Charlotte was applying her lipstick, humming a hopeful tune under her breath. She planned to surprise James—cooking an elegant dinner, slipping into her best dress, and sharing a warm, intimate evening. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Beaming with anticipation, she hurried to answer—but instead of her husband, a striking woman with a frosty smile stood there.
“Who are you?” Charlotte frowned, eyeing the stranger.
“I’m the new lady of this house,” the woman declared with cold confidence, nudging past Charlotte as if it were her rightful place.
“Excuse me, but this is *my* home!” Charlotte’s voice trembled with shock.
“Not anymore,” the woman sneered.
“What nonsense is this? What claim do you have here?” Charlotte stared, half-convinced she was dreaming.
Years ago, James had run into his first love. Over a decade had passed, but Emily was more radiant than ever. Her smile, achingly familiar, wiped away the pain of their past breakup—along with memories of his wife, their toddler, and the years he’d shared with Charlotte.
A brief reunion turned into a long stroll through the city at dusk. They talked about everything and nothing until they reached Emily’s doorstep. As she kissed his cheek lightly, she whispered, “Pity you’re married. I’d invite you in.”
Only then did James snap out of his daze. His phone screen flashed with missed calls from Charlotte and texts pleading him to pick up formula for little Lily.
Back home, he found Charlotte rocking their daughter. Without looking up, she asked, “Did you get the formula?”
James studied her. She wore worn leggings, a stretched-out jumper, her hair hastily tied back. No trace of the polished woman she’d once been. *She used to take pride in herself. Now? Comparing her to Emily is like night and day.*
“You couldn’t even greet me after my long day?” he snapped.
“Sorry, you’re right,” she said guiltily. “The formula ran out, and Lily’s poorly. I couldn’t dash to the shop.”
“Maybe manage your time better?” He kicked off his shoes and strode past her.
Days later, folding laundry, Charlotte couldn’t shake her unease. Since Lily’s birth, James had grown irritable, distant. He resented sleepless nights, her exhaustion—but lately, his jabs were unbearable. First, he sulked over her “cold welcome,” refused to fetch formula, then nitpicked her appearance.
“At least *try* to look presentable! Men aren’t drawn to frumpy jumpers and unwashed hair!”
“Brilliant—watch Lily while I shower,” Charlotte retorted, desperate to defuse things.
“I’m not a babysitter. I’m the breadwinner,” he shot back.
Later, he needled again: “A good wife inspires her husband, lifts him up. One compliment, and I’d move mountains! When did you last say anything kind?”
Exhausted, Charlotte snapped: “Yesterday, I *inspired* you to fix the cot. Do that, and you’ll get your compliments.”
Guilt prickled. She hugged James, who scowled at his phone. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lashed out. But you hurt me too. Let’s talk—put Lily down early and—”
He shoved her off. She swallowed her anger, keeping her voice low for Lily’s sake: “Your digs are wearing thin. If you’ve got issues, let’s discuss them. If you just want to provoke me or be coddled—the door’s right there. I won’t stop you.”
James stared, startled. Gentle, patient Charlotte had never spoken so bluntly. *Where’s the tender, caring man I fell for?* she wondered.
Silence stretched. Coldly, she added: “Shall I fetch your suitcase?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he muttered, eyes glued to his phone.
“Remember—no one’s keeping you here. If you want out, leave. But do it *now*.”
Truth was, James had already thought of leaving. Emily, inviting him over for “tea,” made her desires plain. Tea was forgotten—passion took over. Later, guilt gnawed at him, but Emily whispered: “I’m divorced now, free. End your marriage, and we’ll start fresh. We were *meant* to be.”
“You left for a ‘better life.’ I wasn’t enough back then,” he reminded her, pain resurfacing.
“How foolish I was,” she sighed. “The better life was *you*. Divorce her, please.”
She kissed him again, and he reciprocated just to avoid answering.
On his way home, he agonised: *I can’t abandon Charlotte. She nursed my sick mother, wrote to me during my military service, stood by me jobless. And Lily… Our daughter binds us tighter than glue. But Emily’s my true love. Always has been.*
Doubt tore at him. To silence it, he nitpicked at Charlotte, then loathed himself, fueling fresh outbursts.
Her ultimatum hit like ice water. Her readiness to let go stunned him—and he realised *he* wasn’t ready.
*This ends tonight,* he vowed. *I’ll cut ties with Emily.*
But her allure was relentless. She greeted him with home-cooked meals, listened to his work woes, marvelled: “The whole company leans on you—why don’t they see it?”
Only her divorce hints grated. Finally, she snapped: “What even *ties* you to her? Don’t say Lily—you barely mention her. If you lack courage, *I’ll* talk to Charlotte!”
“Don’t!” Panic surged. “I can’t just discard her because—”
He faltered. Emily waited. Blurting the first excuse, he said: “She’s got nowhere to go—on maternity leave, used to be a cleaner. How’ll she cope alone?”
Emily softened. “Poor thing! You’re so noble, staying for her.” She hugged him, then added: “Pay child support, help her rent a flat. Then file for divorce!”
“Seems the *wedding* matters more than *us*,” he joked weakly.
Emily stiffened. “Yes, it *does*. Did you think I’d settle for being your dirty secret? I’m tolerating this for *us*. I want our child born in wedlock.”
“*What* child?” he nearly gasped—then noticed her hand resting pointedly on her stomach.
Panic turned to elation: *A baby! My dream come true.*
“I’m so happy,” he smiled, squeezing her hand. “Soon, we’ll start anew. Just give me time.”
“Of course,” she purred—her voice so smooth he missed the lie beneath.
Days later, Charlotte applied lipstick, humming cheerfully. After weeks of tension, James had softened—even apologised: “I took work stress out on you. It’s sorted now. Things will be better.”
“Let’s celebrate—dinner out?” she提议, heart lifting at his familiar smile.
He hesitated. “Can’t—too much to wrap up. Rain check?”
*Oh no, you’re not wriggling out,* she thought, buoyed by his cheer. She arranged a sitter for Lily, planned a light supper, and chose her finest dress. For extra flair, she latched the door, imagining James’s ring as she dazzled him.
The bell chimed too soon. Racing to answer, she rehearsed a playful line: “Early? Perfect—more time for us.”
But it wasn’t James. The woman at the door—vaguely familiar—scanned Charlotte with a smirk. “I’d *hide* legs like those, not flaunt them.”
“Who *are* you?” Charlotte tightened her robe.
“The woman of the house,” came the icy reply as the stranger shoved past her.
Stunned, Charlotte grabbed her arm. “You’re mistaken—or worse. But I pity you. *Leave.*”
“Pity *me*?” The woman laughed. “I’m carrying James’s child.”
Charlotte’s grip slackened. Everything clicked—his distance, the sudden kindness. The betrayal stabbed so sharply, words failed her.
Emboldened, the woman pressed on: “James wanted to spare you. *I* lack patience. As a mother, you’ll understand. You’ll divorce—no home, no money, but we’ll be fair.”
Charlotte barked a disbelieving laugh.
The woman misread it. “Refuse, and I’ll make him leave you *nothing*,” she spat. “He’ll choose me—his first love.”
*Emily.* The name hit Charlotte. *All this time, he longed for her. Lily and I were just placeholders.*
“So? Agreed?” Emily demanded.
“Let James go, claim nothing but child support?” Charlotte smiled bitterly. “How could I resist?”
When James arrived, the sight of packed suitcases confirmed his fears.
“Emily visited,” Charlotte said coolly. “She said I’m in your way. So I’ve made your choice easierJames stood frozen, the weight of his choices crashing down as Charlotte turned away, leaving him alone in the hollow silence of the life he’d thrown away.