**The Dream of Sweet Revenge**
*”Darling, can you fetch me from work?”* Emily called her husband, hoping to escape the weary forty-minute bus ride after a gruelling day.
*”Love, could you pick me up?”* she asked again, voice tinged with exhaustion.
*”Im busy,”* Oliver replied flatly. In the background, the telly blaredproof he was home, idle.
A heavy sorrow settled in Emilys chest. Their marriage was unravelling. Only six months ago, Oliver had sworn hed carry her through fire. What changed? She didnt know.
She kept fit, hours at the gym. Cooked magnificentlyno surprise she worked at a bustling bistro. Never asked for money, never made a scene, always eager to indulge his whims
*”Youll wear him out like this,”* her mother chided. *”Cant spoil a man rotten.”*
*”I just love him,”* Emily murmured, a frail smile clinging to her lips. *”And he loves me”*
*****
*”Hes grown tired, then,”* Emily thought bitterly, gnawing her lip as she scrolled through his browser history. Oliver spent every free hour on dating sites, chatting with womendozens at once. *”Why not just tell me? Id have let him go. Why suffer, trapped with a wife he doesnt love?”*
Divorce. Shed survive. But not without a little revenge
That night, she signed up on the same site, found him, and began to flirt. A stolen photo, lightly touched upshe knew hed bite. And he did.
Their messages grew feverish. Oliver claimed he was single, ready for commitment, for children. Boasted of his *marvellous* temperament, which made Emily laugh until her ribs ached. She knew *exactly* how difficult he was.
*”Lets meet,”* she typed, pulse quickening as she waited.
*”Brilliant!”* he replied instantly. *”Though my sisters staying overrevising for her A-levels. Neutral spot first, then a hotel?”*
*”Seriously?”* Emily whispered. *”Who proposes a hotel so brazenly? Any decent woman would slap you.”* But it served her purpose.
*”Come to mine instead. A cottage on the outskirtsquiet, private…”* Would he take the bait?
*”Perfect!”* Olivers delight was palpable. No need to waste pounds on a room. *”Address and time?”*
*”25 Willow Lane, 10 PM.”*
*”Be there.”*
At nine, Oliver feigned an urgent work call. Couldnt find his car keys. Grudgingly, he asked Emily if shed seen them.
*”They were on the table,”* she said, wide-eyed, fingers curled around the keys in her pocket. *”Maybe the cat took them?”*
But Emily wouldnt wait. She packed her thingsthank heavens for Grans old flat. The only thing left behind? Divorce papers on the table, unsigned.
Oliver returned at dawn, fuming. The trip took *ages*, and his mystery woman*Lily* from the sitewasnt there.
The address was real. The cottage? Real. But the woman who answered wore only a sheer robe, twice his size. Oliver wouldve paid *all* his salary to erase the memory.
A struggle to escape. A cab calleddriver chatty, route *baffling*. A *very* long detour. By the time he stumbled home, frost had bitten through his thin jacket.
Then he saw the papers. And the message scrawled beside them in red lipstick:
*”Sweet revenge, darling.”*
