— No, Emma, you don’t understand! I can’t go on like this! — Martha grabbed her friend’s wrist, squeezing so hard Emma winced. — He’s marrying her! That… that airhead! And what about me? Twelve years wasted?
— Martha, let go, you’re hurting me! — Emma tried to pull away, but Martha’s grip was firm, her eyes burning with desperation. — Listen to me…
— No, you listen! — Martha leapt up from the kitchen chair, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. — Twelve years, Emma! Twelve years I waited for him! When he was at uni, I worked to help him with money. When he was job-hunting, I supported him. When his mother was ill, I sat by her hospital bed like her own daughter! And he… he…
Her voice cracked. She slumped back into the chair, burying her face in her hands.
Emma slid a cup of tea toward her, though it had long gone cold.
— Maybe it’s for the best, love? Maybe he wasn’t meant for you?
— Meant for me? — Martha’s head snapped up, her glare so fierce Emma recoiled. — Meant for me? Then what is? Sitting alone at forty, reminiscing about what could’ve been?
— You’re only thirty-eight…
— Nearly thirty-nine! — Martha cut in. — And now what? Start over? Find someone else? Who’d want me at this age? All the decent blokes are long gone!
Emma stayed silent, at a loss. She’d known Martha since uni, watched her swing between hope and despair all these years. Victor drifted in and out of her life, promising marriage one minute, claiming he wasn’t ready the next. And Martha waited, believing every word.
— Remember our English classes? — Emma asked softly. — You used to say you’d travel abroad, see the world. Then you met Victor and dropped everything.
— What’s English got to do with it? — Martha scoffed. — I loved him, Em. Properly loved him! Not like those silly girls who swap men like shoes. And he… he just used me!
— He didn’t use you. It just… didn’t work out.
— Didn’t work out? — Martha stood, staring out at the snow-dusted garden. — Know what he said when I found out about the wedding? That I knew him too well. That Olivia was more exciting because she’s mysterious. Mysterious! Some twenty-year-old student who only knows selfies!
— Martha, don’t torture yourself—
— I’m not torturing myself! — She spun around. — I’m furious! How did this happen? We were happy! Remember our summers at the cottage? The flowers he gave me? How he called me the best?
— I remember, — Emma nodded. — But that was ages ago, love.
— Not that long! A year! We talked about kids, names… He even picked some! Now Olivia’s two months pregnant!
Emma flinched.
— Pregnant? You never said!
— Why would I? — Martha slumped into the chair, deflated. — Why tell you he’s not just marrying her but having the baby we dreamed of?
— Good Lord, Martha… — Emma wrapped an arm around her. — I’m so sorry.
— Don’t be! — Martha shoved her off. — It’s my fault! I should’ve left years ago, when he first said he wasn’t ready for commitment. But no, I thought I could change him. Make him see how good I was…
— You are good, Martha. You’re kind, clever, beautiful—
— Beautiful? — She laughed bitterly. — Look at me! Grey hair, wrinkles, extra weight. Olivia’s young, slim, trendy. Of course he chose her!
— It’s not about age or looks!
— Then what? Explain it, Em! What did I do wrong? Why couldn’t I keep him?
Emma took her hands.
— Listen. You did nothing wrong. You were the perfect friend, partner, almost-wife. But Victor… he wasn’t the one for you. He’s selfish, Martha. Always was.
— You don’t know him! He could be so kind, so caring—
— When it suited him. Remember how he vanished when you needed him? How he kept making excuses not to introduce you to his parents? How he swore he loved you while seeing others?
— You knew? — Martha’s eyes widened.
Emma hesitated, looking away.
— I… saw him last year. With some blonde. Kissing in a café. I meant to tell you, but…
— But you didn’t! — Martha sprang up, pacing again. — You knew he cheated and said nothing!
— I wasn’t sure! Maybe it was just a friend, or—
— Or his mistress! — Martha stopped, glaring. — You should’ve told me! I had a right to know!
— And what then? Fight? Leave him? We both know you’d have forgiven him, like always!
Martha opened her mouth—then shut it. She had forgiven him, every time: the broken promises, the disappearances. Always making excuses, always hoping he’d change.
— Know what hurts most? — she whispered, sinking back down. — I thought we were alike. Shared interests, dreams. Turns out he doesn’t even remember our talks. When I asked if he recalled our plans, he called it all nonsense.
— It wasn’t nonsense to you.
— No. Every word mattered. Every kiss. To him? I was just… convenient. Reliable. Till something better came along.
Emma stirred her tea.
— So what now?
— Dunno. Sometimes I think I should confront him. Other times, I just want to forget he exists.
— Maybe forget?
— Easy for you! How do I forget twelve years? The man I loved more than myself? I even turned down a London job for him! Remember that promotion? I refused because he hated the city.
— I remember. Thought you’d lost the plot.
— So did I. Built my life around him, and he never noticed. Or did, and took it for granted.
She stood, studying her reflection.
— Mum always said, ‘Don’t give a man everything; keep something for yourself.’ I didn’t listen. Thought love meant total surrender. That if you truly loved someone, you gave it all.
— Maybe she was right.
— She was. But I didn’t see it. Thought if I was perfect, he’d value me. That patience and loyalty would win.
— And now?
— Now I know men don’t value what comes easy. They want a challenge, a mystery, like he said. I was an open book. Boring. Predictable.
Emma sipped her tea.
— What if he’s wrong? What if Olivia disappoints him and he realises what he lost?
— Then what? — Martha turned. — He’ll crawl back, say he was a fool, and I’ll take him? Wait for scraps again? No, Em. Even if he returns, I won’t have him.
— Really?
— Really. I’m not the girl who settles for crumbs anymore. I want a man who loves me for me, not because I’m convenient. One who’s proud of me, not ashamed.
— Such men exist, love.
— Maybe. But first, I need to figure out who I am without Victor. Twelve years living his life. What do I even want? I don’t know.
— Now you can find out.
— Yeah. I can. Remember the English idea? Maybe it’s time to learn properly. Or travel. Never been abroad.
— Brilliant! Fancy company?
Martha smiled for the first time that evening.
— Yes. Very much. You know… I’m glad he’s marrying her. Otherwise, I’d still be clinging, hoping. Now it’s clear. It’s over.
— Not over, love. It’s just beginning. Your real life.
— My real life. — Martha exhaled. — Without him. Without waiting. Without hoping he’ll change.
— Exactly. And you know what? He’ll regret it. Too late.
— Maybe. — She shrugged. — Or maybe not. And you know what? I don’t care anymore. Let him have his mysterious Olivia. Let him raise their kid. I’m living for me now. Finally.
Emma hugged her, and they sat in silence, listening to the snow fall. Martha thought of tomorrow—a new day, a new life. No Victor. No waiting. No hoping he’d choose her. He chose someone else, and it hurt, but now she was free. Free to be herself, not just an echo of someone else’s wishes.
