Arthur slammed the brakes just before the gate and sat perfectly still. The Jaguar had already disappeared inside, and the iron gate clanged shut behind him, leaving him out like an unwelcome guest. Before his eyes rose a sleek modern manorfloortoceiling windows, a manicured lawn, bright flower beds and a tidy pond. Everything shouted wealth and prestige.
Does Blythe live here? And where on earth does she get the money for a place like that? the thought thumped in his head.
Jealousy cut him like a cold knife. Arthur, who had spent his whole life bragging that he was a serious sort of fellow and had left his former partner with nothing, now lingered in his battered hatchback at her doorstep. And she she had clearly made it.
He lingered in the car for ages, then saw the lights flicker on in the windows. Inside people laughed, glasses of wine clinked, and through the crowd he spotted Blytheconfident, smiling, with that lively spark hed once tried to dim.
Bloody hell he muttered. How is this even possible?
The next day he returned. He waited for another car to pull in and slipped through the gate behind it, his heart hammering like a runaway train.
On the veranda Blythe stood with a camera in hand, directing two young men fiddling with equipment. Beside her a woman typed away on a laptop. The scene looked more like a professional studio than a private residence.
Arthur tried to make a dash for it, but Blythe spotted him instantly.
Arthur? her voice was calm, tinged with surprise. What are you doing here?
I uh he cleared his throat, embarrassed. I just wanted to see how you live.
She stared at him for a long moment, as if reading his thoughts.
Im doing well, she finally said. I have a job.
A job? Arthur scoffed, bitterly. And that job bought you a Jaguar and a manor?
The young men shuffled awkwardly. Blythe waved them off.
Yes, she replied. I run my own studio. We do work for magazines, brands, galleries. I found investors, and it all paid off.
Arthur blinked. Hed never imagined photography could be a goldmine.
Lies! he snapped. After the divorce you had nothing!
Thats right, Blythe nodded. I had nothing but myself. And that turned out to be enough.
Her words hit him like a hammer. The demure, silent woman hed left penniless was gone; in her place stood a strong, beautiful, selfassured Blythe who wasnt afraid of anything.
Do you think Ive forgiven you? she said softly. No, Arthur. But I let you go. And thats why I started living again.
His throat went dry. He wanted to explain, to apologise, even to beg for forgiveness, but all that came out was:
You were always nothing without me.
Blythe sighed, gave a faint smile tinged with regret.
No, Arthur. I was nothing with you.
At that moment a little girl, about six, burst from the house and leapt into Blythes arms.
Mum! she shouted, delighted.
Arthur froze.
This he stammered.
This is my daughter, Blythe said calmly. And you have nothing to do with her.
He watched them both and felt something inside him crack. For the first time he understood he hadnt just lost a womanhed lost any chance of a different future.
From that day on he started looking at home through new eyes. His new girlfriend constantly teased his old clappedout car, demanded gifts, theatre tickets and posh events. In her eyes there was nothing but curiosity.
One evening he admitted, Im jealous. Im jealous of the woman I broke myself.
He sat alone in his drab flat, staring at the faded wallpaper, and couldnt recall the last time hed truly laughed.
Meanwhile, Blythe opened her exhibition in central London. Her photos captured lifestreet scenes, portraits, urban landscapes. Each frame glowed with light, freedom, emotion. The crowd applauded, critics penned glowing reviews, and she stood amid them, calm and proud, knowing shed won.
It wasnt Arthur who had won; shed beaten the old Blythe whod stayed silent and compromised.
Arthur remained outside. Alone. In the dark.
And then it struck him: the biggest defeat in life is losing the person you were meant to support, only to try to break them instead.
