“Mum, you’ve completely lost it!” Andrew’s voice shook with anger. “How could you believe that conniving witch?”
“Don’t you dare speak about Emily like that!” Margaret snapped. “She’s been like a daughter to me!”
“A daughter?” Andrew laughed bitterly. “Mum, she robbed you blind! Took every penny of your savings!”
“She didn’t steal anything! I gave her that money willingly!” Margaret slammed her fist on the table. “And it’s none of your business how I spend my own money!”
“It *is* my business when it was Gran’s inheritance—your pension, the money I send you! And she’s vanished with all of it!”
Margaret turned to the window. Rain streaked down the glass like silent tears—but she didn’t cry. She’d wept herself dry yesterday, when the truth about Emily finally sank in.
“She didn’t vanish,” she murmured. “She went to visit her sister in Bristol. Said she’d be back in a month.”
“Mum, wake up! What sister? You *know* she’s got no family—she told you she was an orphan!”
“Maybe she found someone. People do…”
Andrew gripped her shoulders. “Look at me. Emily Clarke is a fraud. She befriended you just to scam you. There are dozens like you—she’s done this before.”
“How do you know?”
“Hired a private investigator. Here—look.” He pulled a folder from his briefcase, filled with documents and photos. “Emily Clarke, thirty-eight. Convicted for fraud. Targets lonely elderly women. These are her with other victims.”
Margaret’s hands trembled as she took the folder. In every photo, Emily stood arm-in-arm with women her own age—all smiling, all fooled.
“It can’t be true,” she whispered.
“She took twenty thousand pounds from you, Mum. Said her daughter needed surgery. She doesn’t *have* a daughter!”
Margaret sank into a chair, knees buckling.
“But… we were friends for a *year*. She helped me with shopping, took me to hospital appointments…”
“She was grooming you. Waiting for the right moment to strike.”
Margaret remembered the day they’d met—queuing at the GP’s. Emily had struck up a conversation, said she was widowed, her daughter living abroad. Just as lonely as she was. Then the “chance” meetings at the supermarket, the pharmacy, the cups of tea, the shared memories…
“You remember how I warned you?” Andrew pressed. “Told you to be careful with strangers?”
“Of course I remember. But you suspect *everyone*. Think the worst of people.”
“Not everyone. Just the ones who become ‘best friends’ overnight.”
Margaret shut her eyes. She remembered the day Emily arrived in tears, claiming her daughter Lucy was gravely ill, needed life-saving surgery. *”Maggie, you’re the only one I can turn to.”* And without hesitation, she’d handed over everything.
“Why didn’t you *tell* me?” Andrew asked. “I’d have stopped you.”
“Because I knew you’d say no. You never liked her.”
“I *knew* she was fake. Too much laughter, too many compliments. Real friends don’t act like that.”
Margaret stood and walked to the sideboard, where a framed photo sat: her and Emily by the fountain in Hyde Park, arms around each other. She snatched it up and hurled it to the floor. Glass shattered.
“Mum!”
“Stupid old fool,” she choked. “*How* could I be so naïve?”
Andrew pulled her close. “Don’t blame yourself. She’s a professional. She *knows* how to manipulate people.”
“But *why* me?”
“Because you’re kind. Because you trusted her. Because you were lonely.”
Margaret wiped her eyes, stiffening. “I’m reporting her to the police.”
“It’s too late, Mum. She’s gone. They won’t find her.”
“Then at least I’ll stop her doing this to others.”
Andrew sighed. “Mum, why didn’t you call me?”
“*Shame*,” she admitted. “Knew you’d say ‘I told you so.’”
“I’m not saying that. I’m *worried* about you.”
Her voice cracked. “I know. I’m sorry, Andy.”
He kissed her forehead. “Come live with me. I don’t want you alone after this.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t run. If I leave now, I’ll never forgive myself.”
He wanted to argue but didn’t. She’d always been stubborn.
“Fine. But I’ll check on you every day.”
“Once a week is enough.”
“Mum—”
“I’ll be *fine*.”
After he left, Margaret swept up the broken glass, tore the photo to shreds, and tossed it away. Then she sat by the window, thinking. How could she have been so blind?
The phone rang. *Emily.*
She stared at the screen, then answered.
“Maggie! Hi!” Emily’s voice was bright. “God, I’ve missed you! How are you?”
“Emily,” Margaret said flatly.
“Brilliant news—Lucy’s surgery went perfectly! She’s recovering!”
“That’s nice.”
“Something wrong? You sound odd.”
“Just tired.”
“Well, I’m back next week! We’ll catch up properly—”
“Emily,” Margaret cut in. “Show me a photo of your daughter.”
“…What?”
“Any photo. I’d like to see her.”
Silence. Then a nervous laugh. “Oh, I don’t have any on me. My phone broke—”
“I see.”
“Honestly, Maggie, what’s *got* into you?”
Margaret took a steadying breath. “I *know*, Emily.”
“Know what?”
“That you’ve no daughter. That you’re a con artist. That you played me.”
More silence. Then Emily’s voice turned icy. “And? Going to the police? Good luck proving it.”
“You forged a receipt. I gave money for a *ghost*.”
“Prove it.”
Margaret hung up—but not before Emily hissed, “*Half the money back, Maggie. Take it or lose it all.*”
She blocked the number, then sat watching the rain fade into sunlight. Children laughed in the street outside. Life went on.
She made tea, cut a slice of the cake she’d bought for Emily’s return, and ate it alone.
No more trusting strangers. No more desperate friendships. She’d survive this. She always had.
And she’d forgive Emily—not for *her* sake, but for her own. Life was too short for bitterness.
But the door was closed. Permanently.
When the phone rang again—*Unknown Caller*—she didn’t answer.
*Don’t call back. The past stays where it belongs.*
