**The Boomerang of Fate, or The Price of Another’s Happiness**
Olivia stood by the window of her one-bedroom flat in an ageing building on the outskirts of Manchester, watching as her neighbour, Edward, and his wife, Victoria, unloaded bags from their car boot below.
“Who bothers with markets at this hour on a Sunday?” she muttered under her breath. “A day for lie-ins, coffee in bed, and telly. But that witch’s got her man on a leash like a damned servant.”
Edward had always intrigued Olivia. Polite, helpful, handy around the house—always ready with a smile or a favour. But Victoria? Olivia had despised her from the start. Always put together, composed, as if she had life all figured out. And Olivia? Just ordinary. Chipped nails, her heart on her sleeve, and alone.
“Why do snakes like her get the decent blokes?” she’d grumble to her mates over wine in the kitchen.
“Too right!” Gemma would echo. “You’re a proper catch. Fit, funny. Yet here you are, single. No justice!”
“Someone ought to put these smug cows in their place! Steal their men—teach ’em a lesson!” slurred a tipsy Louise.
They laughed, spinning fantasies of petty revenge. But later, lying in bed, Olivia didn’t laugh. Louise’s words stuck in her like a splinter, itching under her skin.
The next day, she baked scones, fried up a full English, loosened the hinges on her cupboard door, and—playing the damsel in distress—knocked on the neighbours’. Edward answered. She asked shyly for help, sighing as he fixed it. She fed him, poured tea, fluttered her lashes. He left, full and pleased.
Then came the apple pie. Then shepherd’s pie. Then Sunday roast. Edward ate, praised, and complained—how long it’d been since he’d been spoiled at home. He was lying, of course. But Olivia listened wide-eyed. Six months and several wine-soaked dinners later, they became lovers.
Victoria didn’t notice. Trusted him like the air. When she found out, she crumbled. Kicked Edward out that night—no shouting, just two days of silent tears in the bath. By the third, she filed for divorce, packed her things, listed the flat, and vanished.
Olivia triumphed. The house was hers now, the man beside her. Happiness?
At first, yes. But within a month of Edward moving in, the truth surfaced. Saturdays—markets. Groceries vanished into the fridge like a black hole. Money slipped through her fingers. Meals three times a day, plus something for tea. He ate like a king, fussy as a child. Took enough lunch to feed an army. Banned her from seeing friends, buying clothes.
“A woman’s place is at home,” he declared one evening.
Arguments followed. Ugly, draining. He commanded, criticised, sneered. Finally, she dared:
“Edward… maybe we should call it off?”
He smirked, eyes narrowing. “You wormed your way into my marriage, remember? You spent my flat sale on renovations, lived off my wages. Now you want me gone? Pay me back, and I’ll leave. Otherwise, *you* don’t decide when I go. I leave when *I* want. Till then—live with it. Quietly.”
For the first time, Olivia felt real fear. Not for herself—for her own stupidity. For everything she’d wrecked chasing a fairy tale. How had Victoria borne him? How had she endured?
He’d seemed perfect once. Charming, attentive. Now? A stranger in her home, her life. She didn’t dream of him anymore—she dreamed of escape. But the door was locked.
One late evening, she saw Victoria on social media. A photo by the sea, windswept hair, a quiet smile. Caption: *”To live is to breathe. To breathe is to be free.”* And then Olivia knew—this boomerang of fate hadn’t just come back. It had struck her straight through the heart.
**Lesson learned:** Another’s happiness isn’t a prize to be stolen. Sometimes, the hand you bite is the one that fed you—and karma settles the bill.