**Betrayal**
“Emily… Emily!” sobbed Lucy into the phone.
“What’s all the crying about? Just tell me what’s happened! Is it James? Lucy, why won’t you speak?” Emily shouted down the line.
“W-w-w… Daniel… Oh God…” Lucy wailed again.
“Did something happen to Daniel? Was there an accident?” Emily pictured Lucy shaking her head, as if she expected her to somehow see her through the phone.
“Right, that’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m hanging up, you hear me? I’ll be there in ten minutes. Stay put.” Emily waited a moment, listening to her friend’s sobs, then cut the call when it became clear she wouldn’t get a coherent answer.
She threw on a jacket, grabbed her bag, checked for her phone and essentials, and locked the flat behind her. Lucy lived just a short walk away, so Emily hurried along the pavement, breaking into a jog at times while muttering under her breath about Lucy’s uselessness. “Always so dramatic. If this is over nothing, I swear…”
Five minutes later, she stood at the door of Lucy’s building, jabbing at the buzzer. A crackling noise spat through the intercom.
“Lucy, open up! It’s me,” Emily called out. Another burst of static, then a beep, and the lock clicked. Emily pushed inside, the door swinging shut behind her. The sudden darkness after the daylight made her blink. No time to wait for her eyes to adjust—she stepped toward the lift, immediately tripping over something and barely catching herself on the railing.
“Damn it, you could break your neck in here. Can’t they put in a better light?” she grumbled.
Waiting for the lift, Emily tapped her foot impatiently, running through every possible disaster that could have befallen Lucy. “Just let them be alive and unharmed…” Outside Lucy’s flat, she paused, listening. No crying or shouting—a good sign. She took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer.
The door opened to reveal Lucy, face swollen and red. Without a word, she turned like a zombie and shuffled stiffly into the kitchen. Emily sighed, shook her head, kicked off her trainers, and followed.
Lucy slumped onto a chair, head hanging, arms limp in her lap. Every inch of her screamed defeat.
“Lucy, what’s happened? You scared me half to death,” Emily said, resting a hand on her back. “Tell me, or I’ll start imagining the worst. I ran here like a madwoman.”
“Daniel left me,” Lucy said flatly, voice hollow.
“Left? For another woman?”
Lucy nodded.
“Did he say it outright, or are you spiralling?” Emily pressed. She wasn’t surprised. Daniel was tall, handsome—the kind of man who drew attention. She’d warned Lucy time and again to stay sharp and keep herself looking her best, because temptation would always be there.
“He said he’s in love with someone else. Packed his things and left. Em, why? I did everything—cooked, cleaned, had his son, starved myself to stay slim after the baby… and he still walked out.”
Emily exhaled sharply. “Well, everyone’s alive, at least. You were wailing like someone had died. He’ll have his fun and come crawling back.” She dropped into the next chair.
“You think he’ll come back?” Lucy lifted her head, hope flickering in her eyes.
“Couldn’t say. But who is she? Pretty? Younger?”
“My age. Stocky, ginger, and cross-eyed.” Lucy shuddered. “Em, what was he missing? I’m ten times better, and yet…” She hiccuped and dropped her head again.
“Don’t blame yourself. Midlife crisis, hormones, boredom—he’ll snap out of it.”
Lucy shook her head, shoulders trembling with fresh tears.
“Stop crying. Pull yourself together. If he walks in now and sees you like this, he’ll bolt for sure.” The words sent Lucy into another wail, just like over the phone.
“Tears won’t fix this. You think if he comes back, everything’ll be fine? Dream on. You’ll be paranoid every time he’s late, picking fights, making yourself miserable—and Oliver too. Speaking of, where is he?”
“At Mrs. Thompson’s.”
“Good. He shouldn’t see you like this. Boys need stability, not hysterics.” Emily sighed.
“Stop crying! You’ll end up in a psych ward. You’ve got Oliver. It’s hard, but not the end. And how do you know she’s cross-eyed? Seen her?”
“Saw her photo on his phone. He was in the shower when she called… then I found her online.” Lucy wiped her face. “What do men even want? We think they drool over skinny models with legs up to their ears and fake boobs, but no. This one’s built like a brick house, and her chest—” She waved a hand, lost for words.
“Not about the body. Something else hooked him,” Emily mused.
“You think she’s got a deep soul? Hers is rotten. She’ll pay for my tears,” Lucy sniffled.
“Lucy, get a grip. You’re gorgeous, fit, young—what, thirty-two? You’ve got your whole life ahead.”
“I don’t want a life without him! I love him!” Lucy’s face twisted as she fought back sobs. “It hurts. I can’t stand it. I’d rather die.”
“Hey, none of that! Don’t even think it. Got any wine?” Emily stood and rummaged in the fridge. “Right, let’s drink. Takes the edge off.” She pulled out a half-finished bottle and filled two glasses to the brim, shoving one into Lucy’s hand.
“Drink. All of it. Best medicine.”
Lucy downed it like water and handed back the empty glass.
“We were supposed to move to a two-bed… His work was building houses for staff. Sell half, give the rest to employees. If you handed back your old flat, they’d practically give you a new one for free. Now he’ll live there with her, and Oliver and I are stuck here.”
“Stop crying. It wrecks your skin, gives you wrinkles.”
“I feel sick. I could just die,” Lucy swayed on her chair like a pendulum.
“You stupid girl. If you do something stupid, you think Daniel will regret it? No. He’ll strut around like he’s some prize, bragging, ‘Look how great I am—my wife couldn’t live without me.’ And that woman? She’ll gloat. And you? Gone. And Oliver? Foster care or a stepmum. He’ll never forgive you. Never.”
Lucy’s sobs slowed. She stared at Emily.
“Fine,” Lucy muttered, swiping her face. “I’m not killing myself. He’s not worth it.”
“Thank God, some sense. Another?” Emily poured the last of the wine.
“Em, thanks for coming. You always know what to say.” Lucy drank. “Just… stay, please? I can’t be alone tonight.”
“Course. But this bottle’s empty. Fancy a shop run?”
“No. Just stay. I’ll make tea.” Lucy stood, swayed, and fell back onto the chair with a laugh.
“Sit. I’ll do it.”
They sipped scalding tea as dusk settled outside. Lucy’s tears had dried, her gaze clearer now.
“Need to fetch Oliver and put him to bed,” she said, attempting to rise again. This time she managed, stumbling toward the door.
She returned with Oliver in tow. He eyed the bottle and glasses, frowning at Emily.
“Hey, Olly,” Emily smiled.
“We had tea. Let’s get you to bed—it’s late.” Lucy nudged him toward hisMonths passed, and though the ache never fully faded, Lucy learned to stand on her own, finding strength in Oliver’s laughter and the quiet certainty that some wounds, though deep, could still heal with time.
