Shadows of Separation: A Trust Betrayed
Vincent Lawrence found himself alone in the empty flat. He had packed his wife Caroline’s belongings into black bin bags and left them outside the door. When Caroline returned from her evening lecture at university, she froze in shock at the sight of her things strewn across the landing. Desperately, she knocked, but Vincent refused to answer.
“I never want to see you again!” he shouted through the door. “You’re a traitor!”
“Vinny, what on earth are you on about? Let’s talk properly!” Caroline pleaded, her voice trembling with hurt.
Vincent only waved her off. She stood there, confused, her heart squeezing with the unfairness of it all.
***
Twenty-year-old Caroline hadn’t made a good first impression on Vincent’s elder sister, Eleanor.
Eleanor, eight years his senior, had always bossed him around, imposing her opinions. For three years, she’d lived in Manchester, barely visiting the family. In that time, Vincent had gone and gotten married.
“If I’d known you’d shack up with someone like that Caroline, I’d never have let you ruin your life!” Eleanor declared the moment she returned to Leeds. “She’s too young, too flighty—she’s not right for you.”
“Why not?” Vincent frowned, studying his sister.
“She’s twenty! What kind of wife—what kind of mother—can she possibly be? Nothing good will come of it,” Eleanor pressed. “She’s careless, only cares about her mates, nights out, and social media.”
“I don’t mind a night out myself,” Vincent muttered weakly.
“You’re twenty-seven—it’s time to grow up! With her, you never will!” Eleanor snapped, leaning on her authority.
“Is this because *you* got divorced?” Vincent smirked.
Eleanor’s face tightened, her eyes darting. She cleared her throat.
“Can you *hear* yourself? I’m only trying to help! When have I ever steered you wrong?” she huffed, wounded.
But Eleanor was lying. She’d always been jealous. Since her own marriage had crumbled, she’d decided Vincent should be alone too.
Vincent apologised, taking back his words just to placate her.
“Name one good thing about her, then,” Eleanor pressed.
“Caroline’s a brilliant cook, she’s cheerful, and the flat’s always spotless,” he began.
“That’s the bare minimum any wife should do,” Eleanor scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I reckon she only married you to show off to her mates. ‘Look at me, landed a proper bloke with a flat and a car!’ Not many your age have that.”
Vincent fell silent. His sister’s words planted doubt. What if Caroline *was* only with him for status? He started combing through memories for hints of her selfishness.
“Check her socials,” Eleanor advised smugly. “I had a peek yesterday—her photos are flooded with lads drooling over her. And some of them… well, let’s just say they’re not exactly modest. Think about it—why would she pick *you*? Be honest, Vinny, you’re no looker, and Caroline’s stunning. Why settle for you when she could do better?”
Vincent’s shoulders slumped. His sister was right—Caroline *was* gorgeous.
The doubt festered so deeply that Vincent decided to test her. He made a fake account and began messaging Caroline.
First, he showered her photos with compliments. Then he anonymously sent a bouquet to her university, asking if she liked it. She politely thanked him but asked him to stop—Vincent ignored her.
He kept writing, insisting on meeting. If she agreed, he’d take it as proof and leave her.
For two months, he sent messages until Caroline finally relented—just to make him go away. Vincent was stunned, never guessing her true reason.
Without hesitation, he bagged up her things and tossed them outside.
When Caroline returned and saw the bags, the ground seemed to vanish beneath her. She pounded on the door, but Vincent yelled:
“You betrayed me! You only wanted the flat and the car—just to brag to your mates!” He parroted Eleanor’s words, accusing her of never being right for him.
“Let’s talk, *please*?” she begged, but he just shook his head.
Caroline, crushed, couldn’t fathom what was happening.
“I’m filing for divorce!” Vincent snapped. “You’re getting *nothing*—the flat, the car, it’s all mine!”
“I don’t want anything from you,” she sighed, too exhausted to argue.
“Damn right you won’t!” he barked.
Caroline called a cab and left, refusing to waste her breath.
The next day, true to his word, Vincent filed for divorce. Caroline didn’t contest it, and it was over quickly.
The first person he told was Eleanor. His sister crowed with glee:
“You did the right thing! Let her find some other mug!”
“Yeah…” Vincent sighed. “Listen, mind if I pop round? It’s grim on my own.”
“Course, come over!” Eleanor chirped.
But she hadn’t expected him to turn up *every* night, sitting down to dinner with her. After a week, she snapped. When Vincent called again, she exploded:
“Am I a bloody café now? Why d’you keep showing up? Expect me to feed you?”
“I can’t cook,” he mumbled. “Caroline always did. *You* made me leave her—now you can feed me. I’ll bring groceries if you want.”
“I want you to *stop bothering me*! You’re everywhere these days!” she snarled before slamming the phone down.
Vincent gaped at the receiver. He couldn’t understand her sudden coldness. He called again—no answer. He went to her flat, but the door stayed shut.
Lost, he tried to reconcile with Caroline. The moment she heard his voice, she hung up.
Now he had to learn to cook—and think for himself instead of blindly obeying Eleanor.
Alone, he began to realise his mistake. Caroline had been loving, genuine—and he’d thrown it all away because of his sister’s meddling. Staring at the empty flat, Vincent knew he hadn’t just lost a wife—he’d lost the warmth she’d brought into his life.
