Page 7 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
Amelia’s lips press into a hard line.
“He’s not paying me anything,” I continue. “Just SJ’s costs. No maintenance. Half my rent for SJ’s sake and, apparently, as a favour. And he’ll cover childcare so I can get a job. Out of the kindness of his heart.”
Ben swears under his breath.
Amelia sits back slightly. “That’s disgusting.”
I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “It’s perfectly legal. Renata gave me the look—you know, the one that says, we can fight this, but you’ll lose. The courts don’t care that I raised our son while he doubled the company’s net worth and stuck his dick wherever it suited him. They see someone fit and educated and say, ‘Well, back to work with you.’”
“He cheated on you,” Amelia says, cheeks flushed. “And now he gets to come out of it with his flat, his business, his reputation, and you get... what? A pat on the head and half the rent?”
“Pretty much,” I say. “But don’t worry: the offer to go back to him tosave our marriagestill stands. Apparently, he still thinks that’s a possibility.”
Amelia’s jaw actually drops. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was. He said I could stay. In the guest room. To work things out.”
Ben lets out a low, disgusted breath. “Jeez.”
I grip the edge of the counter.
“I gave up everything for that marriage,” I say. “My work. My financial independence. My bloody sanity, most days. And now I get to start over with no savings, and a son who has no idea that his father thinks monogamy is optional.”
My voice cracks at the end. Not loud. But enough.
Amelia gets up, walks around the island, and wraps her arms around me again. I press my forehead to her shoulder. The tears don’t come this time, but I wish they would. It would be easier than this bone-deep, pulsing fury that doesn’t seem to go anywhere.
Behind us, the kettle clicks off.
Ben sets down a fresh mug and leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching us for a beat. “What you need tonight is a girls’ evening.”
I lift my head, eyes red but dry. “What I need is a bottle of wine and a flame-thrower.”
“Sure,” he says, unbothered. “We can do both. But first… come with us to the bonfire.”
I blink at him. “What bonfire?”
Ben gives me a look. “It’s the fifth of November.”
Guy Fawkes Night. Can’t believe I forgot. Then again, I forgot what day it was until Renata handed me the final agreement and said, “You’re free,” in that voice lawyers use when they meanYou’ve been mugged politely.
“It’s the football club’s do,” he adds. “Out on the pitch. Burgers, cider, small children with glow sticks. The others are all going as well.”
Amelia nods. “They’ll want to see you. And you don’t have to say anything. Just turn up. Let us feed you and take care of you.”
Ben grins. “You could burn an effigy of Sim-Sim. Really lean into the theme.”
Amelia raises her eyebrows. “I’ve got paper and string. We can knock one together. Just say the word.”
I can't help but laughing at that. Croaky, but proper.
“I’d need at least three heads to get the proportions right,” I mutter.
Ben lifts his mug. “To creative vengeance.”
Amelia clinks hers against his. I just shake my head and sip my tea, a flicker of warmth settling somewhere in my chest.
What would I do without my friends?
