*Diary Entry – 23rd November*
Katherine wandered through the empty halls of her home, her fingers brushing absently against their wedding portrait still hanging on the wall. The joy that once lit her eyes now felt like a distant dream. Friends had warned her about George, said his charming smile hid deceit. But Kate had been blind. His words, his tenderness, his promises—they had thawed her heart, frozen since her first husband’s death. Five years without warmth, and then George had swept in like a storm. She saw only him. And him? He hadn’t come home again last night. Yesterday, he’d shouted at her—a shock like ice water, snapping her awake. She sank onto the sofa, thoughts tangling. When had he changed? After she’d made him co-owner of her company, trusting him with half of everything.
Kate scoffed bitterly. George fancied himself clever but couldn’t be bothered with details. He hadn’t even read the contract properly. She’d rehearsed speeches in her head—how they loved each other, how he’d never betray her—but he’d missed the clause: *proven infidelity voids all transferred assets*. That’s why he’d grown so bold. The phone on the table buzed, and Kate lunged for it. An unknown number.
“Hello? Kate, you sound like a drowned sparrow,” came a familiar, laughing voice.
“Robbie? Is that you?”
“Still recognise me, then! Not a lost cause. Get outside—let’s wander the city. I’m at the station. You’d think you were in hiding, the hoops I jumped through to find you!”
She laughed, the weight lifting just a little. Robbie—the life of every party, her old schoolmate and long-time admirer. Back then, she’d gently turned him down, seeing only a friend in his lanky, ginger-headed mischief. Too bright, too alive for her grieving world. On graduation, he’d said, “Cheer up, Kate. We’ll meet again,” and vanished. Later, she heard he’d enlisted, though everyone expected him to be a scholar. Now, fifteen years on, he’d simply called. Without thinking, Kate grabbed her coat and ran out.
Robbie hailеd a cab and arrived in minutes. Stepping out, he whistled at her house.
“Blimey, Kate. Done alright for yourself. Room for my rucksack?”
She smiled. He’d changed—hair cropped short, streaks of grey, shoulders broad enough to make her feel small. They hauled his things inside, then she turned to the car.
“Where to, Rob?”
He blinked. “Where? You mad? It’s glorious out. I want you all to myself.”
She tossed the keys back. “Lead on.”
“Now that’s more like it. Let’s find some greasy spoon and eat ourselves silly.”
They ambled through the frosty streets of York, Kate stealing glances.
“You’re different.”
“And you’re lovelier,” he winked. “Don’t blush—I mean it.”
“Did you tell your mum you’re back?”
His face darkened. “Gone seven years now. I did visit then—wanted to see you. But you were happy with your first husband. Spotted you at the shopping centre.”
Kate sighed. “For a while. Cancer. Eight months, and… gone.”
Robbie squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“*I’m* sorry.”
He tugged her forward. “Look—that old café!”
She grinned. They’d haunted it after school. Now accustomed to posh restaurants, she still nodded. “Let’s go.”
Over tea, she asked, “What about you? Married?”
“No.” He looked away. “My heart’s always been taken. Here on business—left the army five years back, dabbling in ventures now. And you? Still wed?”
Kate winced. “Yes. Not… happily.”
They talked till dawn, walked, drank takeaway coffee, ate dubious kebabs Robbie joked were “fresh from the alley.” He left at sunrise, promising to call when his meetings ended. Then the loneliness hit—a wave so fierce it choked her. By morning, she had a plan.
“Katherine, Mr. Harris is here,” her secretary announced.
“Send him in.”
Ian Harris—family friend, ex-military. She smiled. “With that bearing, you ought to be CEO.”
“I *am* CEO—of your security,” he grinned. “What’s happened?”
She told him everything. Ian listened, then asked, “Sure you want the truth? You barred talk of George before.”
“Time to see clearly,” she sighed.
He slid a folder across. “Here. Olivia Carter—new in town, romancing your husband. Milking him for money, angling for his share. George is besotted, or just daft. Tomorrow, they’re meeting buyers to sell his stake for a ‘new venture.’ But he’ll get nothing. Olivia’s using him.”
Kate studied the photos, heart clenching.
“Witnesses and a solicitor ready?”
“Kate, please. All arranged.”
“I want petty revenge too. Keep it quiet.”
By evening, she knew everything. George had hidden his marriage—Olivia thought the firm was wholly his. And she’d advertised for a temp. Kate adjusted her wig and entered the office.
“May I?”
Olivia eyed her coldly. “For the interview?”
Within an hour, Kate was briefed. She’d be the secretary at the meeting. Olivia, pleased, even called George off to “avoid attention.” That night, he tried to reach her, but Kate feigned exhaustion and locked her door.
The meeting began oddly. The buyer arrived early, scrutinising documents, unnerving Olivia. Sunlight blinded Kate to his face. Odd, he came alone—this deal wasn’t small. But there’d *be* no deal: Kate had frozen the shares pending their return.
George strode in. “So, signed yet?”
Olivia floundered. “Still reviewing.”
He laughed tightly. “Review what? The firm’s yours, the money ours.”
Kate stepped forward. “Does the *owner* know you’re trading her company without consent?”
George didn’t look at her. “Who’s this?”
Olivia sprang up. “Ignore her! Hired her out of pity—she’s unhinged!”
Kate smiled coolly. “I’ll agree there. Takes madness not to see betrayal under your nose.”
Everyone stared. The buyer spoke first. “Kate, why am I not surprised my disasters involve you? How d’you know the firm’s his wife’s?”
“*Robbie?*” She burst out laughing. “Didn’t expect *you* here! *I’m* the wife. And this is his mistress. They planned to sell my company.”
George lurched forward. “We’re proceeding. This share’s been mine a year. Good you know—no more hiding with Olivia.”
Olivia gaped. “You’re *married*? And the firm’s not yours?”
Kate waved dismissively. “Don’t fret. He’s nearly free. But the firm’s mine again—thanks to a clause he skimmed over.”
She drove for hours, nerves frayed. Wept, wallowed, then vowed: *No more men. No long entanglements—just fleeting company.*
“Where’ve you *been*? I’m half icicle!” Robbie’s voice rang at the gate.
She turned. The tears came—first silent, then heaving sobs against his shoulder.
“Don’t get you,” he grumbled. “Saved the firm, ditched the rat, still crying. Inside—tea before I freeze.”
Curled on the sofa, mug in hand, she listened to his muttering.
“Fridge is empty—what kind of woman keeps no food?”
“Check the freezer. Might be something.”
He peered in. “Well, it’s *something*. I’ll be feeding you soon.”
“Rob… why *are* you here? You had every right to walk.”
He frowned. “From *you*? Never when you’re hurting.”
She studied him. Maybe she’d looked the wrong way all along. Here was the one who’d *always* stood by her. Perhaps vows could bend. She smiled.
“Kate, you alright? Crying one minute, grinning the next.”
“Actually, yes. Tell me… do you still love me?”
He turned away, gruff. “You got mayonnaise?”
She laughed, looping her arms around his neck. “Stop running. Who’s the fool here?”
He exhaled, faced her. “No going back if I stay. I won’t let you go.”
“Maybe I never wanted you to,” she whispered. “I just didn’t see it.”
*Lesson learned: The heart’s compass points truest when the mind stops overruling it.*
