“Honestly, I handed you over to her myself—with my own hands. And she didn’t even hesitate, just took you.”
“Emma, hey. What’s so urgent that you couldn’t say it over the phone?” Sophie asked, slipping off her blazer as she stepped into the flat.
“Not a phone conversation. Come to the kitchen,” Emma said, flicking off the hallway light and following her friend.
“Alright, you’ve got me curious. Spill,” Sophie said, sitting at the table and folding her hands like a schoolgirl waiting for instructions.
Emma set down an opened bottle of red wine and two glasses.
“Wow? That serious, huh? I’m all ears,” Sophie remarked.
Emma poured the wine and sat across from her.
“Helps with relaxation and mutual understanding,” she said dramatically, raising her glass and taking a sip.
Sophie lifted hers but didn’t drink, waiting for Emma to start.
“I’m ruined. Completely head over heels. Living in a dream, obsessed. I go to bed just counting the hours till morning. Never thought it could happen like this. I loved James, but not like this. And now…” Emma downed her wine in one go.
“Yikes. And you called me just to share the news?” Sophie set her glass down and stood.
“Sit.” Emma tugged her back into the chair.
“What about James?” Sophie slumped onto the seat.
“What about him? We’ve been together seven years. Everything’s fine—stable. Then I met Oliver, and it’s over for me.” Emma sighed. “You judging? Ever loved someone like that? No? Then don’t.” She scoffed. “Actually, I called you to talk about James.”
“Alright, I’ll drink.” Sophie took a few gulps, nodding approvingly.
“You fancied my husband. Think I didn’t notice how you looked at him?” Emma tapped her nails on the table, circling the real issue.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sophie scoffed.
Emma shrugged. “I’m not jealous—don’t flatter yourself. It’s better this way. I’ve decided to leave James, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. I feel awful.”
“You didn’t feel awful cheating, but now you can’t say it? Makes no sense.” Sophie sipped her wine.
“You don’t get it. He’s a good man. I shout, snap at him, drain him—he just takes it. Stays quiet. He doesn’t deserve this. Understand?”
“No. Explain.”
Emma refilled her glass.
“I could tell him straight—‘I don’t love you, I’m leaving.’ He’d let me go. But what happens to him? Men take breakups hard. His confidence’ll crumble. He might drink, spiral—worse. I can’t do that to him. Get it now?”
“And I’m involved… how?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You like him. Might even love him, unrequited.” She studied Sophie, who looked away. “I’d feel better if he was with you and not some random—”
“Oh—I see. You want me to babysit James while you’re off with your fling? You’re mental. He’s not a hand-me-down! Live with him, get bored, pass him to your mate?” Sophie drained her glass, grimacing.
“Cheers for the compliment. Didn’t realize I was better than some floozy. No, this is mad. Find someone else to pawn your husband off on. Have you even asked him if he wants me?” Sophie twisted her empty glass.
“That depends on you.” Emma leaned in.
“You’ve lost it. You need therapy.” Sophie flushed with anger.
“No cure for love, sadly. And yeah, I’ve lost my head.” Emma shrugged.
“What if your new fling fizzles? Then what? Want James back? ‘Thanks for looking after him, now hand him over’?” Sophie’s irritation flared.
“I can’t think ahead. All I know is I’ll die without Oliver.” Emma slumped back, annoyed by the turn of the conversation.
Sophie stayed silent. What could she say? They drank. The whole idea was absurd—but then again, why should James end up with anyone but her? She *did* care about him.
“Help me. Just be there for him. Distract him. Take him to bed if you want. Need me to spell it out?” Emma’s gaze drifted past her.
“This is mental. Sitting here drinking while a wife offers her mate her husband. Watched too much telly? Reminds me of some soap opera twist. How’d you even come up with this?”
“Keep it down.” Emma pressed her fingers to her temples. “Just a suggestion. Don’t want to? Fine. Let him drink himself to ruin.” She lifted her glass, eyes shut.
Sophie watched, mesmerized, as she swallowed, the pulse in her throat flickering.
“I just want him happy, like me. If we can’t be happy together, at least apart. I want him safe. In *your* hands.” Emma set down her empty glass.
“What’s the debate, girls? Hope it’s not about me?” James’ voice startled them. He stood in the doorway, grinning. “Tut-tut. Drinking?”
“Finally. Take your coat off, wash up—dinner’s ready. We were just discussing a film,” Emma said smoothly, turning on the stove.
James returned from the bathroom. “Where’s my glass?”
“You’ll have one later. Can you drive Sophie home? It’s late.” Emma shot Sophie a meaningful look.
“I’ll call a cab,” Sophie said, missing the hint.
“Don’t bother. I’ll take you,” James said, already digging into the shepherd’s pie Emma served.
“Come here, need to tell you something.” Emma nudged Sophie toward the living room.
Alone, Emma grabbed her wrist and hissed, “Now it’s up to you. When he drives you home, don’t waste the chance. Invite him in. Say something’s broken, ask him to fix it—figure it out. And don’t freeze. If *he* strays first, my cheating won’t seem so awful.”
Sophie gaped. “You want me to help you cheat? Lie to James? I won’t do it. It’s wrong.”
“Fine. Stay noble, then.” Emma shoved her arm away.
***
Sophie sat in James’ car, the streets quiet.
“Sorry you had to drive me instead of relaxing,” she broke the silence.
“Don’t worry. Plenty of time for that. Why’d you two drink so much? Emma’s been secretive lately. Anything wrong? She’s either snapping, laughing hysterically, or crying over nothing. Can’t believe she didn’t tell *you*.” He glanced at her.
“Just girl talk.”
“Right. You’re a terrible liar. And I’m not blind or deaf.”
Sophie squirmed.
“Listen—would it be cheeky to ask you to check my kitchen tap? It’s dripping. Worried I’ll flood the neighbors.”
“Now?” A pause. “Alright.”
At her flat, they avoided eye contact in the lift.
“Right, show me,” James said, kicking off his shoes.
“In the kitchen.” Sophie led him. “Drips underneath.” She opened the cabinet.
James peered under the sink. “Dry now.”
“Really? Last night I had a bowl catching it.” Her face burned. *Nice one, Emma.*
“Got any tools?”
She rummaged and handed him a small toolbox.
“From my dad.”
“Perfect.” He sorted through it while Sophie paced, cursing Emma. Fifteen minutes later, he declared the tap needed replacing.
“Gaskets are shot, and it’s ancient. Need a new one.”
Sophie already knew—she’d called a plumber half a year ago.
“Here’s the plan: I’ll buy the parts tomorrow, bring my tools, and fix it in the evening.”
“Tea?” Sophie jumped up, relieved he hadn’t called her bluff.
“Nah, I should go.”
They stood close. *Why did she even marry him?* Sophie thought. *I’d never cheat.* Her heart pounded. *Doesn’t he feel this?*
James noticed her struggle. *She’s pretty. Funny. Nervous. That look… Was Emma right? Does she fancy me?*
They stepped forward at the same time. Their lips met—then they jerked back, flustered.
“You offered tea,” James croaked.
Sophie bolted to the kitchen, hands shaking as she filled the kettle. She set out cups, sugar, sensing his gaze. Then remembered and pulled out a plate of scones.
“Shop-bought?” James took a bite and groaned.
“Made them myself,” she huffed.
He reached for another. “Really? For who? You live alone.” Her blush answered him. “Sorry, foot in mouth.”
“Work do today. Brought leftovers. Good?”
As she watched James drive away, Emma finally let the tears fall, knowing she’d lost him for good, but the weight of her choices was hers alone to carry.
