**Broken Heart and a Bitter Truth**
The evening in the quiet town of Ashford was chilly and dreary. Emily sat at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands as bitter tears streamed down her cheeks. The silence of the flat was shattered by the piercing ring of the phone. It was her older sister, Charlotte.
“Em, is it true? You and Daniel are getting a divorce?” Charlotte blurted out without greeting, her voice barely masking triumph.
“Yes,” Emily breathed out weakly, stifling a sob.
“Did he find someone else?” Charlotte pressed, relentless.
“He says no,” Emily’s voice trembled.
“And you don’t even know why he’s leaving?” Charlotte’s tone dripped with false concern, as if she already had the answer.
“I have no idea what went wrong,” Emily admitted, her chest tightening with despair.
“Well, then I suppose I’ll have to tell you,” Charlotte announced, her voice taking on a sinister edge.
“Tell me what?” Emily froze, suddenly wary.
Charlotte could hardly contain her satisfaction. Nothing remarkable had happened in *her* life, but her younger sister’s world was crumbling. Daniel, Emily’s husband, had walked away after three years of marriage—years that had seemed nearly perfect until recently.
He had grown distant, cold. Late nights at work became routine, and he returned home with the faint trace of another woman’s perfume, dismissing Emily’s concerns with irritation.
“It’s just from my colleagues—they drown themselves in the stuff,” he’d snap, refusing to meet her gaze.
Emily didn’t believe him, but she had no proof. Desperate, she even followed him once, but found nothing suspicious. The tension festered until, finally, Daniel exploded:
“I’ve had enough! I want a divorce,” his words landed like a hammer blow.
“Is there someone else? Was I right?” Emily fought back tears.
“It’s not about that! You’ve suffocated me with your nagging,” he spat, shoving clothes into a suitcase.
They’d only rented the flat, so there was little to divide. No children, either—something Emily now saw as small mercy. Daniel left her standing in the emptiness, every corner a reminder of shattered dreams.
Charlotte had learned of the divorce from their mother. She rarely spoke to Emily, but she had always resented her—especially if her little sister dared to be happier. The news had been too delicious to resist, and she dialled Emily at once.
“So, you’re really divorcing?” she asked the moment Emily picked up. “Did Daniel find another woman?”
“He says no,” Emily whispered, her voice raw.
“Of course there’s someone else,” Charlotte crowed. “How could you not notice, watching him like you did?”
“It wasn’t that simple,” Emily muttered, irritation briefly dulling her grief.
“Still,” Charlotte pressed on, relishing the moment, “why else would he leave? How long were you married—two years?”
“Three,” Emily corrected, already exhausted.
“And in *three* years, you never saw what was coming?” Charlotte scoffed. “Thomas and I have been together eight years, three kids, and everything’s perfect. But you? What did you even *do* wrong?”
Emily stayed silent, gripping the phone. Sensing vulnerability, Charlotte twisted the knife:
“Maybe you were a terrible wife. Did you even cook properly, or just microwave meals? Or was the flat a pigsty? God knows you hated cleaning as a child. Or—” she lowered her voice—”maybe you simply stopped satisfying him. A good wife keeps her husband. A bad one drives him away.”
Each word stabbed at Emily’s heart. For a moment, she wondered: *Was it my fault?* But no—she loved cooking, kept the flat spotless, and their problems had only started with Daniel’s distance. *He* had changed—not her.
Wiping her tears, Emily went to bed, vowing not to let Charlotte break her. The month until the divorce was agony, but once the papers were signed, relief washed over her. Life went on, and she threw herself into rebuilding. She joined a gym, chopped her long brown hair into a sleek blonde bob, and for the first time in years, smiled at her reflection.
Charlotte, stalking Emily on social media, seethed. She had expected Emily to crumble—instead, she *thrived*. Bouquets from admirers filled Emily’s photos, driving Charlotte mad with envy.
“Admit it, you’re buying those yourself,” she’d sneer in calls.
“Why would I?” Emily laughed. “Plenty of men want to send them.”
Charlotte refused to believe a divorced woman could be desirable. Obsessed with Emily’s life, she failed to notice her own marriage collapsing. Thomas, her husband, withdrew—while she, too busy gloating, missed the signs.
Six months later, Thomas dropped the bomb:
“I’m leaving, Lottie. You’re a stranger. I’ve met someone who actually cares about *me*, not just your sister’s life.”
“You’re joking.” Charlotte laughed, hollow.
“No,” he said coldly. “I’m done.”
The shock paralysed her. Not long ago, she’d mocked Emily’s divorce. Now *she* stood abandoned—but with two children to raise alone. Thomas packed his things and left, leaving her the house and the girls.
Emily heard about the split from their mother. Charlotte couldn’t bear to call—not after taunting Emily about being a bad wife. Now *she* was the one humiliated, begging Thomas to return, but he never did.
For months, Charlotte drowned in self-pity. The divorce was her cruel lesson: laugh at another’s pain, and it will knock at your door.
Emily, meanwhile, flourished. She found a new job, made friends, even started dating a man who adored her. Watching Charlotte, she felt no gloating—just pity. Life had taught her strength, and she walked forward, leaving the hurt behind.
**Lesson learned:** Schadenfreude is a poison. Pour it on others, and you’ll drink it next.
