Zoe wondered how she hadn’t seen it coming. Doug had been acting weird all week—working late at the office, remembering he’d made plans with friends on the nights he was supposed to be meeting her, and cutting short pretty much every telephone conversation they’d had, making some lame excuse as to why he needed to go. When he’d called that morning to suggest they go for dinner, Zoe had been happy at first. Maybe he was coming out the other end of whatever mood he’d been in. But sitting opposite him now, in the nondescript Bistro in Soho, Zoe was feeling anything but happy. Despite all the warnings, she felt shell-shocked.

“Zoe? Are you okay?” Doug leaned forward, his brown eyes actually showing a trace of concern. He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it free.

“Am I okay?” she asked, fixing her gaze on him. She tried not to think about how handsome he looked, with that firm jawline and swept back blond hair. Those looks had drawn her in too many times. Those eyes had persuaded her to take him back on more than one occasion.

“Am I okay?” she repeated, louder this time, causing Doug to glance around the restaurant, obviously embarrassed and worried she was going to cause a scene. 

“Please don’t get upset,” he said, which annoyed her even more. Now she knew why he’d bought her here rather than one of their regular haunts. He didn’t want to be shown up in a restaurant he might go back to.

“You’ve just told me you’re having an affair with some bimbo you work with and you want me to calm down!”

“It’s not really an affair, Zoe. You and I aren’t married. We don’t even live together. I’ve just met someone else and I want to see where it goes.”

Zoe was feeling hot. Hot and furious. This stupid man had messed her around one too many times. She stood, picking up an almost full bottle of red wine from the table.

“Well, let’s see where this goes,” she said, tipping the bottle up so that red liquid sloshed onto the edge of the table nearest Doug, splashing across his lap, ruining his Saville Row suit trousers.

“Jesus!” Doug leaped to his feet, arms spread in an expression of dismay and disbelief. Oher diners had now stopped speaking and were turning to stare, but Zoe didn’t care. She’d had enough. He deserved to be embarrassed and humiliated.

She slammed the now empty bottle back on the table, grabbed her coat from the back of her chair, and headed for the door, sidestepping two waiters rushing toward the scene of the crime. 

Don’t look back!

She reached the door and remembered to pull rather than push it open. The cool air hit her and was very welcome. She stood taking deep breaths for a moment, then still without looking back, headed toward the nearest Underground station.

She managed to contain her emotions until she reached her apartment in Islington, but as soon as the door had closed behind her, she burst into tears. It wasn’t sadness over losing Doug that was making her cry, it was frustration and anger at herself for ever having taken him back. He’d always been flaky and scared of commitment, but every time he asked her to forgive him, she had, always hoping this time he’d change. But he never did, and now he’d committed the ultimate act of disloyalty and slept with someone else. Maybe this wasn’t the first time. Perhaps all those other occasions when he’d said they should have a break, there’d been another woman waiting in the wings, but he hadn’t bothered to mention them.

Was there something special about this latest assignation?

Who cares! This time he really is history!

Zoe surveyed her apartment. She was pretty lucky. She was living in an affluent part of London, a nice one-bed conversion in a striking period property, and she had regular freelance work as a content writer for a very successful fashion retailer’s website. A lot of women of her age, thirty-one, would kill for a life like hers. She didn’t need a man in her life. She had everything she required, and she’d earned it all herself. Doug could take his City job and his bespoke suits and…

Zoe wandered over to the large ornate mirror above the fireplace in her living room.

Am I really going to do the self-analysis in the mirror? 

Yes, she was going to, but it was all positive. She looked great. Despite being slightly puffy and bloodshot, her eyes were a stunning green, her narrow nose a perfect contrast to her full lips, and her brunette hair was lush and full, falling in natural waves to her shoulders. She gave her locks a defiant flick, turned, and strode to the sofa, sitting heavily and looking for her cigarettes.

I gave up a year ago, remember.

She began to cry again. How could she have wasted three years of her life on that man?

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and sniffed.

“New start!” she announced aloud—then, worried her neighbours downstairs might think she was going mad, she continued the pep talk in her head.

Tomorrow is Saturday. I am going to wake up and do something I’ve never done before—something for me. It doesn’t have to be anything huge, just something different. Tomorrow is my day.

She glanced at her watch. It was only ten o’clock, but she was tired and wanted to wake up feeling fresh and positive. Tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of her life.