My name is Helen Martin, and I live in Rye, where the quiet shores bear the marks of history. I’ve known Oliver for what feels like forever. He was always the life of the party, a lover of women and an easy-going life. But fate had other plans, and now he’s muddling through a mess of his own making.
His wife, Sarah, has been working in Germany for two years now. She left their two grown children with him and went abroad to earn a living. She returns just once a year in the summer for a week or two, as her job doesn’t allow more time off. Yet, each month she reliably deposits money into their joint account for Oliver to use. Recently, we ran into each other on the street, and he invited me for coffee. Over our drinks, he unloaded his story—a tale bitter as cheap coffee and so absurd that I still can’t fathom how he ended up like this.
When Sarah went abroad, Oliver endured a year of solitude, filling the void with short flings with old flames. Eventually, he decided enough was enough. Craving warmth and passion, he began yearning for someone to share his bed. “We only live once,” he’d tell himself, fixing his sights on Anne, a young girl who had long piqued his interest. She resisted initially, playing the hard-to-get game, but eventually gave in and became his mistress. Stunning as a magazine model but with a temperament to rival a storm—her tantrums and demands were endless. And Oliver, as soft and pliable as clay in her hands, catered to her every whim.
He knew all too well: nothing good comes from such affairs, especially when you’re a pushover willing to do anything for a smile. Anne bled him dry: first for clothes and bills, then for renovations at her home and cottage, a prom for her son, and a new television. It went so far that he even bought her a second-hand car. When his savings ran out, he started dipping into Sarah’s account—taking out thousands, naïvely thinking no one would find out. But secrets inevitably come to light. Sarah learned about the affair—courtesy of “helpful souls” who spread the news across borders. She gave him an earful over a video call, yelling so loudly that it seemed the glass might shatter. She threatened to tell their daughters—who adored their father and saw him as a hero—but would ostracize him for such betrayal. She vowed to return and file for divorce if he didn’t break it off.
And Anne clung to him like a leech, unwilling to lose such a generous “sugar daddy.” She staged a pregnancy scare, swearing she’d have the child, tugging at his heartstrings. In a panic, Oliver whisked her off to a resort to talk her out of it. She agreed to an abortion but handed him a bill—£10,000 he didn’t have. He had to take out a loan, sinking deeper into debt. Just as he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the nightmare was over, Anne began an affair with his boss. Now, under her spell, the manager torments Oliver at work—humiliates him and threatens to fire him. Losing his job would mean he couldn’t pay his debt. Caught in a precarious situation, Oliver confessed his urge to run to Sarah in Germany—leave everything behind and beg for forgiveness. Maybe, somehow, he could salvage what’s left of his life? He smiled bitterly before leaving, muttering, “I knew there’s no such thing as a free lunch, but my piece turned out to be too salty.” I sat staring at my empty cup, left to ponder a man who has trapped himself in this hell—chasing after fleeting passion, throwing away a loving family for a demanding mistress. While Sarah toils in a foreign land to ensure their children live well, he squandered it all on a capricious parasite. Their daughters, should they learn the truth, would curse him—rightfully so.
I watch him flounder, but can’t help but wonder: what next? Anne will drain him and leave him empty. The boss will cast him out, and he’ll be left with nothing—no family, no home, burdened by a debt that will dog him forever. He believed youth could be bought, love was but a trinket wrapped in shiny paper. And now he pays for it—alone, with nothing left. Sarah might take him back, but forgive him? I wouldn’t. He betrayed not just her but their children and the grandchildren who could have brightened his twilight years. Instead, there’s only a young vixen mocking him behind his back. That’s the joker for you—now just a shadow of himself, doomed to remember this lesson forever.
