Betrayal Over a Cuppa: The Story of Olivia
Olivia strolled home from work with a spring in her step—today, they’d been let off early. The streets of Canterbury basked in the mild warmth of spring, and she pondered how to spend her unexpected free evening.
“Maybe pop round to Sophie’s?” crossed her mind. “Haven’t seen her in ages.”
The decision was instant. Olivia ducked into a bakery for a blackcurrant tart and, half an hour later, was ringing her friend’s doorbell.
“Hello, love!” Sophie swung the door open, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Thought I’d surprise you!” Olivia grinned, holding out the pastry box.
“Perfect timing—I’ve got a surprise for you too,” Sophie said, an odd note creeping into her voice.
“What sort of surprise?” Olivia hesitated but stepped inside anyway, heading straight for the kitchen. There, she froze, thunderstruck by Sophie’s so-called surprise.
“Never let unmarried friends get too close to a married woman,” Olivia’s nan used to say. “Keep them at arm’s length, or you’ll end up in tears.”
Olivia had always heeded her nan’s wisdom, and close friends were few. Some faded over the years, others drifted after quarrels—but Sophie had been a constant. Their friendship, forged in primary school, had lasted nearly four decades. They’d shared life’s ups and downs: Olivia and her husband, William, raised two children, sending them off to university in London, while Sophie doted on her daughter, Emily, dreaming of her bright future.
“My own happiness never worked out, but at least Emily’s got a chance,” Sophie would sigh.
“Don’t say that,” Olivia reassured her. “Emily’s brilliant—she’ll do just fine. And you’ve got nothing to complain about: a lovely daughter, a cosy flat. The divorce was rough, but that’s life.”
“Rough? More like twenty years wasted on his nonsense,” Sophie muttered bitterly. “I kept hoping he’d change, but he only got worse.”
Olivia knew the story by heart. Sophie’s ex, Gregory, had spent their marriage chasing other women. While Sophie raised Emily single-handedly, juggling jobs and caring for her parents, he revelled in affairs. Some he hid, others blew up in scandalous rows. Gregory always swore he’d reform—until three years ago, when he left for a younger woman.
“Emily’s grown now, and we’re strangers anyway. No point dragging it out,” he’d said.
While Sophie reeled, Gregory emptied their savings, calling it “fair compensation.” The flat was in her parents’ name, so he couldn’t touch it. In those dark days, Olivia was her rock, keeping her from crumbling.
“Mum, you’re the one always quoting Nan about unmarried friends,” Olivia’s daughter, Charlotte, teased.
“Oh, hush,” Olivia waved her off. “Sophie’s like family. I’m not abandoning her now.”
“Relax, we’re joking,” her son, James, chimed in. “Though you do bring her round so often, Dad might start forgetting he’s married to you!”
“Don’t be absurd!” Olivia scoffed. “You think Sophie’s out to steal your father? We’re practically sisters!”
Olivia ignored the ribbing. In her youth, she’d followed her nan’s advice, but William had never given her reason to doubt him. Steady and reliable, he’d spent decades providing for the family, his weekends dedicated to DIY or the paper. He’d once been mates with Gregory, but after the divorce, they drifted. Olivia and William sided with Sophie, while Gregory vanished into his new life.
“Sophie’s on her own—we should invite her for Christmas,” Olivia often said, and William would nod.
“Sophie’s tap’s leaking, could you take a look?” she’d ask, and he’d oblige without complaint.
“Sophie needs help moving furniture Saturday—she doesn’t want to hire strangers.”
William did it all: fixing, driving, lifting. In return, Sophie brought homegrown veg or baked cakes, and it all felt perfectly normal.
“You’re mad,” Olivia’s coworker, Margaret, once said. “Trusting your husband alone with another woman?”
“Don’t be daft,” Olivia laughed. “Sophie’s practically my sister. William and I have been married thirty years—he’s not suddenly running off at our age!”
“Famous last words,” Margaret muttered.
Olivia never doubted them. The idea of betrayal seemed ludicrous—until the day she dropped by Sophie’s unannounced and found William at her kitchen table, digging into a bowl of stew.
“What’s this?” Olivia’s voice wobbled. “You said you were fishing! Sophie needed help again?”
Sophie stepped forward, resolute. “Look, Liv, maybe it’s better you know. We’re done hiding.”
The words hit like a sledgehammer. Olivia stared between them, tears burning. She barely heard Sophie’s excuses—her mind roared, her chest aching. The tears came later at home, slumped in her armchair, clutching a cold cup of tea.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t plan this,” William mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “But Sophie and I… it’s real. We’re moving in together.”
“Are you serious?” Olivia choked out.
Days later, Sophie visited, twisting the knife deeper.
“Don’t judge us,” she pleaded. “You had decades of happiness. I suffered. I deserve this, even now. It’s not about hurting you.”
“So stealing my husband is your idea of happiness?” Olivia seethed.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Sophie looked away.
Olivia had lost both her husband and her so-called sister. No fights, no scenes—William packed his things and left. Their children, Charlotte and James, cut ties with him, siding with Olivia. Emily, Sophie’s daughter, apologized awkwardly.
“Not your fault,” Olivia sighed. “My naivety fed this whole mess.”
“I always thought of you all as family,” Emily admitted. “Now Uncle Will’s my stepdad. It’s… weird.”
“Your call,” Olivia said flatly. “But I’ll die knowing this: trust no one, and female friendship’s a myth.”
Alone in her quiet house, Olivia spoke only to her kids and colleagues. William vanished; Sophie tried reaching out, but Olivia had no energy left. Betrayal lingered, but somewhere deep, she hoped time might dull the pain.
