**The Scandal**
There’s an uproar in the Whitmore household. Not just any uproar—a full-blown explosion!
Anna Whitmore, née Bennett, once Anna Harrow, is at her wit’s end. She’s screaming at the top of her lungs, hurling dishes and mugs at her husband and his family—more specifically, his mother—ordering them to get the hell out and choose who goes where.
The reason? The ex-wife.
Not the ex-wife herself, but the way Mr. Whitmore and his doting mother worship the ground she walks on—this “perfect” woman who birthed their precious, one-of-a-kind child, the most wonderful girl in the world, their little princess, *Mira*!
Anna rants, swears, flips them off, and cackles wildly—a one-woman revolution in her own home.
Strong and fearless, this Anna Whitmore. Not every woman would dare give her mother-in-law a piece of her mind—let alone her husband.
«Anna,» Mr. Whitmore pleads, trying to rationalise with his hysterical wife, «Anna, calm down and let’s have a civil discussion!»
But Anna isn’t interested in discussions. She’s spiralling, shouting words no «proper» woman should know—at least, according to Mr. Whitmore and his mother.
And to think it all began so beautifully.
Anna wasn’t always Whitmore. Before Harrow, before Bennett, she was married to Mark Bennett, with whom she had a daughter, Emily. When Emily turned five, Mark fell head over heels—*actually* in love—and left.
Cut to the confrontation:
*»Anna, we need to talk.»*
*»Yes, darling, I’m listening.»*
*»Anna… I’ve met someone. Really met someone. I’m leaving. I respect you too much to lie. Emily stays with you—don’t worry. I’ll leave you the flat and everything in it.»*
He kissed Emily goodbye, hugged his soon-to-be ex-wife, grabbed his suitcase full of designer underwear, and walked out.
*»Can you believe the nerve?»* Anna later vented to her best friend. *»He ‘graciously’ left me the flat—the flat my father gave me for my eighteenth! I was twenty-two when we married!»*
*»But you two were happy, weren’t you? What happened?»*
*»He fell in love,»* Anna shrugged. *»Said he couldn’t live without her.»*
*»Bastard.»*
*»No, you know what? It happens.»*
Later, after the shock wore off, Anna cried. She begged Mark to reconsider, tried using Emily as leverage, even lied that all his friends fancied her. That lasted until their wives threatened to knock her teeth out.
Then Mark made a mistake—he visited their old home.
Anna took it as a sign of reconciliation. She sent Emily to her grandparents, dressed up, laid the table…
Mark didn’t touch the food—or her.
*»Anna,»* he said firmly, *»stop humiliating yourself. Stop chasing my friends. It’s painful watching you degrade yourself like this.»*
They talked for hours. Anna sobbed, threatened to drown herself in the bath—but Mark didn’t budge.
*»Imagine,»* he said, *»if you were trapped with someone you didn’t love, only staying for the child. You’d grow bitter, lash out—maybe even cheat. All because you were too scared to walk away.»*
*»We married because you said you were pregnant. There were never real feelings between us!»*
*»But with her…?»*
*»Yes, Anna. With *her*, there are feelings. I’ll take Emily if it’s easier. Olivia’s fine with it.»*
*»Olivia?!»*
*»The woman I love.»*
*»GET OUT.»*
And just like that, Anna was no longer Bennett—but not quite Harrow either.
Next came obsession—proving Mark wrong. Anna devoured self-help books, followed advice from divorced «life coaches» half her age, pretending she, too, could reinvent herself—wealthy, free, jetting off on holiday every three months.
It lasted a year before she gave up.
She chucked the books, reconciled with Mark, made peace with Olivia, and went back to work—teaching English.
That’s when *Mr. Whitmore* crashed into her life.
For three months, he wooed her. He brought his daughter, Mira, for tutoring—his and his mother’s duty, since his «golden» ex-wife was too busy with her new man.
First, his mother escorted Mira. Then he took over—arriving with peonies, dahlias, even courgettes from his garden (which somehow won Anna over).
Their first date? He brought Mira. And the next. And the one after that.
Anna brought Emily once.
The golden child threw a fit—*Why did they bring that girl? She wanted Daddy and Anna, not some brat!*
Emily tried befriending Mira. A punch to the head later, she asked to go back to her dad and Olivia.
*»They don’t yell. Or hit me.»*
Anna scolded Emily, smacked her backside—and Mira, thrilled, burst out laughing.
Three months later, Anna became *Mrs. Whitmore*.
*»Wear our name with pride,»* her new mother-in-law declared.
The honeymoon? A trip to Brighton—with mother-in-law and Mira in tow.
Emily? Left with her grandparents.
Then came the drudgery of married life.
Mr. Whitmore took more time off—his mother couldn’t babysit, his ex had remarried and had *legal* children now.
*»Not every man tolerates another man’s seed,»* he sighed, rambling about quitting his job to raise *his* child—since Anna’s income (plus tutoring) was enough.
Emily started school. Mark and Olivia bought her a tablet; her grandparents gifted her a phone.
Que Mira’s meltdown.
Grandmother Whitmore swooped in, *ordered* Emily to hand over her tablet—*the phone would do for now.*
When Mark next visited and noticed the missing tablet, Emily confessed.
Mark threatened to report the theft.
The Whitmores fumed but «persuaded» Mira to «temporarily» return it.
Next visit—tablet gone again.
Grandmother lunged at Emily, wrestling the device in the bathroom. Mira smashed it against the tiles.
*»Idiot!»* the old woman spat at Emily. *»Look what you’ve done!»*
And Anna? Floating in delusion—proving to Mark she could handle a ready-made family, just like Olivia.
But Emily wasn’t Mira.
Emily adored her dad, loved cooking with Olivia, begged *them* to read bedtime stories—quiet, happy, *normal*.
Her grandparents gifted her dolls for her eighth birthday—and the first piece of a jewellery collection, to be added yearly.
*»Where’s yours?»* Anna’s mother asked, nodding at the safe.
That night—another fight.
Mira’s mother (desperate to salvage her crumbling love life) dumped the girl at Anna’s. The brat screeched, demanding Emily be kicked out of *her* room.
Anna, thoughtful, finally *saw* the ex-wife properly—and something clicked.
When Grandmother Whitmore stormed in, demanding *Emily* leave *her own* room so Mira could sleep—Anna snapped.
She bolted to the safe.
*»Where is my three-piece gold set?»*
*»How should I know?»* the old woman sneered.
Mr. Whitmore shrank. His mother’s lips twitched—*guilty*.
*»Mira saw it… wanted to give it to *her* mummy…»*
The truth spilled.
Anna called Mark.
*»Take Emily. Now.»*
Seven minutes later, Mark arrived—Olivia heavily pregnant behind him.
*»Come home with us,»* Olivia urged.
*»Just take her.»* Anna locked the door, faced the Whitmores.
*»Call the police!»* the old woman shrieked.
*»Please do. I’ll report *you* for theft.»*
Fifteen minutes later—the jewellery returned.
Anna packed her things, kicked them out, and collapsed—laughing hysterically.
Then—a knock.
Her neighbour, Natasha, with brandy and pie.
*»Celebrating?»*
*»Hell yes.»*
They drank, watched *Gone with the Wind*, and passed out at dawn.
*»Tomorrow’s headache will be brutal,»* Anna muttered.
*»Who cares? We don’t do this every day.»*
And just like Scarlett O’Hara—she’d think about it tomorrow.