“Well, well, look who it is—Marianne. How long has it been? Fifteen years? More?”
“Probably more. But you haven’t changed a thing.”
“You have. Grown even prettier.”
Valerie studied the face of her once-best friend, hardly believing their paths had crossed again—not just crossed, but collided at a children’s dance class, where they’d both brought their daughters for a free trial session.
“Thanks, Val,” Marianne replied with a faint smile.
She wanted to return the compliment but struggled for the right words. All words had dried up over fifteen years ago, the last time they’d spoken—a bitter, tangled conversation Marianne still recalled with a shudder.
“Which one’s yours?” Valerie asked. “A son or daughter?”
“Daughter,” Marianne said. “Veronica. She’s ten. And yours?”
“A daughter too. Just turned nine. So, was it Edward’s? Did you two ever marry?”
Marianne blinked in surprise. After all this time, did Valerie still believe she’d stolen her boyfriend—and married him? Years had passed, yet Val seemed exactly the same.
“Let’s grab coffee downstairs. We can chat properly.”
Valerie stiffened slightly. The idea of idle talk with a former friend turned rival clearly didn’t appeal, but after a brief pause, she nodded. So much time had passed; they’d each built lives. What was the point in clinging to old grudges?
“Fine.”
They descended in silence, stealing glances. Both were curious about the other’s life, yet neither dared breach the past—not yet.
They talked in circles—safe, shallow topics. Valerie had returned to their hometown two years ago when her mother fell ill. Her husband, Ian, had agreed to the move.
“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted, “but Ian’s wonderful. Kind, patient. I’m so lucky to have him.”
Marianne smiled. So Valerie had found happiness—a good man, a daughter. Maybe she’d let go of the old resentment? But seconds later, the question came anyway:
“And you? Did you marry Edward? Raise his child? Are you happy with him?”
Marianne’s gaze turned wary. Why had life turned out so complicated? Two childhood friends, bonded since the sandbox, inseparable through school—only to fracture over something so petty. She’d assumed Valerie had moved on, but no—she’d carried the belief that Marianne had trampled on her heart to build her own happiness.
“Val, do you honestly still think there was ever anything between Edward and me? We talked about it. I thought you understood, even if you just pretended not to believe me out of pride.”
Valerie pressed her lips tight—a childhood habit Marianne remembered well. It meant she was hurt, defensive, or withholding words she couldn’t articulate.
“I don’t think about you at all,” Valerie muttered, and Marianne knew instantly it was a lie. “I’ve moved on.”
“You’ve spent years believing I married Edward, that I stole him from you, and now you’re trying to convince me you never gave us a second thought?”
Valerie smirked bitterly, eyes darting away. Marianne studied her profile, wondering if time had softened the wound—or if Valerie still clung to the idea of betrayal.
“I really didn’t think about it,” Valerie repeated. “That last conversation… I cut you both out. And your claims that nothing happened? That was just more lies.”
“So she never forgave me,” Marianne thought grimly. She pulled out her phone, scrolled through photos, and handed it over.
“Look. That’s my husband, Victor. The same awkward Vic Spencer you used to mock for being a bookish bore.”
Valerie’s eyes widened as she flicked through the gallery, zooming in on details. A faint smirk tugged at her lips before she finally looked up, incredulous.
“You actually married Spencer? I thought you were joking when you mentioned him. And your daughter—she’s his?”
“Daughter and son,” Marianne confirmed. “Andrew’s nearly thirteen, Veronica’s ten. I’m happy, Val. Just like you. There was never anything with Edward—he made it all up to end things with you cleanly and drive us apart.”
Valerie’s lips thinned again, and Marianne felt frustration rise. How long would they dredge up the past? Their friendship could’ve endured if not for Edward’s meddling.
They’d met at five, neighbors in the same building, clashing over a doll before Marianne’s mother intervened. Small fingers clutching the toy, Valerie had burst into tears, and Marianne—softening—handed it over with a smile. “You play. I’ll wait.”
From then on, they were inseparable. Same nursery, same school desk, homework sessions, holidays spent together. University cemented it—until Edward arrived in their second year.
Valerie had been smitten instantly. “Marianne!” she’d gushed. “I’m in love! He’s perfect!”
Marianne had been happy for her. Until the day Valerie’s tone turned sharp. “What, you think only you can land a decent bloke?”
That was new. Marianne had dated—casually, seriously—but Valerie had never resented her for it. Not until Edward, who flirted with both while Valerie grew possessive.
Then came New Year’s Eve. Edward cornered Marianne, confessing feelings.
“You’re with Valerie,” she’d scoffed.
He smirked. “Had a shag or two. Doesn’t mean we’re serious.”
Disgusted, Marianne shoved him out. Next morning, Valerie stormed in, hysterical.
“How could you?” she’d shrieked. “You knew I loved him! You swooped in behind my back!”
Marianne stood dumbstruck. “What are you talking about?”
“Edward told me everything! How you threw yourself at him, said we were doomed—”
“That’s rubbish!”
The slap came before she could defend herself. Valerie’s voice shook. “I’m pregnant. And he walked away—because of you.”
She vanished—moved cities, cut contact. Marianne tried reaching out, but Valerie’s parents shut her out.
Fifteen years later, here they stood—mothers now, lives rebuilt.
“You never let me explain,” Marianne murmured. “I knew Edward was rotten, but I kept quiet because you loved him.”
Valerie checked her watch abruptly. “Class is over. Let’s fetch the girls.”
Upstairs, they waited silently until Valerie suddenly asked, “Do you hate me? For slapping you?”
Marianne shook her head. “No. You were hormonal, heartbroken. I just wish we’d talked sooner. Fifteen years of silence over a lie.”
Valerie turned, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Know what I just realized?”
“What?”
“Without Edward, I’d never have met Ian. No husband. No daughter.”
Marianne smiled as Veronica bounded over, Valerie’s girl—a mirror image—joining them.
“Fancy taking the girls to the park this weekend?” Valerie asked.
Marianne agreed, surprised but pleased.
Things would never be what they were. No more childhood closeness. But the weight of fifteen years’ resentment? Gone.
And that was better than nothing.
