**Retribution**
Edmund grew up as a quiet and intelligent boy. His parents spared no expense for their only child, enrolling him in various clubs and activities to ensure he became well-rounded and well-educated. Edmund practised aikido, played chess, and had a talent for drawing. As he grew older, he took up playing the guitar.
While his peers invited girls to the cinema, indulged in cheap wine and cigarettes, Edmund stayed home, strumming chords and singing in his husky voice.
His parents dreamed of a successful future for him. There was nothing for him in their small town of fourteen thousand people. After finishing school, Edmund—with his excellent grades—easily secured a place at a prestigious university in Manchester, studying the fashionable field of information technology.
The day before term began, his father drove him to stay with his aunt. She had lost her husband a year prior, and her grown children had moved away. Dormitories were too rowdy, full of distractions that could hinder his studies. His mother stayed behind to avoid an emotional farewell. His father left him some money and drove home.
For the first time, Edmund was left to his own devices. His aunt took little interest in his affairs, only ensuring he was fed and didn’t come home too late.
Freed from parental supervision, his classmates ran wild, skipping lectures. Edmund kept to himself—he had never been one for parties. From day one, his attention was captured by Violet, a beautiful blonde.
The lads whispered that Violet had enrolled in the male-dominated faculty solely to find a wealthy husband. She struggled academically, but few professors failed her—she was pleasant to look at, and correcting her mistakes gave them an excuse to hover near her.
But Violet had no shortage of admirers. She dismissed Edmund as a bookish bore. What would they talk about—music, chess, or dull computer science? In every way, he was beneath her notice.
Yet Edmund suffered from unrequited love. He longed to be near Violet every moment—in lectures (which she rarely attended) or the dormitory. On his next visit home, he announced he wanted to move into halls. His aunt lived too far from campus, wasting precious time. His father shouted; his mother wept.
But Edmund promised it wouldn’t affect his studies—he could be trusted. Besides, he was practically the only one in his year not living on campus. Reluctantly, they relented.
Edmund was overjoyed. Now he could see Violet not just in lectures but in the evenings too. He invented excuses to knock on her door, but she remained indifferent.
Even in group outings, she refused to dance with him, slipping outside to smoke. Edmund took up smoking too, but it brought him no closer to the golden-haired beauty.
The summer holidays were torture—two months without her. He ached, counting down the days until term resumed. Another year passed.
Edmund excelled, his professors praising him and predicting a bright future. Returning to campus on August 31st (his mother had refused to let him leave sooner), he learned Violet had married. The news shattered him. Her husband was a star athlete, the university’s pride.
Violet vanished from the dormitory, moving into his flat. Edmund only saw her in lectures, watching from afar. Once, before winter exams, he asked to borrow her notes, claiming he’d missed a lecture.
“Ask someone else,” she said. “I need to study too.”
“The test is in two days—I’ll return them tomorrow,” he pleaded, gazing at her with adoring eyes.
She sighed and handed them over.
The next day, Edmund skipped lectures for the first time—just to return them in person. Overheard in the canteen, Violet had complained her husband was away at competitions again, his grades guaranteed.
Edmund got her address from a classmate. Timing his visit for when she’d be home, he arrived with a pounding heart, wanting only to see her, talk to her, confess his love. He rang the bell—but her broad-shouldered husband answered.
“What do you want?” the man growled.
“To return Violet’s notes,” Edmund mumbled.
The athlete snatched them and slammed the door in his face.
Edmund switched groups and moved back to his aunt’s.
***
Fifteen years later
The office celebrated Edmund Carrington’s promotion to director. His predecessor had been transferred to London. Among the colleagues were old classmates like Lydia, a diligent mother of twins.
She pulled him aside, genuinely thrilled for him. “I always knew you’d go far,” she said, adjusting her glasses.
“A plain little thing, but married,” Edmund thought, eyeing the framed photo of her happy family.
“I’m glad too,” he said smoothly. “I can finally offer you the position you deserve.”
“Thank you, but—” She hesitated. “Remember Violet Ashford? She was in our year.”
Of course he remembered. Feigning effort, he pretended to recall.
“She married in third year—Mikhail Dolnikov, the star athlete. Surely you remember?”
He remembered the humiliation when Dolnikov shut the door on him.
“It’s ugly,” Lydia continued. “She got pregnant straight away, but he made her abort it—said they had time. Then she couldn’t conceive again. Last year, she found out he’d been keeping a mistress—they have a son. She divorced him, stayed with me a week. The flat was his.” She studied him. “I always thought you fancied her.”
“Did I? Hardly recall,” he lied.
“Anyway, she needs work. I know she wasn’t the sharpest, but I’ll help her. Will you?”
Edmund faked consideration, heart hammering. “She knows I’m successful now—asked Lydia to speak for her. I’ll see her soon…” He drained his champagne.
“Fine. Remind me next week—I’ll see when I’m free.”
“Thank you! I knew you’d help!”
“Don’t thank me yet. If she fails, I’ll sack her.”
Lydia beamed. “She’ll try.”
As the party wore on, Edmund grew impatient. “Time to end this before they wreck the place.”
Driving home in his new Audi, he thought of Violet. “Divorced. I wonder what she looks like now…”
***
After university, Edmund joined a top firm. His clever programs earned recognition.
He married a sweet but dim girl who cared only for shopping and holidays. Bored, he divorced her in two years. Other women came and went, but none captured him. He focused on work.
***
On Monday, Lydia peeked into his office. “Violet—when should she come?”
Edmund leaned back. “Thursday, one o’clock.”
She smiled. “I’ll tell her. You’re a real friend.”
He deliberately arrived late on Thursday, making Violet wait. Passing reception, he nodded curtly. Five minutes later, he buzzed her in.
Violet entered timidly.
“Sit.”
She had aged—her beauty softer now, her movements hesitant. She wore a smart dress, minimal makeup.
“Hello, Edmund. You recognised me?”
“Of course.”
She lowered her eyes. “You’ve changed…”
“Where have you worked? Why leave?” he demanded.
She listed office jobs—receptionist, secretary. Regaining composure, she met his gaze. “I need work—any position.”
“Even cleaner?”
She flinched but stayed seated, clutching her handbag.
“Joking. I’ll start you as secretary.”
“Thank you!”
“Don’t rush. Think it over.”
She started the next day. He tormented her—rejecting drafts, changing meeting times without notice, scolding her. She endured it, biting her lip.
Once, he hid crucial documents from her desk. The next day, he reduced her to tears demanding them.
“You’re punishing me,” she sobbed.
“Perhaps. Did you think I’d still adore you? Now I’m the boss—you’ll take anything to keep your job, won’t you?”
Mascara streaked her face. His chest ached.
“What will you do to make up for losing them?”
She looked up, confused.
“Anything? For a secretary’s wage?” he sneered.
“I’ve no choice,” she whispered.
“There’s always a choice. You never noticed me—why grovel now?”
“Father’s dead. Mother’s ill—I spent all I had on her care. I need this job.” She stood, unbuttoning her blouse.
“You’d sleep with me for money?” He caught her hands. “You still don’t love me. I don’t want that. Go clean up.”
He expected her to quit, but next morning, she returned.
“Take this down,” he dictated. “‘Violet Ashford is relieved of her duties…'”
Her pen froze.
“…due to promotion to manager, effective immediately.”
She gaped.
“Sign it today. Try not to mess up.”
“Thank you. You always seemed too clever—I felt stupid beside you. That’s why I chose Dolnikov. I—”
“Gratitude isn’t love,” he said sadly.
“You think I didn’*”But sometimes,” she whispered, reaching for his hand, “it grows into something just as precious.”*
