“Sorry it’s turned out this way.”
“Harry, are you sure you’ve got everything? Shouldn’t you double-check?” I called, stopping in front of the closed bathroom door.
“Emily, relax! I packed a whole suitcase—you saw it,” he answered over the sound of the shower. But his voice… his voice wavered. Or did I imagine it?
“I saw the suitcase. Not what you stuffed in it,” I muttered, stepping back.
“Em, could you make me a coffee? Strong. No milk,” he added calmly, turning off the water.
I went to the kitchen, silently pulling out the French press, pouring water, adding ground coffee, a pinch of salt—just how he liked it. We have a coffee machine, but Harry adores the coffee I make. “You’re so thoughtful,” he’d said the night before, coming home late from work and finding me wrapping his dinner in a tea towel—an old habit from my nan—to keep it warm.
Lately, he’d been staying late—supposedly at work. Building his career. Prepping for a promotion. And I… quietly supported. Cooking, ironing, enduring.
“God, that smell is heavenly!” Harry said, stepping into the kitchen and pushing damp hair off his forehead. He sat at the table, reaching for his mug.
“Em, I’ve got a delivery coming today—car seat covers. Can you take them? Cash on delivery,” he said, stirring in a spoon of sugar.
“Sure. Same as always,” I said, sitting across from him.
“This business trip couldn’t have come at a worse time,” he sighed. “But I can’t say no. You know how it is—might be my only shot. Senior manager’s no joke.”
“Right… Didn’t think a role like that would mean traipsing around the country.”
“Boss’s whims. Anyway, I’ve got half an hour—gonna check emails from my phone.”
He stood, left the room. Didn’t clear his mug. Whatever. He’s wound up.
I reached for his cup, and then my phone buzzed—a message. I opened it.
*”Emily, Harry’s lying. It’s not a business trip. He’s flying to Italy with Sophie Carter. Stop him before it’s too late. He’s wrecking his life.”*
Jessica. His younger sister.
Something in my head snapped. He… with Sophie? No way. A joke? But Jess isn’t one for cruel pranks. And she wouldn’t lie.
Everything blurred. The air thickened like cement. I could barely breathe. Struggled up, poured myself water—then slumped back down.
I wanted to scream. Shatter everything. But all I could think was: *Why?*
I clenched my fists. Wanted to storm in, tear off his mask. But… no. He didn’t deserve the drama.
Let him go. I’ll give him a surprise—not a scene, but action.
Opened the banking app. Joint account: £12,000. Somehow, he’d already taken £3,000—*my* money, from *my* freelance projects, nights of work. And he… used my savings to take his ex on holiday.
I knew about Sophie. He’d mentioned her, and Jess had slipped details once. School sweetheart, flighty. Left him twice—first for some rich bloke, then a “promising” type. Now she’s back. Harry fell for it. Lied again.
He could’ve just said, *”Em, I love someone else. Sorry.”* It’d hurt, but not like this. Instead, he stole, lied, packed his bags…
Fine. I’ll take the rest. Today. Every penny. Then divorce. Courier his things to his parents’ house.
Checked my calendar—big Zoom presentation tomorrow noon. If it goes well, I’ll book leave. Not Italy. Portugal, maybe. Somewhere *he’s* never been.
“Em, I’m off. Thought I’d leave early,” Harry said, stepping into the kitchen, suited up, tie neat.
“Bye. Safe trip,” I croaked, gripping my mug.
“What’s with the tone?”
“Nothing.”
“Gonna miss you…”
“Doubt you’ll have time.”
“Not walking me out?”
“I’ll do the washing-up.”
“Right. See you.”
The door slammed. Harry had no idea he’d just left for good. Tomorrow, the locks change.
Sat down. Sobbed. Hard. From the betrayal, the humiliation.
Another message from Jess: *”You okay?”*
I wiped my face, called her.
“Jess, how do you know?”
“Sophie’s mate told me. She’s latched onto Harry again. He’s swallowed it. Em, I’m sorry—”
“Thanks for telling me. Didn’t stop him. Let him crash.”
“He’s an idiot. She’ll drop him a third time.”
“His choice. Jess, don’t let on I know.”
“Wouldn’t talk to him anyway. Sick of him!”
“Thanks. Let’s stay close. Even after the divorce.”
“Course, Em. Hang in there.”
Opened the bank app again. Another £1,000 gone. *Hurry!* No. Calm. Transfer the rest to Mum. *My* mum. He’s lost all rights.
“Mum, sending you £11,000. He took the rest.”
“What’s wrong, love?”
“Divorce. He’s in Italy with his mistress.”
“Christ… Em, stay strong. We’re here. It’ll pass. You’ll meet someone decent.”
“No, Mum. Not looking. Maybe just… have a baby alone. That’s it.”
“Well… it’s an option. Aunt Grace’s nephew’s single, lovely bloke—”
“Mum, *not now.*”
“Alright, love. Just don’t give up.”
Hung up. Pulled myself together. Tomorrow’s a new day. Harry’s gone, but I’m still here. Whole. Real. And my life’s still mine—no lies, no betrayal. Without him.
