She cant have changed that much! Ian stood frozen in front of the glossy window of an upscale bistro, his mouth suddenly refusing to form a word. No, it cant be her. I cant believe Poppy would look like that. He lurked behind the display, eyes glued to his former wife as she sat at a corner table, typing intently on a laptop. A waiter placed a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a small cake topped with raspberries and strawberries before her. How does she look so pristine? And where on earth did she get that designer bracelet? It must have cost a fortune. Ian bit his lip, edging away so she wouldnt spot him.
***
Ian and Charlotte had first met six years earlier. Fresh out of university, Ian landed a junior role at a wellknown construction firm, and his career took off at a respectable pace. At a trade fair in Birmingham, he struck up a conversation with a pleasant young woman staffing a stand. What are you doing here among all these excavators? How about we grab a coffee instead? he joked, flashing a grin. Charlotte, shy but friendly, quickly caught his eye.
Exactly the kind of girl I need agreeable, never argues, always says yes. Shed make the perfect, obedient wife, Ian thought, his imagination already sketching a picture of domestic bliss. Shes a bit on the plump side but a gym membership could sort that out. And if she ever decides to have kids, Ill just take a lover. He handed her a coffee cup with a smug smile.
So, what brings you to the fair? Ian asked as they stepped outside together.
Im actually writing short stories. I dream of becoming a screenwriter, Charlotte replied, her blue eyes lighting up with a shy smile.
Ive just finished my degree in literature. Im still finding my footing, but rent still has to be paid.
Ian, already plotting, thought, *She has no cash, no property. I could shape this grey mouse into anything a cook, a housekeeper, a mother, obedient to the last degree.* He immediately began bragging about his future plans.
***
Later, Ian bought a coffee from a kiosk across the street, settled on a bench, and kept watching Charlotte. When she stepped outside again, Ians jaw practically dropped. She glided in a sleek fur coat, her posture graceful as ever. The threeyear gap had transformed her beyond recognition. And when she slipped into a gleaming Aston Martin, Ian was left speechless.
She must have found herself a rich bloke. Thats the only explanation. He gulped the hot coffee down, clutching the cup as if it could protect him from the shock. Meanwhile, Charlotte drove off into the unknown.
That night Ian tossed and turned. After their breakup, Poppy had blocked him on all social platforms. Unable to resist, he created a new account just to stalk her photos. Envy, jealousy, hatred, fury a full cocktail of negativity washed over him as he downed half a litre of whisky. She could never have changed like this I took her in when she was nothing, no money, no flat, no looks. Where did these luxury hotel snaps, designer bags, and jewellery come from? he muttered, eyes narrowed at the glossy images. Shes lost at least ten stone, those curves! Plastic surgery? Or does she never leave the gym? He slammed his phone shut in a fit of rage.
***
The next morning, a stray memory of a conversation with Charlotte resurfaced. Its all nonsense. Who reads this anyway? he said, shaking his head after skimming her latest short story.
Everyones tastes differ, Charlotte replied shyly. I already have a few admirers.
Admirers, huh? Ian smirked. Probably the kind who have no brain left.
Ian, why are you like this? his wifes trembling voice broke through. Weve been together a year, yet you cant accept that I might have my own interests. Im not criticizing your work; you spend days buried in it.
Exactly! Ian shouted. If you helped me with the business, I wouldnt be stuck in the office all the time.
And thats an idea, Ian snapped, leaping from his chair. Come on, stop doing things that dont benefit our family. From now on you stop writing and start helping me.
What? Stop writing? Charlotte froze by the window, shock obvious on her face.
Yes, thats it, Poppy. Playtimes over. If you want our marriage to survive and our life to improve, youll quit that pointless scribbling and start being useful. He glared at her.
But my soul is in those stories! I cant just bury my whole lifes work, she whispered, tears welling.
I dont give a toss. No one else needs it. Right now youre useless. From today youll follow a list of tasks I give you every morning.
I dont understand any of this youre taking away what matters to me, Charlotte sobbed, turning away.
Ungrateful. Ive supported you for a year. You live in my flat, I buy you presents, I even took you to the seaside. Ian ranted. Either you help me or you can go screw yourself.
Youre not holding me by force. If you dont like it, the doors over there. He gestured dismissively.
Poppy wiped her eyes, closed her laptop, and turned off the computer. Ian never saw her write another story again.
***
A year later, Ian had built a network of contacts and amassed a tidy sum, partly from selling his late mothers cottage. He launched his own construction firm. From dawn till dusk, Charlotte handled paperwork, prepared presentations, managed crews, and arranged meetings. By the second year, hed developed a suburban housing estate and was raking in decent money. Everything was fineexcept her appearance.
The relentless grind and constant stress drove Charlotte to a sugary habit, and she began to gain weight rapidly.
Where am I supposed to go with this piggy? Ian complained to his mate Tom over pints at the local pub.
Looks a bit grim, Tom replied, glancing at a photo on Ians phone.
So Ive set up a dating app. I thought Id have a side fling once Poppy had a kid, but shes become such a turnoff now. Disgusting.
A new paramour, the athletic Olivia, soon agreed to be Ians spare on their first date, even slipping into the bathroom of a swanky London restaurant. Unlike Charlotte, Olivia was demanding.
You love how I look, dont you? she murmured into his ear in a cosy flat with a panoramic nightcity view a place Ian had deliberately leased for secret rendezvous.
Of course, Ian cooed, trailing a feathersoft hand along her back.
Ill need about three hundred pounds for hair, nails, a beautician, and a gym membership, Olivia listed, eyes gleaming. Ian, however, was too busy admiring her beauty to mind the price. Within a month, she had completely supplanted Charlotte in his thoughts. He spent weeks away from home, returning only to find the kitchen empty.
Ive made your favourite pesto pasta Charlotte greeted him one evening after his weeklong escape with Olivia. How was the business trip?
Fine, Ian muttered.
Im not hungry. He grimaced.
Lets get back to work. How are the numbers? Ians tone turned businesslike. Charlotte, now merely an employee, was treated tougher than any other staff.
A month later, Ians business started to crumble. Projects slipped, partners walked away, and expenses ballooned. He blamed Charlotte for the downturn and, in a dramatic split, forced her out with no settlement. Within a day, she was out on the street.
Three years passed.
According to the geotags on her pictures, shes now living in a posh suburb of Surrey, with some wealthy bloke, Ian mused while sipping his morning coffee. Ive got a meeting with an investor nearby. Her house is on the way Something about this feels off. A plain mouse cant just turn into a rose.
A message from Olivia popped up: Ian, we should break up. Ive met someone else. Nothing personal. Ill have a friend collect my things.
And you expect me to foot the bill for my trip?! Ian fumed, his hands shaking as he typed a furious reply, hurling every insult he knew.
Ian, youre emotional. I get it. Lets talk calmly later. Im blocking you for now; drama doesnt help my looks. Olivia sang in a voice note and blocked his number.
Rejected by the investor and in a sour mood, Ian drove to the upscale culdesac where his exwife now lived. After a halfhour of idling and a pack of cigarettes, a sleek black car pulled up beside the gate.
What are you doing here? Poppy asked, bewildered as Ian knocked three times.
Just popping round to see how youre doing, Ian muttered.
Seeing her hesitance, Ian tried to soften his approach. Ive come to apologise. Ive realised a lot while you were gone Its all a bit messy, I know.
Apologise? Poppy smirked. You banned me from writing, I worked for you free of charge for two yearscooking, cleaning, looking after the house. I believed in you when everyone else said youd fail Then you tossed me out in a day.
Fine, Ian, apologise away, Poppy said, hugging herself.
Maybe you could let me in? Its awkward standing outside, Ian said, kicking a small stone.
Maybe I will, Poppy replied, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.
Whos keeping you? Ian asked, eyeing the spacious lounge. No ones feeding you, is there? You cant build stone houses on goodwill alone.
No ones feeding me. I bought everything myself, Poppy answered, strolling into the kitchen.
Dont lie Ian shouted, following her.
Are you surprised? Do you think Im unworthy of my dreams? Poppy placed a glass of water on the table.
How could you in three years change your looks, earn that much, live like this? Ian spun the glass in his hand.
I went back to writing, actually screenplays. I sold a couple of pilots to production companies. They said my work wasnt rubbish, she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Now Im one of the countrys most recognised scriptwriters. My shows are on the main channels.
So youre here to apologise, Poppy said, sitting opposite him.
The best revenge, as they say, is to succeed where they tried to hold you back. Ian felt a wave of anger crash over him againhis split with Olivia, the investors snub, Charlottes soaring career. He needed an outlet.
You were a dull, talentless mouse. All the success youve got is partly my doing. I gave you direction, taught you life, Ian whispered. Half your money belongs to me.
Its not really an apology, Ian, Poppy replied, a wry smile playing on her lips. The only thing you helped me with was showing me how nasty people can be.
Youll get nothing from me, and youre past your prime anyway. Poppy stood, pointing him toward the door.
Youre not getting it, you rat. Open the safe and hand over the cash, or you wont leave alive. Ian snapped, grabbing her elbow and dragging her toward the lounge.
Release me, it hurts! Poppy shrieked.
The mouse always stays a mouse, Ian growled, shoving her onto the sofa.
Tell me where the safe is, or Ill smash you. He seized a log from the fireplace, looming over her.
Single women tend to keep cats, Poppy said, rubbing her elbow, eyes twinkling. But Im not just any woman.
Fine, I dont care what you are. Hand over the money or Ill kill you, Ian snarled, brandishing the log.
Its a pity you think youre so tough, Ian, because instead of cats Ive got two Dobermans. She glanced over his shoulder. Meet Chilli and Willy.
Two massive Dobermans padded into the room, eyes locked on Ian. Chilli drooled lazily on the polished floor, while Willy growled low, already understanding the scene.
Chilli, Willy, stop this! Poppy shouted.
If youd seen Ians face at that momentmouth agape, saliva stuck in his throatit would have been comic gold. The dogs, famished from the morning, lunged forward. Ian tried to bolt, but his stride covered only a foot before the dogs had him pinned. The rest was a chaotic blur of snarls, a sudden police siren, and a flurry of stitches.
The house was fully wired with CCTV. Ian received a suspended sentence and permanently lost any notion of a path back to his former wife.
Nowadays Poppy is thriving. Rumour has it shes married a talented director, is expecting a child, and enjoys a happy life. They say behind every successful woman stands a man who broke her heart, and the sweetest revenge is proving you can flourish without him. Whether that holds true in our quirky world is up to you. One things certain: if you truly believe in yourself, youll get there.
