A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story by Zara Kingsley

course. At least none that had a hope in hell of ending anywhere close to well. Even I know that once a man strays he will always stray. No. I couldn’t be with Jeremy anymore, but I wasn’t exactly skipping through the meadows at the thought of being without him. The past four years of my life had been wrapped up in all things Jeremy and if truth be told it was pretty damned difficult to imagine a day, yet alone the looming years ahead, without him. I realise now that there were a lot of things – little things – about having a man around the house that I would happily take for granted. Like putting the garbage out. I mean, where do I put it? And what day do they collect it even? And how the bloody hell will I change a fuse in the fuse box without electrocuting myself, the next time something trips the system, which was a regular occurrence around here! And where, more importantly, was the sodding thing anyway? And thinking of little things which I’m going to miss, whilst we weren’t tying each other up with leather straps or dripping hot candle wax over our oiled bodies every night, our sex life was good. And yes, I will miss it. BUT, I shall happily embrace celibacy because even that has got to be better than the mere possibility of ever reliving this tragedy. With my hand on my heart, if I had known four years ago when I first met Jeremy that he was going to turn out to be a serial cheater – I would never have gotten involved. But hindsight really is a useless fucker. What use is it now? Should have given me a glimpse back when it would’ve made a difference.
    My only saving grace in this sorry tale is that Jeremy didn’t just agree, but suggested that I keep the apartment, without having to buy him out. He’ll stop contributing to the mortgage as of now, due to the fact he’ll be needing to get his own place fairly soon, which whilst it’s great news, places an extra twelve hundred and fifty pounds on my already burdened shoulders each month. Oh bugger. And the hits just keep on coming .
     
    Having not been able to sleep at all last night, I was in and out of the gym by seven thirty this morning and managed to break my own record by arriving to work at eight forty-five. Lauren, as usual, was already there, looking wide awake and incredibly stylish in her Prada trouser suit. She was humming a tune and looking far too jolly and energetic for a Monday morning, as she tapped away on her keyboard perched at the reception desk. Lauren was one of those annoying people who was constantly in high spirits, never moaned or complained – not even about Portia or Gwendolyn, who both gave us all on a daily basis countless reasons to bare our fangs, behind their backs of course. But not Lauren. She had the ability to shrug off a belittling comment, or laugh off a blatant snide remark with effortless ease, and still managed to find something nice to say in return. She was extraordinary. And I loved her.
    “Well, well, this is a first Rebecca,” she laughed lightly.
    “Couldn’t sleep,” I explained, throwing myself down on the cow-skin chaise, intended for clientele only. “Is her highness in?” I asked pointing up above.
    “No, not back till this afternoon.”
    “Oh goodie. What about Lady Muck?” I asked referring to Portia.
    Lauren laughed. “Not yet.” Then looking at me with touching concern, “It was quite a surprise Jeremy turning up like that last Friday.”
    “Certainly was,” I sighed flicking through Pamper Moi’s new brochure, hopeful for a meagre mention of facial exercise training. Nada. Who was I kidding? Gwendolyn, not being one for ever changing her mind about something, meant it was probably never going to happen. I made a mental note to evaluate my career prospects. Not that a sea of options was billowing before me, but the career span of a beauty therapist was a relatively short one and after six years in the industry I wasn’t sure how many more I had left in me.
    “So did you guys