**Diary Entry 2nd November**
Emily was frying sausages when her husband walked into the kitchen. “Emily, we need to talk,” David said firmly.
“Go ahead,” she replied without looking up.
“Maybe sit down and listen properly?” His voice was laced with impatience.
“I dont have time. These sausages wont flip themselves,” she answered. “What did you want to tell me?”
David hesitated, struggling for words. “Ive met someone else. Im leaving you.”
“Congratulations. Im happy for you,” Emily said calmly.
“Happy? What do you mean, *happy*?” He stared, bewildered. But David had no idea what Emily was really plotting.
—
Later, her best friend sipped tea, frowning. “Honestly I still dont understand how you could do it. Its just wrong, Emily.”
“Wrong how? Morally?”
“Well, depends how you look at it.”
“Doesnt matter how you look at it,” Emily smiled. “The results what counts. And my result is brilliant. I got exactly what I wanted.”
“But therell be consequences,” her friend muttered.
“Oh, dont be such a doom-monger,” Emily snapped. “If they come, Ill deal with them. Right now, Im celebrating. So dont ruin it.”
Her friend huffed and turned away, pretending to be fascinated by the rain outside.
—
It had started that evening when David came home, shifting awkwardly. “We need to talk.”
Emilys stomach tightened. Shed been waiting for this.
“Go on,” she said, flipping the sausages.
“Can you just *listen* properly?” he snapped. “Or should I talk to your back?”
“No time to sit, love,” she replied lightly. “Little Harry will be shouting for me any second*Mum, this, Mum, that*. So hurry up. What is it?”
David faltered. “Ive met another woman.”
“And?” Emily didnt even turn.
“Turn off the bloody stove!” he shouted. “Are you even listening? Im in love with someone else!”
“I heard. Congratulations.”
“*What?*” His shock was palpable. Tears, yes. Indifference? Never.
“Keep your voice down. Youll scare the kids.”
“You *knew*?”
“Not exactly,” she shrugged. “But I guessed.”
“You *guessed*?”
“Of course. Wouldnt you, if I came home late, hid my phone, slept in another room? David, anyone can tell when theyre not loved anymore.”
“Then why stay quiet?”
She smirked. “*You* proposed. *You* wanted this family. So *you* get to wreck it.”
David barely recognised her. No tears, just steel. Hed expected hysterics.
“Look, Ive got a proposal,” he blustered.
“How interesting.” She sat, watching him.
“Ive thought it through. The mortgage Youll struggle to pay it, even with child support.”
“Are we skipping the divorce discussion?” Her voice was icy.
“Whats there to discuss? Youd never forgive me.”
“True,” she smiled. “You know me so well.”
“Right. So, best if *you* move into your little flat. Ill keep this place.”
“And the kids?”
“Theyll go with you, obviously.”
“So I cram two kids into 200 square feet, while you and your *new love* enjoy our three-bed?”
“Obviously. You cant afford the mortgage. Ive always paid it.”
“Right.” Emily stood. “I need to think.”
She stepped onto the balcony.
“Take your time,” David sneered, then muttered, “Women. Always *thinking*.”
He helped himself to sausages, mashed potatoestoo busy eating to notice her return.
“Ill agree,” she announced. “On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You keep the flatwith your *passion* and our son. My daughter and I will leave.”
“*What?* Youd *split* the kids?!”
“Why not? Equal responsibility. You always wanted a sonnow youve got him.”
“Youre *mad*! Theyre not *furniture*!”
“Exactly. So why should I raise both while you swan about? No. Not happening.”
“Ill pay child support!”
“Good. Ill pay you too. Fairs fair. Dont want the boy? Take the girl. Shes oldereasier. See? Im compromising.”
“Youre *vindictive*!”
“Hardly. If I wanted revenge, David, youd know. This is just fair. Take it, or Ill fight you for *every spoon* in this house.”
He left. Consulted his mistress, his mother, his sister.
They all assured him: *Shes bluffing. No mother would abandon her child.*
His mistress, Sophie, was thrilled. A *three-bed in Chelsea*! Never mind the four-year-old boy included.
Days later, David agreed.
“Brilliant,” Emily said, insisting he file for divorce immediately.
“Why *me*?”
“Because youre the man. And you can afford the fees.”
Logical enough. He filed.
—
Three months later, David moved in with Sophie.
Emily packed, endured lectures from family and friends*How could you? What kind of mother splits her kids?*
Even twelve-year-old Lily accused her: “*I thought you loved us.*”
Emily waited patiently.
At court, the judge frowned. “Youre *giving* your son to his father?”
“Yes. Equal responsibility,” Emily said coolly. “Davids happy. Arent you, David?”
He nodded.
Deal done.
—
Emily left David meticulous notes: *Harrys allergies, nursery contacts, GP details*
David scoffed. “Well manage!”
That evening, Sophie posted online: “*New beginnings!*” with a photo of them hovering over Harrys bed.
—
Reality hit fast.
Harry cried for his mum, refused Sophies meals, threw tantrums at nursery. David was late to work daily. Then Harry fell ill. Sophie “wasnt ready to sacrifice her life” and left. Davids mother refused to help.
Emily visited weekly. After each visit, Harry wailed harder.
Money dwindled. Exhaustion set in. David realisedhe *hated* parenting.
Three months in, he called Emily. “*Please. Take him.*”
She arrived, hiding a smile at his haggard face.
“Whats wrong?”
“I cant do this,” he whispered. “Sophie left.”
“Ah. But”
“No *buts*. Move back in. Ill leave.”
“And then youll sue me?”
“Just take the flat. Ill transfer it to you.”
“Struggling with *one* four-year-old?” Emily smirked. “You said I did *nothing*.”
“I was wrong. Please.”
“Only if its legally binding.”
David stared. “Never knew you were so *calculating*.”
“Good teachers,” she shot back.
—
He kept his word.
The flat is hers now. He pays the mortgage, child support for both, visits every weekendoften with flowers.
A thank-you. For “compromising.”
And for letting him rent her tiny flat, paying just the utilities.
—
Now, everyone pities David. *Poor man. Heartless Emily, abandoning her son.*
But shes too busy enjoying her victory.
No regrets.
And she doesnt believe in consequences.
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes, the quietest revenge is letting a man drown in the life he chose.
