THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR
Early on the morning of March 9th, a sharp ring echoed through the Wilkins’ flat. “Who on earth turns up at this hour?” mumbled Nicholas, rolling over in bed.
“Especially after a holiday,” murmured Natalie, eyes still shut, shifting closer to the warmth of her husband’s back. Neither had any intention of rising. The night before, the couple had celebrated International Women’s Day with friends and family, indulging a little too much, and now desperately craved rest.
The doorbell rang again—harsh, insistent, grating.
Cursing under her breath, Natalie dragged herself up to answer.
On the doorstep stood a stranger: striking, tipsy, clutching a bottle of champagne.
“Enough lazing about,” she announced boldly, brushing past Natalie into the flat.
“Excuse me?” The hostess faltered.
“Where d’you think you’re going?”
“To find that lying scoundrel, obviously,” the woman tossed back. “Where is he?”
“W-what scoundrel?” Natalie stammered.
“Don’t play dumb. Your husband! Where is he?”
“Hold on—why do you need him?”
“Because he promised to spend last night with me! Me! And he never showed! I set the whole table like an idiot, waited for hours!”
“Ah,” Natalie pieced it together. “So you’re—”
“Yes! I’m his ‘special someone.’ Three months now. Didn’t you know?”
Natalie stared, bewildered.
“You came to stake your claim?” she finally asked, voice dripping with contempt.
“Claim? I came to spit in his face! Ruined my bloody holiday!”
“Be my guest,” Natalie’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “I’d love to see that. He’s in the bedroom.”
The woman strode off confidently—clearly not her first visit.
Meanwhile, Nicholas, frozen in horror at the shrieks of his “beloved,” scrambled for an escape.
“Blimey, she’s here! What now? Nat’ll kill me!”
“There you are!” The bedroom door flew open, revealing Lucy.
How stunning she was—young, bold, reckless! The exact opposite of Natalie, with her soft curves and quiet patience.
Oh, Nicholas appreciated Natalie—mother of his two kids, sharp with finances, even out-earning him. But passion? Long gone. Not that it mattered. She was his, wasn’t she?
Lucy, though—two months of relentless pursuit! Gifts, the promise of marriage, small fortunes spent!
“Up you get,” Lucy demanded, tossing his shoes at him. “We’re leaving.”
Nicholas caught sight of Natalie watching silently.
“Who even are you? I’m not going anywhere!”
“Who am I?” Lucy gasped. “I’ll show you!”
She pounced like a feral cat, raining blows on him as he shielded himself. Natalie just observed.
The visit was jarring. The late nights, sudden trips, growing indifference—it all made sense now. The suspicion had lingered, but she’d shrugged it off.
And here? His mistress, bold as brass.
“Oi, love,” Natalie cut in dryly. “Where’d you put that champagne?”
Lucy paused, baffled by the tone.
“Er—somewhere…”
“Leave him. Let’s drink. Yesterday was a holiday, and my head’s pounding.”
Lucy grinned. “Fine by me!” Then, to Nicholas: “Pack your things.”
“Get lost, you nutter!” he snapped.
Lucy just winked. “Keep dreaming.” Then she followed Natalie to the kitchen.
They popped the bottle.
“How long’s this been going on?” Natalie poured.
“Three months! He swore he’d marry me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Would’ve, if you hadn’t clung on like a—”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Course he did!”
“He lied, love. Never stopped him. Had I known, I’d’ve shoved him out sooner. He’s all yours.”
Lucy marched out. Natalie exhaled—no one knew how much that act cost her.
“Nat… I’ll really go,” Nicholas mumbled from the doorway. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”
“Piss off,” she replied, not even turning.
So Lucy strutted out, victoriously escorting another woman’s husband away.
Nicholas trailed behind, head low, baffled: How could his Natalie just let him go?
A week later, Lucy kicked him out. “You’re not who I thought you were. Faking it, couldn’t even pay rent!”
Nicholas wasn’t heartbroken. He headed home, steeling himself for grovelling.
But Natalie? Blank stares. A firm, icy “no.” Not even a glimpse of the kids.
With nowhere else to go, he ducked to his parents’.
Surprise—Dad blocked the door.
“Grown men don’t bunk here when they’ve got families. Sort it out with your wife. Beg if you must.”
Another sting: “If you think you’ll bring other women here, forget it. Natalie’s our daughter now. Grandkids come first. You’re welcome—with her.”
The door slammed.
Months later, Nicholas lives alone, renting nearby just to catch sight of his family.
No divorce papers. He clings to hope.
Natalie notices his efforts—sometimes humours him, but never lets him close.
She hasn’t forgotten the taste of that champagne. Not yet.