The May morning bathed the solicitors office in golden light. The air conditioning hummed softly, and the waiting area carried the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee. A perfectly ordinary day for making extraordinary decisions.

“Mother always knows best,” Emily murmured, tucking the documents into her handbag. “Just in case.”

That had been a year agolong before James started working late. Before the unfamiliar perfume on his shirts. Before the hushed phone calls.

Emily wasnt naïve. Shed grown up in a family of legal minds, taught from childhood to think three steps ahead. Theyd bought the flat with her inheritance from her grandmother. James, fresh in his career, had only signed for the car loan.
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“Darling, transfer the deed to me,” her mother had advised over tea. “Not for divorcejust as insurance. Life is unpredictable.”

And Emily agreed. No drama, no explanations. A simple legal transfer. On paper, a gift. In truth, a safety net.

Her phone buzzedanother text from James: *”Late again. Important meeting.”*

Emily sighed. *Important meeting.* Like yesterday. And the day before. She opened the photo from the private investigator: James and a blonde entering a posh restaurant, his hand on her waist, both grinning.

“Coffee?” the receptionist offered.

“No, thank you,” Emily stood, smoothing her skirt. “Are the papers ready?”

“Within the hour.”

Outside, May warmth wrapped around her. The lilacs had faded, but their sweetness lingered. She and James had met in May, six years ago. Hed seemed so steadfast then. So trustworthy.

Another buzz: *”Sorry, love. Dont wait up tonight.”*

“Nor will I,” she typed back. “Ive things to settle too.”

The café was quiet, bathed in afternoon light. Emily chose their usual spotthe one she and her mother favoured, with buttery scones that tasted like childhood.

“All set?” Her mother, Elizabeth, slid into the chair opposite, elegant as ever in her tailored blazer.

Emily spread the documents. “He emptied our joint account yesterday.”

“Preparing his exit,” Elizabeth noted, scanning the papers. “And this?”

“Photos from the investigator. Restaurants. Hotels. Even a jewellers.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Any new gifts for you?”

“None.” Emily stirred sugar into her teatwo spoons, just so. “But his *colleague* wears a Cartier braceletthe same one on our statement.”

Elizabeth sipped her Earl Grey. “The flats been in my name a year. Legally sound. No shared debts. Let him keep the car. The accounts, howeverwell contest those.”
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“Money doesnt matter,” Emily said quietly.

“It does,” Elizabeth corrected. “Its not just moneyits your time. Your effort. And he”

“I know.” Emily gripped her cup. “He met with a solicitor yesterday. Discussing *asset division*. The flat…”

Elizabeth smirked. “He doesnt know about the transfer?”

“No. He thinks hes entitled to half.”

“Are you certain? About the divorce?”

Emily watched a young couple stroll by, hand in handjust as she and James once had.

“Remember when you taught me to drive?” she said suddenly. “You told me to watch the mirrorsdanger doesnt always come from ahead.”

Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “And what do you see now?”

“Lies. Betrayal.” Emily opened her phone gallery. “Look. Last week at *The Ivy*. Three days ago at the cinema. And”

“Thats enough.” Elizabeth gently took the phone. “When?”

“Tonight. Hell come home lateafter *her*. Everythings prepared.”

Her phone chimedJames again: *”Fancy takeaway?”*

“No need,” she replied. *”We need to talk.”*

By seven, Emily was home. The flat smelled of lemon polishshed aired it out, rearranged the bookshelves. A final tidying.

On the sideboard, their wedding photo. Shed worn ivory silk; he, a navy suit. No grand ceremonyjust close family. *”The weddings not the milestone,”* James had said. *”Its the life after.”* How poetic hed been.

Her finger traced the glass. Six years. Six years of believing in *them*.

Another buzzthe investigator: *”Leaving the restaurant now. Photo attached.”*

There was James, kissing the blonde in broad daylight. Wearing the shirt Emily had gifted him last month.

*”No more needed,”* she replied.

Keys jangled in the hallearlier than usual. Emily set the photo down and took a seat.

“Darling! Im home!” James sounded buoyant, reeking of wine and Chanel No. 5. “Guess what? Promotion! Director of Developmentdouble the salary!”

“How lovely,” Emily said coolly. “More time for *meetings*, then?”

He froze, champagne bottle in hand. “What?”

“Meetings. At *The Ivy*. The Odeon. The Savoy…”

James set the bottle down slowly. “Youve been spying on me?”

“The investigator has. Fancy seeing?” She tapped her phone. “Heres you kissing her outside *The Ivy*. Heres the car park. Heres”
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“Wait.” He raised his hands. “Its not what you think.”

“What *do* I think, James?” She stood. “That my husbands sleeping with another woman? Buying her Cartier? Draining our account?”

“How did”

“It doesnt matter.” Emily turned to the window. “Ive known for months.”

“Sweetheart,” he pleaded, stepping closer. “Its a mistake. Let me explain. Sarahs just a”

“*Sarah?*” Emily laughed humourlessly. “In your phone, shes *Claire*.”

“Emily, please”

“Dont.” She stepped back. “Ive made my decision.”

“Which is?”

“Divorce.”

James scoffed. “Over a fling? Dont be absurd.”

“A fling?” She opened her gallery. “March 15thdinner. March 20ththeatre. Aprilfour hotel stays. Mayeight. Shall I continue?”

His bravado faltered. “You counted?”

“The investigator did. Times, dates, receipts. Quite thorough.”

James collapsed onto the sofa, tie askew. Suddenly, he looked every bit the exhausted cheatnot the grinning man in the photos.

“What now?” he muttered. “Blackmail?”

“Why bother?” Emily shrugged. “Just divorce. Isnt that what you want? Why else empty the account?”

He stiffened. “How did”

“Bank statement. Fifty thousand withdrawn yesterday. Preparing for *asset division*?”

“Its *our* money,” he snapped. “And the flats half mine!”

“Actually,” Emily smiled, “the flats not mineits Mothers. So file for divorce, James.” She slid the Land Registry report across the table. “See for yourself.”

He snatched it, hands shaking. “Whenhow?”

“A year ago. Legally airtight. Mother *is* a barrister.”

“You *planned* this?” he whispered, pale.

“Insurance,” Emily said, lifting her packed suitcase from the closet. “Mothers advicealways watch the mirrors.”

“Christ…”

“No need for language.” She buttoned her coat. “Ill collect the rest later. You may stay until the divorceMothers allowing it.”

“Youre joking.”

“Hardly. Game over, James. You lost.”

“Wait!” He lunged, blocking the door. “We can fix this!”

“Fix what?” Emily adjusted her scarf. “The hotels? The bracelet? The lies?”

“Ill end it with Sarah, I swear!”

“Really?” She showed him the latest photo. “This was an hour ago. Quite the farewell kiss.”

James raked his hands through his hair. “EmilyIm *lost*. Give me another chance!”

“Another chance?” She picked up their wedding photo. “The irony? I loved you. *Truly*. When Mother suggested the transfer, I refused*Were a family,* I said…”

Her thumb brushed the glass. “Remember this day? You promised *always*. That youd never”

“I *love* you!”

“No,” she said softly. “You love *you*. And now youre panicking because the flats gone.”

“Thats *not*”

“Then why withdraw the money?” She set the photo down. “Why meet a solicitor? Why view two-bed flats in Chelsea?”

His mouth openedthen shut.

The grandfather clock tickeda wedding gift from his parents.

“I had a plan,” he admitted finally. “A clean split. Fair shares…”

“And half the flat,” Emily finished. “But you miscalculated. Its Mothers. The money?