For My Sake…
Emily ran the iron methodically over the board, sweat trickling down her temples, her neck, along her spine. The evening had brought little relief from the heat, and the iron only made it worse. She was nearly done when her phone rang—once, then again almost immediately, sharp and insistent.
She set the iron aside, crossed to the table, and picked up the phone. The name on the screen surprised her.
“Sophie? Is that you? What’s happened?” she asked, a flicker of worry cutting through her fatigue.
“Who else? Listen, I’m coming down your way—last-minute work trip. Skipped the hotel, thought I’d stay with you. Just two nights. That alright?”
“Of course. When do you get in?” Emily tensed, mentally scanning her nearly bare fridge. She’d been living light, barely cooking for herself.
“Tomorrow. I know it’s sudden, but it was a late decision. I’ll text the train details. You’ll meet me?”
“I’ll be there,” Emily promised, though she hesitated—she’d already taken too many sick days, and asking for more wasn’t an option.
Sophie soothed her—she’d arrive in the evening, stay a full two days. The tightness in Emily’s chest loosened.
“Don’t go to any trouble, I mean it. We’ll catch up properly soon,” Sophie said before hanging up.
Emily finished the ironing, folding the clothes neatly into the wardrobe. Part of her was glad—Sophie had always known how to draw her out. But another part shrank back. *She’ll ask questions, pry. Just when I’d made peace with things, even the loneliness.* She glanced at the clock. *I’ve time to get to the shop before it closes. It’ll have to be tomorrow otherwise.* She checked the fridge again. She hadn’t had much appetite since the chemo—most days, food was just something to get through.
They’d been inseparable, once. Met in secondary school when Sophie transferred mid-year, a whirlwind with a name that sounded like poetry. University together, too, until Sophie fell hard for a military cadet, married him, and vanished into army life. Letters turned into occasional calls, then just birthday texts. Lives diverged—children, responsibilities. Sophie had two boys now, a handful each in their own way.
Emily had married a year after graduation, got pregnant straight away. The birth had been brutal, leaving no chance for more. Her daughter grew up, left for medical school, then married and moved to her husband’s hometown.
Grocery shopping, Emily debated tidying the flat. *But who cares? It’s Sophie, not the Queen.* Another thought nagged—should she lie about her husband? Claim he was away on business or visiting their daughter? But Sophie would see through that in seconds.
She’d known, long before he left. The sudden shift to casual clothes—jeans, jumpers, suits only for meetings. The running shoes, the early jogs (abandoned within weeks). While their daughter was home, they’d kept up appearances. He’d come in late, only to sleep. Emily resented even that—he’d eat elsewhere, come home sated. A guest in his own house.
And when their daughter left? No more pretence. She’d packed his things herself, carefully, wanting his mistress to know she hadn’t been some neglectful wife. *Let her see what she’s up against.*
Then—routine tests, the crushing diagnosis. Cancer. Suddenly the betrayal felt smaller. Surgery, chemo, every scan a fresh terror. Sometimes she ached to call him, to tell him. But pity wasn’t love.
Alone, she hadn’t bothered making new friends. Just nods to familiar faces in the park—elderly walkers, young mums with prams.
*Nice weather for it.*
*Where’s the little one? At your mum’s?*
*Haven’t seen you in a while.*
Small talk, nothing more.
The next evening, Emily rushed home from work to cook, even mopping the floor before heading to the station. Tired, but no time to rest—Sophie’s train was due.
The platform crowded as the train slowed. Emily squinted at the windows, searching. *What if I don’t recognise her?*
She waited near the stairs, where passengers bottlenecked. Then—there. Sophie, fuller-faced now, scanning the crowd. Emily waved. Recognition flashed—Sophie barrelled through the crowd, bags jostling them both. They clung to each other, oblivious.
At home, Emily collapsed onto the sofa. Sophie hovered.
“Rest. You look dead on your feet. I’ll shower, then we’ll talk.”
Fresh-faced, Sophie produced a bottle of wine. They drank. And drank more. And Emily cracked open—the betrayal, the illness, the fear.
Sophie held her as she cried. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
Morning came too fast. Emily left for work, scribbling a note, leaving keys. Sophie rang midday—errands, she’d be late. Evening brought more chatter, Sophie’s own worries—her eldest at Sandhurst, the younger glued to screens.
“Twenty-six years, Em. And he just—walks away?”
“Maybe I was sick even then. Tired all the time. No wonder he looked elsewhere.”
“Don’t you dare make excuses for him!”
Next evening, Emily hurried home—Sophie left tonight.
“Feel up to a proper dinner?” Sophie asked the moment she stepped in.
“Why? Let’s stay in.”
“No chance. I’ve booked us a table.”
Emily relented—her favourite dress, no makeup. “No one to impress.”
The restaurant was dim, warm. And there—James. Thinner, greyer. He stood as they entered, eyes locked on Emily.
“You plotted this?” She turned to Sophie, furious.
Sophie caught her arm. “For my sake. Hear him out.”
James pulled out her chair. “You look tired,” he murmured.
“That’s my fault. We talked half the night,” Sophie said briskly.
Wine was poured. James stuck to water—driving later.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have changed anything? Would you have stayed out of guilt?”
“I’m sorry. I never noticed. Thank God Sophie told me.”
Emily shot her a glare. Sophie shrugged.
“I knew I’d messed up almost straight away. She’s half my age—what was I thinking?”
“Why didn’t you come back?”
“Would you have taken me?”
“I waited,” Emily admitted.
A server passed—young, tanned legs, platform boots. Sophie snorted.
“Remember us frying ourselves for a tan? Now they all want to look ghostly.”
“Fashions change.”
Sophie stood abruptly. “You two talk. I’ve got to grab my things.”
Outside the flat, Sophie squeezed Emily’s hand. “He loves you. Just listen.”
James drove Sophie to the station.
“Look after her,” Sophie warned, half-joking. “Or my boys and I will sort you out.”
The train pulled away. James turned to Emily.
“Well?”
“Take me home.”
“Which one?”
She met his eyes. “You tell me.”
The drive was quiet. Beyond the city, moonlight rippled on the river. He stopped the car.
“Remember that dawn swim? Early days. You were shy—no swimsuit.”
“You turned away. I wanted you to kiss me.”
“Too nervous. Is it nearly sunrise?”
“Shortest night of the year.”
“Do you really want me back?” His hands circled her wrists, gentle.
“Do you really mean it?”
In the dark, he looked like the man she’d loved.
“I’m done running. If you’ll have me.”
You can get used to anything—even loneliness. But who says that’s enough? Better, perhaps, to watch the sunrise together, swim in cool water, share strong tea, fall asleep tangled close.
