When an Ex Tries to Wreck Things—And Fails Miserably
Emily was rushing home after a gruelling day at work, her mind spinning with chores: feed the cat, change clothes, freshen up, and dash off to meet Oliver. Her thoughts tumbled like autumn leaves in the wind, so distracted she barely noticed arriving at her doorstep—until she froze. Someone lurked in the shadows by the building’s corner. The silhouette was vague but unsettling.
Her pulse spiked. Frantically, she rummaged in her bag for keys. The figure stepped closer—and as his face caught the light, Emily went rigid. It was… James. *That* James. The one she’d left. The one who’d kept her trapped in emotional quicksand for a year.
*”You’ll never find anyone after me. Mark my words, I’ll have moved on in days,”* he’d sneered while she packed, watching her with that infuriating smirk. He’d always known which fears to prod, which wounds to salt. His signature move? Belittling, intimidating, making her feel small. *You’ll wither alone. I’ll thrive.*
And for months, it worked. Emily stayed, convinced she’d never do better. Every escape attempt met the same tired script. Then, one day, something snapped.
*”I can’t take the cat yet—my mate’s got the carrier. I’ll fetch him next week. Just keep feeding him, yeah? And clean the litter,”* she’d said, breezy as if his threats were static.
*”Why should I? He’s *your* cat! Walk out, and I’ll dump him in the bin!”* he’d spat, desperate.
*”You won’t. You’ve never followed through on a single threat,”* she replied, shutting the door—for good.
Days later, she found the cat trembling in an alley. Alive, but shaken. So, he’d finally kept *one* promise. And Emily knew: no turning back.
New life came easier than expected. A flat sorted quickly. Work swallowed her time. The wedding with James? Scrapped. The rings gathered dust. He’d called later, demanding gifts back—especially the engagement ring. *”It’s not yours to keep,”* he’d hissed.
*”So chuffed for you, Em! Finally free,”* her friend had hugged her.
*”Cheers… But what if he’s right? What if I never find better?”*
*”Don’t be daft! Fancy a bet? Walk up to the first bloke in that café, ask him out.”*
*”You’re mad! I can’t just—”*
*”Scared, then?”*
Half an hour later, her friend nudged her. *”That’s your mark.”* A lone bloke by the window sipped coffee, gazing outside.
*”Erm… hi. I’m Emily. Lost a bet, had to approach the first guy I saw. So… fancy a date?”*
*”Why not?”* He grinned. *”Oliver. Free tonight—cinema?”*
He was kind. Easy. *Normal.* During the film, he whispered jokes, made her snort popcorn. Walked her home, texted first the next morning. Emily couldn’t believe it—no mind games. No pain.
But the past wasn’t done.
That evening, hurrying to meet Oliver, she nearly collided with a familiar figure. James.
*”Well, well. Look who’s slumming it. Stolen the cat yet? Or ditched him too? How’s life, eh? Found some poor sod to shack up with? My schedule’s packed, but I *might* squeeze you in between Lizzie from number 12 and Sarah from the office.”*
He reeked of lager, voice slurring louder, nastier.
*”Piss off, James. I’m busy,”* Emily tried to sidestep him.
*”Too busy for me? What’s so important?”*
Then—a yank. A firm hand shoved James aside. Oliver stood there, calm as Sunday.
*”Couldn’t reach you, came to meet halfway. Then *this* twit showed up. Fancy a detour before he embarrasses himself further?”*
James’ shouts faded behind them as they walked away.
*”Always wondered what’d push you to chat up strangers in cafés,”* Oliver mused, smiling. *”Now I know. After *him*? You’ve got nerves of steel.”*
And Emily realised: it had all been worth it. The bet. The first date. *Especially* that first date.
