barged in, Emily was laughing at the stove… where Mike stood, flour-dusted tee clinging to his arms.
“Here? We’re making dumplings,” she beamed. “Potato and mushroom.”
“And you are?” James sized Mike up.
“Mike. Fiancé. You must be the ex—the one harassing my girl? Cheers, mate,” he rolled his sleeves, flexing.
“I… wait…” James paled. “Thought she was bluffing. Who’d want her? She’s… y’know…”
“I do. Why d’you think you’re sniffing round? Listen, pal—if I catch youAs Mike left that night, whistling on the doorstep with a tupperware of dumplings in hand, Emily realised—some repairs aren’t just for pipes, but for hearts too.
