**Diary Entry – December 31st**

*He hasn’t loved you for a long time—there’s another woman in his heart,* the fortune-teller in her colourful headscarf said, her dark eyes fixed intently on Alice. *Six months now!*

Her grip on Alice’s hand was tight, her fingers weighed down with chunky rings.

*But he keeps telling me I’m the only one who matters to him,* Alice protested, upset and confused.

*He’s lying!* the woman insisted, her bracelets clinking. *You should let him go.*

*I’m not holding on…*

The exotic stranger stopped Alice mid-step in the bustling Christmas Eve crowds. She’d just left a shop, clutching a bright bag with a gift for her husband, Edward, when this odd woman intercepted her.

*I see you’re living in a great deception,* she blurted out, not giving Alice a moment to react before adding, *He’s got a mistress.*

Of course, Alice had heard about these street scams—how these women could hypnotise you, convince you of anything, and empty your pockets in seconds. She *knew* better than to trust them. But this one was so *convincing*. Or was it just hypnotism?

*You’re the one holding onto him,* the fortune-teller said. *Pity keeps him there. Make him leave on his own.*

*That’s absolute nonsense!* Alice snapped.

*Listen to me,* the woman pressed on. *Your fate will change dramatically tonight—you’ll see.*

With that, the talkative stranger left, leaving Alice completely rattled.

She walked home on unsteady legs, her festive mood shattered. She pulled out her phone and rang her mother, recounting the strange encounter.

*Alice, honestly, grow up,* her mum scolded. *You didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, did you? Check your purse and jewellery!*

Her money was still there. So was her grandmother’s ring.

*Still rubbish,* her mother concluded. *Just forget about it.*

On the way home, Alice tried to convince herself her mother was right—that fortune-tellers were nothing but frauds. And she almost succeeded. For good measure, she looked up articles about street scams and nearly relaxed. To distract herself, she started preparing the New Year’s Eve dinner. Tonight was special—her and Edward’s tenth anniversary of celebrating together.

At around nine, Edward called.

*Sweetheart, I’ll be late,* he said. *Work’s a nightmare—we’re still finishing the annual reports. I won’t be home before midnight.*

*Alright, darling,* she said calmly. *There’s something I need to tell you anyway.*

*Whatever it is, it’s nonsense. We’ll laugh about it later.*

After hanging up, Alice rummaged through the wardrobe, picking out a dress for the evening. As she held different options up to the mirror, the doorbell rang. A man she’d never seen before—fortyish—stood on the doorstep.

*Surprise! Happy New Year!* he beamed.

*Who are you?* Alice asked, startled. *You must have the wrong house.*

*Alice, it’s me—Oliver,* he said, looking genuinely hurt. *You invited me.*

*I did?* she gasped. *I’ve never met you in my life.*

*What?* He frowned, pulling out his phone. He repeated her surname and address.

*That’s correct—but how—?*

Then he showed her a photo—*her* photo.

*And this?* he asked pointedly. *Honestly, you’re even prettier in person. Alright, enough jokes. I appreciate humour, but not after three days on a train.*

*It really is some mistake,* Alice insisted weakly, but he wasn’t having it.

Oliver’s face darkened. *Right. Hilarious. Happy New Year.*

He left, and Alice locked the door, utterly bewildered.

*What *is* this day?* she muttered aloud, then dialled Edward’s number.

No answer.

She was about to step away when she heard rustling in the hallway. Peering through the peephole revealed nothing. The sound came again. Cautiously, she opened the door—Oliver was sitting on the floor outside.

*You’re still here?*

*Where else am I supposed to go? My train isn’t till tomorrow, and it’s freezing out here. Great New Year’s invite, I must say.*

After hesitating, she relented.

*Fine, come in and warm up,* she sighed. *I’ll figure out how to explain this to my husband when he gets back. Though I’ve no idea how.*

*You’re married?!*

She didn’t reply, and Oliver stepped inside.

*You must be hungry after travelling?*

*Why are you still being so formal?* he snapped. *We’ve been talking like we’re close for months.*

*I still don’t understand any of this,* Alice said. *But I hope we’ll figure it out.*

She hadn’t arranged the salads yet, so she dished them straight from the bowls. Oliver ate eagerly. By ten, Edward still hadn’t called. She tried again—straight to voicemail. *Strange.* That wasn’t like him.

To fill the silence, she asked Oliver basic questions about himself. He answered in bafflement.

*I already told you all this.*

But he indulged her. He was from Manchester, an oil rig worker—38, single, no kids.

Then she asked about the dating site—how they met, when.

*Six months ago,* he said. *You messaged me first.*

Alice was completely lost.

Oliver didn’t seem drunk, high, or like he was playing a prank. He spoke earnestly. *Was* he just a brilliant actor?

Midnight neared, and still no word from Edward. Anxiety coiled in her chest. Oliver eyed her suspiciously.

*You *do* have a husband, right? Or is this all part of the game?*

*Of course I do!* she nearly sobbed.

Oliver hesitated, then asked her to tell him about herself. She did—but after a few sentences, he frowned.

*Wait. That’s not what you told me online. You lied, or…*

Alice stared at him.

*Call me crazy, but I think someone set you up,* he said. *Someone made a profile in your name and gave out your address. But who? And why?*

Alice had no answers. She looked at the clock—nearly midnight. Edward still hadn’t called. Oliver noticed too.

*New Year’s almost here. Are we celebrating?*

Wordlessly, Alice fetched a bottle of champagne. At the stroke of twelve, they clinked glasses.

*Happy New Year,* Oliver said uncertainly.

*You too,* Alice replied.

Her phone buzzed. *Finally!*

She grabbed it—but the number was unknown. What she saw froze her blood.

A selfie. Edward in bed, arms around a half-naked woman.

*Oh god…*

*What’s wrong?* Oliver asked, concerned.

Alice dropped the phone, hands over her face. Oliver picked it up—and his expression turned grim.

*Is this… your husband?*

Alice fled to the bathroom in tears. Oliver studied the photo, piecing things together. When she returned, he had a theory.

*Did you know he was cheating?*

*No,* she whispered. *Not until now. Although…*

She remembered the fortune-teller’s words: *Another woman’s in his heart. Six months now!*

She looked at Oliver. *You said I messaged you six months ago?*

*Yeah…*

They stared at each other, realisation dawning.

Then Alice’s phone rang again—a hospital. Edward was in the ICU, poisoned. Panicked, she called a cab. Oliver insisted on coming.

At the hospital, a doctor explained Edward had been admitted in critical condition. The woman who called the ambulance was being questioned by police.

Alice recognised her instantly—the woman from the photo. She caught snippets of the interrogation.

*I got scared and called an ambulance,* the woman said.

*What did you give him?* the officer demanded.

*I don’t know! A fortune-teller gave it to me. I paid her to open his stupid wife’s eyes… I just wanted to be with him! But I messed up!*

Spotting Alice, the woman went silent. Alice just stared, then walked away. Oliver followed.

Outside, Alice finally broke down, gasping through tears in the icy air. Then strong arms wrapped around her—Oliver.

*Alright, it’s okay. I’ve been there. Come on.*

They returned to her flat, where Oliver made tea and tucked her into a blanket. He stayed beside her in an armchair.

The next evening, the hospital rang—Edward had woken up.

He looked at her like a cornered animal. Alice was ice.

*Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I was weak. I*She turned and walked away, knowing this was the start of something new, something real, and she wouldn’t look back.*