“Spare the Son, Not the Wife”
“Are you out of your mind? You spent the money we saved for five years on a flat for your pregnant mistress? My money toojust thrown away on some… I cant even find the words! How could you…”
Thirteen years Anna had been married to Jack. Shed loved him madly, simply for existingadored his perpetually tousled chestnut hair and that particular tired smile he reserved for their eight-year-old son, Oliver. Life in their quiet market town plodded along predictably, barely changing over the years.
…Jack walked in at exactly 9:30 PM. Lately, hed been working late, but until recently, Annie hadnt thought much of ither husband was providing, wasnt he? The door slammed shut as he shrugged off his jacket, which reeked of something sweet and floral instead of his usual cologne. Annie noticed it immediately.
“Hey,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head. “Dead on my feet. Rough day.”
“Hi. Hungry? Ill fix you a plate.”
“Nah, thanks. Need a shower.”
He walked past, and Annie felt a sudden unease. Again, refusing food. Was there someone else? Hed been coming home later, his phone always on him. Used to leave it on the nightstandnow it was either in his pocket or face-down, locked. And if she so much as glanced at it, he tensed up.
“Youre late,” she said, standing to clear the table. “Busy at work?”
Jack was already at the bathroom door.
“Yeah, love. End of the quarter. Reports. Paperwork nightmare.”
“Why do you smell like that?” The question came out sharper than she intended.
Jack froze. She could tell shed caught him off guard.
“Smell like what?” He tried to sound casual, but his shoulders stiffened.
“Flowers. Something sweet and floral. Not your aftershave.”
“Ohmustve been someones perfume at the office. Lucy from accounting was showing off a new bottle.” He waved a hand. “Probably reeked of it after her. Let me shower, Annie. Im knackered.”
“Lucy from accounting,” Annie thought, stepping back onto the porch. “Right. Of course.”
That scent had clung to him for weeks. At first, shed told herself it was coincidencecolleagues wore perfume, didnt they?
…Their familys dream had lived in a Barclays savings account, opened five years ago. A flat for Oliver by the time he turned eighteen. Theyd scrimped every spare pennyJack from his engineers salary at the local factory, Annie from her modest earnings sewing alterations. No holidays for five years, no new car, cutting corners on everything except Olivers future. By now, there shouldve been nearly £25,000a fortune in their town, enough for their son to study at a decent university in the city, not cram into halls.
The blow came without warning. A client paid Annie early, tossing in a bonus for speed. She headed straight to the bankcouldve done it online, but the day was lovely, and she fancied a walk.
The teller, a young woman named Sophie whom shed known for years, offered a polite smile.
“Hello, Mrs. Carter. How can I help?”
“Hi, Sophie. Could you check the balance on our savings account? And Id like to deposit a little more, if thats alright.”
“Of course. Your ID, please.”
Annie handed it over. Sophies fingers clattered on the keyboard.
“Well…” She frowned. “Mrs. Carter, its… empty.”
“Empty?” Annie didnt understand. Surely a mistake.
“Completely. Zero pounds, zero pence.”
The floor lurched. Annie gripped the counter.
“Sophie, thats impossible. Are you sure? Check the dateswe opened it five years ago, under Jack William Carter, my husband. I deposit into it every month!”
“Yes, Mrs. Carter,” Sophie lowered her voice, sensing disaster. “The last large withdrawal was two weeks ago. Cash. A… significant amount.”
“How much?” Annie barely forced the words out.
“£24,900. Withdrawn the Tuesday before last. The accounts closed.”
That Tuesday… Jack had come home late, said hed been stuck in meetings.
“Thanks, Sophie. I need a full statement. Now.”
…Annie stumbled out of the bank. She didnt remember driving home. Twenty-five grand. Gone.
***
When Jack returned, Annie sat at the kitchen table, the printed statement folded neatly in half before her. No tearsjust icy calm, the kind that comes before ruin.
Jack tossed his keys onto the shelf, rubbing his temples.
“Hey. You alright?”
“Sit down, Jack,” Annie said. Her voice was low, steadynothing like her usual tone.
He blinked at her, glanced at the papers. Understanding dawned slowly.
“Whats this?” He didnt sit.
“Sit. We need to talk.”
He lowered himself into the chair opposite.
“Annie, I dont”
“Dont lie, Jack. You know exactly. I went to the bank today. The accounts empty. £24,900. Gone two weeks ago.”
Jack stared at his hands. He didnt deny it.
“Howd you find out?”
“Does it matter? What did you do with it, Jack?”
“I… bought a place.”
“A place? Where? For who?”
He took a deep breath. When he looked up, there was no guiltjust irritation and a bitter resolve.
“For her.”
“Her who?” Annie might as well have been discussing the weather.
“Jack. Say her name.”
“Sophie. Her names Sophie.”
Annie stared. Jack squirmed, then spilled it all.
“Annie, I dont know how it happened… Remember that team-building weekend last year? When the boss forced us all to go? Thats where I met her…”
Annies voice was flat. “Go on.”
“Sophie… she was different. Wild. Youre home, steady, safeshes a storm. Made me feel young again. Nineteen when we met. Rides a motorbike, tattoos everywhere, piercings… I lost my head, Annie. With you, its like… mates. Comfortable. But Sophie…”
Annies throat locked. She wanted to scream, slap him, smash every dish in the house. But she stayed still. No weakness in front of a traitor.
“Keep talking.”
“We stopped seeing each other for a bit. She dumped mesaid I bored her. I was wrecked, Annie. Called her, begged… Then she got with some bloke. I was moving on, I swear. Remember that seaside trip seven months ago? Then she rang me out of nowhere. We picked up where we left off. Thenbam. Pregnant. Annie, I couldnt abandon her with a kid. Her mum kicked her out. I couldnt let my daughter end up homeless!”
Annie stood, walking to the window.
“So your mistresss daughter matters, but your son doesnt? Brilliant. Heres whats happening: tomorrow, you sign your half of our house over to Oliver. When hes older, Ill sell itmy boy will have his own place. As for you? Dont care. Ill file for divorce in the morning. Try to stop me, and Ill ruin you, Jack. Ill make sure the whole town knows.”
Of course, Jack spent weeks begging her backwaiting outside the house, calling daily, sending grovelling texts. All ignored. The divorce went through. And the mistress? Didnt want him either. The baby girl, born right on time, wasnt histhe almond-shaped eyes made that painfully clear.
Some stories just write themselves.
