Lydia stood before the door of Steven’s flat, nervously twisting the handle of her bag. Two and a half years ago, she had walked out on him, slamming the door behind her, certain that Paul, his wealthy friend with a flashy car, would give her the life she dreamed of. But Paul had not been the man he seemed, and now Lydia had decided to return. “Steven always loved me,” she thought. “He’ll take me back—where else would he go?” She pressed the bell, smoothed her hair, and forced a smile. The door opened, and Steven’s surprised exclamation—”Well, well! What brings you here?”—made her feel bolder.
“I’ve come back,” she said, inhaling the scent of fried potatoes and chops. “Cooking supper? Smells lovely.” Steven frowned. “Come back? To me?” Lydia nodded, but his next question caught her off guard: “We’ve already eaten. Sorry, but I won’t invite you in.” “We?” she repeated, a knot of unease tightening in her chest. “Who’s ‘we’?” Then a woman stepped out from the kitchen. Lydia stared—it was Olivia, her old friend, the one she’d once sipped champagne with, plotting how to leave Steven behind.
Lydia and Steven had married five years earlier, but their life together had been full of quarrels. She wanted glamour—fine dining, holidays abroad, designer dresses. Steven, an engineer at a factory, earned modestly, though he tried his best. His parents sent food from the countryside to save money, but Lydia scoffed: “I don’t want their milk and cheese!” She spent her own wages on clothes and the latest phone, bought on credit, while demanding more from him. “You’re broke,” she’d snap. “Why did I ever tie myself to you?” He asked her to tidy the flat, but she refused: “It’s your place, not mine.”
Everything changed when Lydia fell for Paul. Charming and well-off, he took her to cafés, promising her the world. Olivia had warned her: “Lyd, Paul’s a womanizer—think it through!” But Lydia wouldn’t listen. She packed her things, tossed Steven the keys, and left with Paul without so much as a goodbye. Olivia stayed behind, cleaning up the mess Lydia left. Lydia had laughed then: “Take Steven if you want him—he’s yours!” She never imagined those words would come true.
Life with Paul was no fairy tale. He was generous but demanded obedience, and Lydia endured his “wanderings” until she couldn’t anymore. Two years later, she heard Steven had been promoted, bought a car, and remained unmarried. “He’s waiting for me,” she decided, leaving Paul a note and rushing back. But now, standing in the doorway, she watched as Olivia said calmly, “Hello, love. Why so surprised? You gave him to me yourself.”
Lydia’s cheeks burned. “You’re married?” she choked out. Steven nodded. “Yes, Lydia. And we’re happy. What did you expect?” She faltered. “I thought… maybe we could—” Olivia cut her off gently. “Lydia, you’ve got your parents. They’ll be glad to see you. Steven and I have things to do. Goodbye.” The door closed, leaving Lydia alone on the landing, clutching her bag.
She remembered Olivia cleaning that flat, baking pies, visiting her gran. Back then, Lydia had mocked her “simplicity,” but now she understood—Olivia had given Steven what she never could: care, comfort, love. She thought of returning to Paul, but her note had burned that bridge. Her parents? They’d grown distant, wounded by her choices. She sank onto the bench outside, feeling her world collapse. “What have I done?” she whispered, but no answer came.
Inside, Steven and Olivia set the table for supper. A month later, twins were born, and Steven’s parents, adoring their new daughter-in-law, couldn’t have been prouder. Lydia, meanwhile, was left with nothing but regrets. Life, as Olivia had warned, doesn’t forgive those who trade what’s real for empty dreams.
