Mark had asked her to spend the week at the lakeside campsite just seven days ago.

June 14th

I woke up at half fourmuch earlier than usual. My hands were shaking. I felt a crushing shame I’d never experienced before, and I couldn’t stop berating myself: how on earth did I let this happen? I must have been utterly naive.

Life changed once Emily moved out and started renting her own place. I stopped bothering with home-cooked meals and began taking lunch at a cosy café near the office daily. Thats where I met Mark. He joined me one afternoon, and we just got chatting. Soon, it turned into an affair. Mark was a touch younger than me, but his distinguished grey hair made him appear rugged and slightly older at first glance.

He certainly knew how to impress: dinners at nice restaurants, bouquets delivered to my desk, and moonlit walks by the river. I adored every moment. I started booking myself into the beauty salon before each rendezvous, constantly anticipating his next text or call. I felt swept off my feet, lost in the hopes of what might be, picturing our futureour wedding day, even imagining us jetting off on a honeymoon somewhere warm and sunny.

Just over a week ago, Mark invited me to a weekend away in the Lake District. We agreed to leave Friday night and return Sunday. I couldnt wait; I kept fantasising that he’d propose down by the lakeside.

Friday afternoon, Mark phoned: Had a couple, so well need to take your car. Fine. I met him after workhe was obviously tipsy, but I hoped hed sobered up by the time we reached the campsite. We checked into a charming cottage that Mark had already booked. He opened the door with a flourish, as if welcoming me into a brand new life. I felt like royalty.

After settling in, we strolled to a coffee shop nearby. Soft jazz played in the background. We ordered drinks, and Mark ordered a brandy. Fancy joining me? he teased. Lets relax a bit, everything will be alright. Mark replied.

My first husband, Phillip, had died because of alcoholism, so my tolerance for alcohol is basically nil. Mark was well aware. He grew more intoxicated by the hour and started urging me to dance. I refused, so he ventured onto the dance floor alone. Suddenly, a young girl clung to him suggestively. Their dancing shifted from playful to indecent, brazenly so. A security guard approached and made them leave.

They both returned to my table, swiftly drained the rest of the brandy, then Mark said, Darling, you neednt wait up tonight. The girl sneered, Youre ancient compared to me, and they left together.

I sat there, drowning in humiliation. I couldnt muster a retort, my cheeks burning with shame. The waiter delivered a complimentary scoop of vanilla ice cream. From the house, he said kindly.

I ate in silence, tears streaming down my face. At first, I wanted to just head home immediately, but I decided to wait for morning. As soon as I stepped through my front door, I put everything straight in the washhis scent disgusted me now. When I opened my bag, I found my blouse covered in Marks blood. Panic surged through me. If he died, Id be a suspectafter all, I had motive.

I phoned Jean, my neighbour who works in admin at the police station. Diane, are you mad? Its six in the morning!

I sobbed, barely able to explain myself. Im coming over, open the door, she told me.

After listening to my muddled confession, she called someone: Morning! Whos on duty as an expert today? Ill be at Dianes in half an hour. She turned to me, If youre frightened of being arrested, hand over the blouse and give me Marks mobile number.

An hour later, Jean rang back: Dont fret. Thats pigs blood, not human. Marks a con artist. Ill fill you in when I get there.

I couldnt fathom what she meant by con artist. When Jean arrived, she asked straight away, You sold your parents cottagewheres the money? Is it on your card? Is your phone linked to it?

The cards in the wardrobe, phones not connected, I replied.

And Mark knows your pin, doesnt he?

Yes, we talked about the year printed on the card.

You must block the card immediately.

Jean pointed out that only minutes ago, payments from my card showed up at a diner. He planted the blood on your blouse to make you freeze, while he emptied your card. Lets file a report before they realise its blocked

And so, Im off to the station, battered but wiser.