“Mum, I’m off to the cinema with Emily! Keep your phone handy, yeah?” called Oliver, planting a kiss on Marina’s cheek before vanishing into the bathroom. She could hear him humming, the sound of running water. He was happy… free. The way she’d never been. “Mum, I’m leaving!” Oliver peeked out, his face glowing in his favourite blue shirt. “Good luck, love!” Marina waved, sinking into her armchair. A faint ping—her phone lit up with a message. She absently opened it… and froze.
A quiet sob cut through the evening stillness. Marina curled into herself, clutching her knees, silent tears soaking the pillow.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Oliver had returned early, concern creasing his brow. She hastily wiped her eyes, forcing a smile.
“Just tired, sweetheart.”
He sat beside her, studying her face. A proper grown man now—tall, steady, with the same disarming grin he’d had as a boy. Only now, it was more often directed at Emily than at her…
The memories came unbidden. Eighteen. James. Marriage. Love so fierce it made her dizzy. A naive belief that passion could conquer anything. But… it hadn’t.
“Mum! Where’s my blue shirt?” Oliver’s voice yanked her back.
“Closet, left side!” she called, chuckling.
She caught her reflection. Forty-two. Eyes heavy with sorrow no one else seemed to notice. As if her life had stalled somewhere in the past…
She remembered it vividly. A Tuesday. The corner shop. Bread, milk. And… James. Holding a bag—baby food. Nappies. That guilty smile. His eyes gave him away.
“It’s… not what you think,” he mumbled.
“Oh? What *should* I think? That you’re ‘helping’ that… what’s-her-name… *Jessica*? You’ve got a *child* together?”
Then—blurred shouting. Divorce. Loneliness. But also… freedom.
She learned to live alone. Without James. Without the rows. Her mother-in-law stayed loyal, a quiet support. She raised her son, relearned how to smile… how to forget betrayal.
Sometimes, though, it still swallowed her whole. Like today, watching Oliver embrace Emily. How they built something careful, respectful. No empty “forever” promises.
Another ping. A friend request. *Paul*… Bloody *Paul* from secondary school?
The playground. Her—the prettiest girl in year. Him—waiting at the gates with a fistful of daisies. Then James arrived. Paul faded into the past.
“Liz, you won’t believe it… Paul just messaged!”
“The one who fancied you rotten till graduation?” Liz cackled. “James nearly punched him once!”
“He just sent a request.”
“Add him! He’s some big-shot now—divorced, apparently…”
The next weeks were a dream. Texts. Flirting. Laughing till dawn. Paul was easy, funny, kind—but with a quiet confidence that came with age.
“Oliver,” she said one evening, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet…”
“Paul?” Oliver grinned. “Mum, it’s obvious. You’re glowing. I’m chuffed for you.”
She blinked back tears. But soon, Paul’s replies grew sparse. Curt. Then—
“Marina, sorry. There’s someone else. You chose James—it hurt. Now you know how it feels.”
She stared at the screen. A grown man… nursing a grudge for *twenty years*?
“Right, no more blubbing!” Liz barged in. “Let’s give this wanker a piece of your mind.”
They drafted a reply together—sharp, furious, liberating:
*”Dear Paul. Ta ever so! Can’t remember the last time I laughed so much, flirted so much, *felt* so much. You made me young again—like two decades just vanished. Hope your new lady appreciates your *performance*. Kisses (platonic). Marina.”*
The reply came instantly—a torrent of rage. But Marina was already laughing. Properly, for the first time in years.
A week later, a blonde woman cornered her in Tesco.
“You! Homewrecker! You ruined Paul and me!”
Marina blinked. Then—unexpectedly—smiled.
“Wrong target, love. The *real* homewrecker’s Jessica. 15 Forest Road. Took my husband, now Paul. Absolute *pro*.”
The woman gaped as Marina walked off, nearly choking on laughter. Imagining Jessica’s face…
Evening sun brushed her cheeks. And suddenly, she knew—she was happy. Just because. No men. No drama. No need to prove a thing.
Oliver’s text lit up her screen:
*”Mum, Em and I are moving in. See how it goes. Then—wedding.”*
Marina smiled. *This* was joy—watching her son choose wisely.
And her? She’d just… live. No fear. No ghosts. Only hope.
Because life doesn’t end with betrayal. It begins with love. For yourself.
