**A Sin Like a Nut, a Core Like a Bucket**
*I can’t fathom it—a man his age swept away by youthful passions! He’s forty-six! What on earth is he thinking? That girl could be his daughter! What kind of love could they possibly share? Hah! Fallen head over heels like a mouse tumbling into a box. I refuse to understand it!* Susan fumed over her husband’s behaviour, venting to her dearest friend, Emily.
*Don’t jump to conclusions, Sue. Things will sort themselves out. You’ve got the perfect family,* Emily soothed, though she—along with colleagues and neighbours—knew full well the illusion of Susan’s picture-perfect marriage was hanging by a thread.
James, Susan’s husband, had become a man possessed. Restless, distracted—utterly unlike himself.
It began with an accident. A simple car mishap that twisted, first, into a fleeting infatuation, then into a consuming late-life love affair.
Winter. Black ice coated the roads. James drove carefully, as always, easing to a stop at a pedestrian crossing. Then, from nowhere—a girl dashed out, slamming onto the bonnet of his car. For a heartbeat, he thought she’d thrown herself at him deliberately. But there was no time to dwell. He leapt out to help her.
The girl groaned, clutching her side, but refused a trip to the hospital. *Just a cuppa would do,* she insisted.
James brought her to his office, brewed tea, buttered toast. She introduced herself—Angelica, a name as sweet as her face: dimpled, curly-haired, wise beyond her years, yet somehow enchantingly delicate. He could’ve stared at her all day, listening to her mesmerising voice—but he shook off the spell and ushered her out. Courtesy demanded nothing more than his business card.
*Call if you need anything.*
By evening, he’d forgotten the incident.
Two days later, Angelica rang. She needed to see him—urgently. Still guilt-ridden, James agreed.
Her tiny flat smelled of lavender. A makeshift bandage wrapped her wrist. *I—I tried hammering a picture up in the kitchen, but my arm… Could you?*
Of course he could.
The picture hung within minutes. Then, wine appeared on the table. *We should celebrate. Been meaning to put that up forever. Never had a man’s help before.*
James couldn’t refuse. Poor girl, so lovely, so alone.
They talked for hours. The wine vanished; the fruit sat untouched. Words poured like a river between them.
He returned home dazed, slipping in past midnight. His wife and daughter slept soundly, accustomed to his late hours.
Six months later, James announced he was leaving.
Susan and Lizzie were convinced he’d lost his mind. There had been signs—his forgetfulness of Susan’s birthday, the dwindling household budget, his prolonged absences. Susan brushed them aside. She’d scoffed at the saying *”There’s no fool like an old fool.”*
She had trusted him implicitly.
In hysterics, she turned to Lizzie. *Find out who she is. How serious this is.*
Lizzie, already one step ahead, had visited her father’s new love. *Mum… he’s smitten. No doubt. She’s twenty-six—five years older than me. Angelica. And—this is the cruel bit—she looks just like you. Same face.*
Susan paled. When Lizzie showed her a photo, she reached for a sedative.
*God—no. It can’t be!*
Lizzie was baffled.
Old sins cast long shadows. *This one has finally caught up with me,* Susan thought bleakly.
Years ago, at seventeen, Susan had fallen hard for her first husband. He’d swept her up—charming, relentless. They moved in with his mother, Margaret, a gentle soul who adored Susan like her own.
Then came baby Angelica.
Margaret, widowed young, had longed for a daughter. Now, she had one in her granddaughter. *A little angel,* she cooed, naming the child.
Angelica grew to resemble Susan strikingly. But when she was three, her father left—on *business*, he claimed. Six months passed. No return.
Susan found a letter—hidden, addressed to Margaret. Her husband had found *true love* elsewhere. *Talk to Susan for me, Mum. Make her understand…*
Devastated, Susan confronted Margaret. *You knew! Your son’s a scoundrel! What am I supposed to do now?*
*Susan, love—I prayed he’d come back. But now there’s a baby—his new woman’s. You’re young. Start fresh. Just—leave Angelica with me. I beg you.*
Susan did. She met James on a bus—a clumsy man who’d stepped on her foot, apologising profusely. They married swiftly. Susan never mentioned Angelica.
Her old life faded. Visits to Angelica dwindled, then ceased entirely. A new daughter, Lizzie, arrived.
Now, decades later, Angelica had reappeared—stealing Susan’s husband.
Susan visited her daughter’s flat while James was at work. *No need to drag him into this mess.*
Angelica answered the door, composed—expectant. *Hello… Mum. Here for your husband?*
Susan stood silent.
*I’ve dreamed of revenge since I was fifteen. Lying awake, plotting. I wanted to hurt you. And I have—haven’t I, Mummy?*
*Revenge?*
*Gran died when I was eleven. The care home was hell. Slaps instead of kisses. Cold, hungry, angry—that’s when I decided. Take your husband. Make you suffer. But then—I fell in love with James. Funny, isn’t it?*
*Angelica—I didn’t know.*
*No, you didn’t. I don’t pity you. Get out.*
Susan whispered, *The road’s long—full of stumbles. Forgive me. Just—don’t tell James. Or Lizzie.*
A year later, Angelica died in childbirth—twins. With her last breath, she murmured to James: *Name the boy Jamie. The girl… Susie. Go home to your family.*
When Susan heard, she went to him. James, stunned, expected scorn. Instead, she cradled the newborns—sleeping, snuffling, blissfully unaware.
*James—we’ll manage. Come home. These little ones—they’re family too.*
