The Fool Everyone thought Ann was a simpleton. She’d been married to her husband for fifteen years, and they had two children: Alice, fourteen, and Sean, seven. Her husband barely hid his affairs—he cheated on her the second day after their wedding, with a waitress, and no one could count the affairs after that. Her friends tried to open her eyes, but Ann just smiled sweetly and stayed silent. Ann worked as an accountant at a children’s toy factory. Her salary, as she said, was pitifully small, but her workload reached the sky. She even had to work weekends and sometimes stayed overnight during quarterly and annual reports. Her husband earned very well. Ann, however, was a hopeless homemaker. No matter how much money she got, it was never enough for groceries, the fridge was always empty, and—at best—there was just soup and sausages with pasta. And so they lived. Everyone was amazed to see Val with yet another new girlfriend. He often came back home, as they said, “dry as a bone.” “Oh, Ann’s such a fool. Why does she put up with a philanderer?” On the day Sean turned ten, her husband came home and announced he was getting a divorce. He’d fallen in love, and the family no longer suited him. “Don’t be upset, Ann, but I’m filing for divorce. You’re as cold as a fish. If you were at least a good homemaker, but you can’t even manage that.” “That’s fine. I agree to the divorce.” Val nearly fell off his chair. He’d been prepared for a scandal, a hysterical scene, tears—he hadn’t expected such calm. “Alright, then pack your things and I won’t get in your way. I’ll come back tomorrow, just leave your key under the mat.” Ann looked at him with a strange, almost suspicious smile. It all seemed odd to Val, but he soon forgot about it, picturing his new life without his wife or the kids. The next day he came back with his new flame. There was no key under the mat, making him a bit grumpy. “No matter, I’ll change the locks, easy.” He tried his key in the lock—it didn’t fit. He knocked on the door. A big, burly man in slippers and a dressing gown opened it. “What do you want, mate?” “This is my flat, actually,” Val said, not too convincingly. “I’d argue with that, got any paperwork? If you do, best show it.” Of course, Val had no documents on him. Suddenly, he remembered the proof of registration in his passport. He fumbled and finally found it. “Here’s my passport—the address is inside.” The man in the dressing gown flicked through the papers, then smirked and handed it back. “When did you last open this booklet?” Val, sensing something wrong, turned to the registration page. There were two stamps—one for moving in, one two years ago for moving out. What happened? He didn’t argue with the giant. He tried to call his wife, but she was out of reach. He decided to wait for her after work. But here too, he failed. Ann had left her job a year ago. Their daughter had gone abroad to study, and their son should still be at school. But even at school, he got nowhere—Sean had transferred last year, and they wouldn’t give details to a father who didn’t know where his son went. Utterly defeated, Val sat on a bench, head in hands. How could this happen? His meek, mousy ex had orchestrated this? And how did she sell the flat? Well, he’d sort it out in court—divorce was a week away. He arrived at the divorce hearing angry, determined to expose her and get back what was his. At the hearing, everything fell into place. He’d completely forgotten signing a general power of attorney to his wife two years ago—at the time, he was so smitten with Eliza, his new paramour, that he’d signed whatever his then-wife asked for, to help their daughter with paperwork for studying abroad. He’d handed over everything himself. Now he was left with nothing, on the street, and, worst of all, with no flat, Eliza vanished too. “At least she’ll file for alimony, then I’ll teach her a lesson!” he thought. But disappointment struck again. Instead of a summons for child support, he received one challenging his paternity. Turns out, both children were not his. On their wedding day, Ann had seen her husband cheating with a waitress. Something short-circuited inside her. She couldn’t explain what happened, but she chose a unique path for revenge. First, an affair for an affair. Then she started saving. Every penny her husband gave for groceries, she hid. The fridge stood empty, but the kids had nice clothes and ate at their grandmother’s. Ann’s mother shook her head and tried to talk her daughter out of it. “Revenge will destroy you, and shatter the children’s minds,” her mother warned. But Ann stayed obsessed with her goal—and reached it. She did DNA tests on the kids, though she already knew they weren’t her husband’s. That was a knockout blow for Val. Losing the flat didn’t hurt as much as finding out neither child was his. Never underestimate a wronged woman—in anger, she is capable of anything.

Silly Girl

Everyone considered Emily a silly girl. She had been married to her husband for fifteen years, and they had two children: Abigail, aged fourteen, and Samuel, aged seven. Her husband was as unfaithful as the April weather in Londonhis first affair was with a waitress on the second day of their wedding. After that, there was no keeping track. Her friends tried to rouse her from her daze, but she merely smiled sweetly and remained silent.

Emily worked as an accountant at a toy factory. According to her, her wages were barely more than pocket change, while the workload towered over her like the chilly mists over the Thames. She even had to work on weekends. Quarterly and annual reports would sometimes swallow her so late at the office, she would miss entire nights at home.

Her husband earned a splendid wage. Yet, as a housekeeper, Emily was hopeless. No matter how much money he gave her, there was never quite enough for groceries; the fridge was consistently as empty as a cricket ground in February, and the best she could muster for dinner was usually vegetable stew and some sad pasta with mince. And so life rolled on. People gossiped in Wilkinsons on Saturdays whenever they spotted Martin out with a new woman on his arm. Hed often arrive home as sober and dull as a library on a Sunday.

Oh, Emilys such a ninny! Why does she put up with philanderers? the neighbours would whisper behind their newspapers.

On the day Samuel turned ten, Martin arrived home and declared boldly that he was seeking a divorce. Hed fallen head over heels in love, he said, and family life no longer suited him.

Emily, dont take it badly, but Im filing for divorce. Youre freezing cold, like an English cod. If you were at least a decent housekeeper but youre not even that.

Very well. I agree to the divorce, Emily replied.

Martin nearly toppled off his chair. He had expected a hurricane, a firestorm of tears and screeching, not this serene surrender.

Fine then, pack your things, Ill keep out of your way. Leave your key under the doormat when you go. Ill be back tomorrow.

Emily gave him a quiet, and rather suspicious, smile. It all felt uncanny, but Martin brushed it away, already rehearsing his new, unencumbered life: no wife, no children, just fresh happiness.

The next day, he swaggered back home with his latest flame. He checked beneath the doormatno key. His brow creased.

No matter, Ill change the locks. No bother, he grumbled, trying to open the front door with his own key, but to no avail.

He knocked, and the door opened to reveal a strapping man in a dressing gown and slippers, his presence as imposing as Big Ben.

What do you want, mate? the man asked.

This is my flat, actually, Martin replied uncertainly.

Well see, mate. Do you have papers to prove it? If so, lets have a gander.

Martin, of course, didnt have the deed on him. The man refused to yield. Suddenly, Martin recalled his passporthe would have his residency documented there. After fumbling about, he finally handed it over.

The man leafed through, lips stretched in a sly smile. When was the last time you opened this little book? he asked, handing it back.

Martins heart dropped as he saw two stamps: one with his old residency, the other an eviction mark, dated two years ago.

How could such a thing happen? He didnt dare argue with the bloke. He rang his wife, but her phone was out of reach.

He decided to wait for Emily by the main gate of the toy factory, but disaster struck againshed quit a year ago. Their daughter Abigail had gone overseas to study, while Samuel surely must be at his local school. But the school told him Samuel had transferred last year. And for privacy reasons, they couldnt give a non-parent his new schools details.

Utterly defeated, Martin slumped onto a cold park bench, clutching his head. How had this come to pass? His meek, almost invisible wife had managed to pull the rug out from under him. And how had she managed to sell the flat? Well, he would sort it out in court, he reassured himself. The divorce was in a week.

Martin arrived in court full of righteous anger; hed reveal Emily as a cheat and win back everything. Instead, the truth, bright as a winter morning, dawned on him: he had completely forgotten signing a general power of attorney over to Emily. Two years ago, in the first flush of passion with his new muse, Hazel, hed signed all the necessary papers so Abigail could take her exams and study abroad. The solicitor had recommended it. In doing so, Martin had, with his own pen, written himself out of everything he owned. Now Hazel vanished into the fog as soon as she learned Martin had no flat left.

Thats alright, he told himself, shell file for child support and Ill give her nothing, thatll be my retribution. But fate twisted yet again: instead of summons for maintenance, he received a notice challenging his paternity. Shockingly, both of Emilys children turned out to be fathered by another man.

On the wedding day, Emily had seen Martin with the waitress. Something in her snapped. She never quite understood her own actions, but she resolved to take cruel revengethe first step was repaying infidelity with infidelity.

After that, she began saving. All the household money Martin gave her was squirreled away. The cupboards looked bare, but the children were dressed smartly and fed by their grandmother. Emilys mother shook her head, warning her off the rocky road: Vengeance will poison you, and break the childrens spirits. But Emily, obsessed, pressed on.

Revenge achieved, Emily had paternity tests done (though shed known the answers in her bones). The truth struck Martin harder than losing his home: his children were not his own.

Beware the scorned Englishwomanher anger is bottomless and her revenge, uncanny.