For Me…
Emily ran the iron methodically over the board, sweat trickling down her temples and along her spine. The evening heat had eased slightly, but the iron radiated its own warmth. She was nearly done when her phone buzzed. It stopped briefly, then rang again—persistent, grating.
She set the iron aside, crossed to the table, and picked up the phone. The name on the screen startled her.
“Lily? Is that really you? What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice tight with concern.
“Who else would it be? Listen, I’m coming to town. Business trip, but I skipped the hotel. Can I stay with you? Just two nights?”
“Of course you can. When do you arrive?” Emily tensed, thinking of her nearly empty fridge. She barely cooked for herself these days.
“Tomorrow. Last-minute plan, I know. I’ll text the train details. Will you meet me?”
“I’ll be there,” Emily promised, though she winced at the thought of taking more time off work. But Lily reassured her, saying she’d arrive in the evening, giving them two whole days together. The knot in Emily’s chest loosened.
“Don’t go to any trouble, I know how you are. We’ll talk soon,” Lily said before hanging up.
Emily finished the ironing, stacking the clothes neatly in the wardrobe. Hearing from Lily was wonderful, but she dreaded the questions. *She’ll pry, dig into my life, and I’ve only just made peace with everything—even the loneliness.* She glanced at the clock. *Still time to get to the shops before they close. Lily’s coming…*
The fridge was nearly bare. She rarely had an appetite these days—chemo stole that long ago. She changed and headed out, thoughts circling her old friend.
They’d bonded the instant Lily transferred to their secondary school in Year 7, with her exotic name and sharp wit. They even went to the same uni. But Lily fell hard for a military cadet in their third year, married him, and followed him to a distant base, finishing her degree through correspondence.
At first, they wrote letters. Then, as mobiles became common, they called. But life crept in—work, children, distance. Eventually, it was just birthday texts and the odd Christmas card. Lily had two sons now, a handful by the sound of it.
Emily had married a year after graduation and got pregnant straight away. The birth was brutal; no more children after that. Her daughter grew up, married just before finishing medical school, and moved to her husband’s hometown.
Shopping, Emily realised she wouldn’t have time to clean. *Does it matter? It’s Lily, not the Queen.* She wondered if she should lie—say her husband was away on business or visiting their daughter. But Lily would see right through it. *She’ll take one look and know no man lives here anymore. Why hide it? I’m not the first wife traded in for a younger model.*
She’d known long before James left. The sudden shift to casual wear—jeans, jumpers, trainers for morning runs—when he used to live in suits. The runs didn’t last.
While their daughter was home, they’d kept up appearances. James played the overworked husband, coming home only to sleep. Emily dreaded his arrivals—well-fed, straight to bed. Meals and pleasures taken elsewhere.
When their daughter married and left, the pretence ended. She packed his pressed shirts into a suitcase herself. Let the other woman see—*he was cared for here.* Let him know what he’d thrown away. Would she be as patient? Men crave comfort as they age. Passion fades. Emily hoped he’d come back. But weeks turned to months.
Then the diagnosis. Routine screening, a shock that eclipsed the heartache. Surgery, chemo. Every check-up felt like a death sentence. But the scans stayed stable.
Sometimes she ached to call him, to tell him. *Would he stay out of pity? No. I won’t live like that.*
So she carried on alone. No new friends. Occasional walks in the park, nodding at familiar faces—pensioners, mums with prams.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
“Where’s the little one? At Grandma’s?”
Small talk, nothing more.
The next evening, Emily rushed home from work and started cooking. She even mopped the floor before leaving for the station. Exhausted, but no time to rest—Lily’s train was due.
It slowed, creaking to a halt. Emily scanned the windows, searching. Passengers poured onto the platform. She didn’t push forward—in the crowd, she might miss her. *What if I don’t recognise her?*
She waited near the underpass stairs, where the flow bottlenecked. Then she saw her—fuller-faced, anxious eyes, but unmistakably Lily. Their gaze locked. Emily waved. Lily pushed through, bags jostling, and they clung to each other as the crowd thinned.
“Let’s go,” Emily said.
The tunnel echoed with their chatter—how scared they’d been of missing each other. The bus was stifling; Emily felt Lily studying her, but she was too drained to pretend. Home at last, she collapsed onto the sofa. Lily sat beside her.
“Rest. You’re dead on your feet. I warned you not to fuss. That smells amazing though. I’ll shower, then we’ll talk.”
Lily emerged fresh, as if she hadn’t travelled all day. She produced a bottle of wine. They drank, ate, drank again. And Emily told her everything—James, the cancer, the loneliness, the dread before every scan.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. How did you bear it?” Lily hugged her, and they cried together.
They stayed up past midnight. Emily lay awake, emotions raw, but grateful to share the weight.
In the morning, Emily left for work, leaving Lily a note and keys. Lily called midday—errands would keep her out late. That evening, they talked for hours. Lily’s eldest was at Sandhurst, itching for deployment. The younger one, glued to his console, had no ambition.
“Twenty-six years, Em. He’s not young anymore,” Lily sighed.
“I was probably already sick—just didn’t know. Too tired for anything. Easy for him to wander.”
“Don’t you dare excuse him! He didn’t notice? Didn’t *care*?”
Emily shrugged. “It’s done.”
Lily gave her a strange look. “What does he do now? Where?”
Unthinking, Emily told her.
The next day, Emily hurried home—Lily would leave that night, and they hadn’t talked enough. When would they meet again?
“How are you feeling?” Lily asked as she walked in.
“Fine. Why?”
“Then put on something nice. We’re going out.”
“Where?”
“Dinner. I’ve booked a table.”
Emily sighed. “I’ll wear a dress, but no makeup. Who’s there to impress?”
“Just wear what makes you feel confident. Can you manage?”
“For you.”
At the restaurant, Emily spotted James immediately. He’d aged, shoulders slumped.
He stood as they approached, eyes fixed on her.
“You *planned* this?” Emily froze. “You tracked him down?” She turned to leave, but Lily grabbed her arm.
“For me, please. Hear him out.”
Emily hesitated, then sat. James pulled out her chair, his gaze never leaving hers.
Lily took the seat beside her. The waiter brought their order.
“I chose for us. You look tired,” James said.
“My fault,” Lily cut in. “We were up late. Pour the wine, then.”
As he did, Emily saw the man she’d loved—still loved.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?” he asked, filling their glasses. Water for himself—he was driving.
“Would it have changed anything? Would you have stayed out of pity?”
“I’m sorry. I was blind. Thank God Lily told me.”
Emily shot Lily a look. Lily shrugged.
“I regretted it almost instantly. She’s a lifetime younger. Too late to start over.”
“Then why didn’t you come back?”
“Would you have forgiven me?”
“I waited,” Emily admitted quietly.
A girl passed their table—short sundress, platform boots, bleached hair—barely more than a child.
“Remember when we’d sunbathe in March?” Lily mused. “Who’d get the darkest tan, the highest heels?”
Emily barely glanced at the girl. “Trends change.”
“Right, I’ve got to dash,” Lily announced. “Errands before my train.”
James insisted on driving her. “I’ll have them box the food. No arguments.”
Outside Emily’s flat, Lily hopped out. “Already packed. Be right back.”
Emily understood—this was pity.
James waited silently. Lily reappeared, lugging a heavy bag.
“Underestimated the souvenirs!” she laughed, tossing it into the boot.
At the station, their goodbye wasAs the first light of dawn broke over the water, Emily leaned into James’s shoulder, wondering if some stories, no matter how broken, could still be mended.
