**Diary Entry**
I never imagined Id be writing this, but here I am, sitting in my sisters flat, nursing a glass of wine while my world crumbles around me. My husband and his mistress changed the locks while I was at worklittle did they know what was coming next.
When I arrived at our flat in London, key in hand, only to find it wouldnt turn, my heart sank. The marriage Id fought so hard to save had shattered in an instant. But my cheating husband and his mistress had no idea the lesson I had in store for themone theyd never forget.
“James, its almost ten,” Id said, my voice trembling when I called him that evening. “You promised youd be home by seven.”
He tossed his keys onto the side table without even looking at me.
“Work, Emily. What do you want me to do, tell my boss I need to run home to my wife?” His tone dripped with irritation, as if I were an inconvenience.
I swallowed the sting, staring at the table Id set for a quiet birthday dinner. Two candles flickered beside a cake Id bought during my lunch break.
“Yes, James. Thats exactly what I wanted. Just once.” I crossed my arms, blinking back tears. “Its my birthday.”
He finally glanced at the table, and his face twisted in realisation.
“Bloody hell, Emily, I forgot” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Clearly,” I replied coldly, feeling my chest tighten.
“Dont start,” he snapped. “Im doing this for us, you know that.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
“For us? Youre barely home, James. When was the last time we had dinner together? Watched a film? Just talked like husband and wife?”
“Thats not fair,” he scowled. “Im building a career so we can have a future.”
“What future? We live like strangers under the same roof!” My voice cracked. “I earn more than youlets not hide behind providing for the family.”
His face darkened.
“Of course, youd throw that in my face,” he sneered. “How could I ever measure up to my successful wife?”
“Thats not what I meant”
“Enough, Emily. Im going to bed.” He walked away, leaving me alone with a cold cake and dead candles.
I blew them out, whispering to myself that things would get better. He was my husband. I loved him. Marriage has its rough patches, doesnt it? Thats what everyone says.
How wrong I was to let him off so easily.
James and I had been married for three years, but the last one was a slow, painful unravelling. No childrenthank God for small mercies. My job as a marketing director covered most of our expenses while James, a sales manager, constantly complained about stress, long hours, travel everything but the truth I discovered too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I came home early with a splitting headache. All I wanted was painkillers and my bed. But as I pulled up to our flat in the outskirts of London, something felt off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, now gleamed silver.
“What the” I muttered, trying my key. It didnt fit.
I tried again. Nothing. I checked the address. Yes, this was definitely my home.
Then I saw the note taped to the doorJamess handwriting glaring at me: *”This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.”*
My stomach dropped.
“What the hell?!” I shouted.
I pounded on the door, screaming his name. Finally, it swung open. There stood James, and behind hima woman in my cashmere dressing gown, a gift from my mother.
“Are you serious?” My voice shook with fury.
“Emily, listen,” he said, arms crossed, smirking. “Ive moved on. Lily and I are together now. We need this place. Go stay with someone.”
*Lily.* The same “just a colleague” hed mentioned for months. She stepped closer, hands on her hips, and said smugly,
“Your things are in boxes in the garage. Take them and leave.”
I stared, disbelieving. Then I turned on my heel and walked back to my car, my blood boiling. They thought they could toss me out like rubbish and get away with it. But I wasnt done. I needed a plan. A solid, calculated plan.
I knew exactly who to call.
“Emily? Oh my God, what happened?” My sister Charlotte flung open her door, took one look at my face, and pulled me inside. “Whats going on?”
I collapsed onto her sofa, the story pouring out between sobs.
“The absolute nerve!” Charlotte hissed when I finished. “And that Lily was wearing your dressing gown?”
“Mums birthday gift,” I choked out, wiping my eyes. “The cashmere one.”
Charlotte marched to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine. “We drink first. Then we figure out how to ruin them.”
