“Sorry, but I Won’t Forgive”
“Harry, are you sure you haven’t forgotten anything? Should I double-check?” I called out, pausing by the bathroom door.
“Angie, it’s all packed. The suitcase is bursting!” he shouted over the sound of the shower. There was something uneasy in his voice, a flicker of doubt.
I stepped back. I’d seen the suitcase, but what exactly he’d stuffed inside—no clue.
“Could you make the coffee strong, no milk?” he called again, calmer now.
On autopilot, I went to the kitchen. Spooned the grounds into the pot, added water, a pinch of salt. We’ve got a machine, but he always insists on brewing it this way—says it tastes like his nan’s. And I do it. Habit. Love.
“Heavenly scent of a heavenly drink!” He strode in, ran a hand through his damp hair and sat at the table. “Courier’s coming—take the delivery. Ordered some car seat covers.”
“No upfront payment?” I sat opposite him.
“Cash on delivery,” he sighed. “And, damn, this business trip—out of nowhere. Couldn’t say no, you know how it is. Career first. Senior manager, after all.”
“Who knew ‘senior managers’ still jet off for work trips…”
He shrugged, grabbed his phone—supposedly to squeeze in some work while he could. Stood, left.
I glanced at his empty mug—left behind. Fine, I’ll let it slide. He’s frazzled, first trip and all…
Then—a ping. A message.
I opened it.
“Angie, Harry’s lying. He’s flying to Greece with Jessica Hart. Stop him. He’s making a mistake.”
Claire. His sister.
I froze. Not a joke. Claire doesn’t joke about these things. So—true.
Panic clawed up my chest. I sat down. Gulped the glass of water in one go. Then another. Wanted to scream. Smash everything. Instead—silence. Ice in my veins.
He knew. Planned it. Used our shared savings, packed his bags, lied about the trip. And me? I made him coffee.
I went back to my phone. Opened the banking app. Twelve thousand pounds. Minus three grand. Already withdrawn. Mostly my money.
Jessica… I knew about her. His first love. He’d told me himself. Claire filled in the gaps. She’d left him, returned, left again. Now—back. History repeating.
Why couldn’t he just say it? Why the deceit?
I’ll act fast. Drain the account. File for divorce. Courier his things. Tomorrow’s presentation—I’m ready. After that, I’ll take leave. Greece isn’t on my list. Just me. Alone.
He returned to the kitchen. Suited up.
“Off now. Thought I’d leave early,” he announced.
“Safe trip,” I bit out.
“Angie, what’s with the tone?”
“Must be your imagination.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Doubt you’ll have time.”
“Not walking me out?”
“You know the way. I’ll do the dishes.”
He left. The suitcase wheels scraped the floor. The door slammed.
One thought—change the locks. Tomorrow. Called the building manager—sorted it.
Only then did I let myself cry. The pain was raw. Ugly.
Another ping.
“Angie, you alright?” Claire again.
Called her.
“Where’d you hear this?” I asked flatly.
“Jessica’s mate. They’re already packing. I couldn’t stay quiet, Angie.”
“Thanks. But I didn’t stop him. Let him go. Choice made.”
“Christ, he’s a fool. Letting her walk over him again…”
“His problem now. But don’t let on I know.”
“Course not. Frankly, I’m done with him. Absolute idiot.”
“Claire… thanks. Transferring the rest to Mum. Better in her hands. Then divorce.”
“You’re brilliant, Angie. Stay strong.”
Hung up. Checked the account—another grand gone. Insane. Urgent transfer to Mum. Every penny.
“Hello, Mum?”
“Yes, Angie. See Harry off?”
“Mum, sending you eleven grand. Can’t keep it in my account—divorce splits it. This way, it’s mine.”
“What’s happened?..”
“He’s flown off with his ex. To Greece.”
“Bloody hell… Angie…”
“Done. I’m free. He never wanted kids—I do. I’ll have one. Alone.”
“Love… Maybe it’s not all lost? Veronica’s nephew—”
“Mum, not now. Sending the money. We’ll talk later.”
Only after hanging up did I take my first deep breath all day. It hurt. But breathing was easier.
**Lesson:** Betrayal cuts deep, but sometimes walking away is the first step toward reclaiming your peace.