“He didn’t choose me.”
“No, Emily, you don’t understand! I can’t go on like this!” Marina gripped her friend’s arm so tightly Emily winced. “He’s marrying her! That… that airhead! And what was I? Twelve years wasted?”
“Marina, let go, you’re hurting me!” Emily tried to pull free, but her friend’s grasp was unrelenting, her eyes burning with desperation. “Just listen—”
“No, *you* listen!” Marina shot up from the kitchen chair, pacing the cramped flat like a caged animal. “Twelve years, Emily! Twelve years I waited! While he was at university, 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 a daughter! And he… he—”
Her voice cracked. She slumped back onto the chair, burying her face in her hands.
Emily nudged the teacup toward her—lukewarm by now.
“Maybe it’s for the best, love. Maybe he wasn’t meant for you.”
“*Meant for me?*” Marina’s head snapped up, her glare so sharp Emily recoiled. “Then what *is* meant for me? Sitting alone at forty, wondering what might have been?”
“You’re only thirty-eight—”
“Thirty-nine next month!” Marina cut in. “And what am I supposed to do now? Start over? Find someone else? Who’d want me at this age? Decent men are all taken!”
Emily stayed silent, at a loss. She’d known Marina since uni, watched her swing between hope and despair all these years. Victor would drift in and out—promising marriage, then saying he wasn’t ready. And Marina waited, clinging to every word.
“Remember our French lessons?” Emily ventured softly. “You used to talk about travelling. Then you met Victor and dropped everything.”
“What’s French got to do with it?” Marina scoffed. “I *loved* him, Em. Truly loved him! Not like those silly girls who toss men aside like old shoes. And he… he used me!”
“He didn’t use you. It just… didn’t work out.”
“Didn’t *work out*?” Marina stormed to the window, staring at the snow-blanketed street. “Know what he said when I found out about the wedding? That I *knew* him too well. That Olivia’s more *mysterious*—that’s why he prefers her. *Mysterious!* A twenty-year-old uni girl who does nothing but post selfies!”
“Marina, don’t torture yourself—”
“I’m not! I’m *furious*! How did this happen? We were happy! Remember our summers at the cottage? The flowers he brought? How he called me perfect?”
“I remember,” Emily nodded. “But that was ages ago.”
“A year! Just a *year*! We talked about kids, names… He picked them himself! Now Olivia’s two months pregnant!”
Emily stiffened.
“Pregnant? You never said!”
“Why would I? So you’d know not only is he marrying her, but they’re having the baby *we* dreamed of?”
“God, Marina…” Emily stood, wrapping an arm around her. “I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be!” Marina shoved her off. “This is on *me*! I should’ve left the first time he whined about ‘not being ready.’ But no—I thought I could *change* him, make him see how good I was!”
“You *are* good, love. Kind, clever, beautiful—”
“*Beautiful?*” Marina barked a laugh. “Look at me! Grey hair, wrinkles, love handles. Meanwhile, Olivia’s young, slim, trendy. *Of course* he picked her.”
“It’s not about age or looks!”
“Then what? Explain it, Em! What did I do *wrong*? Why couldn’t I keep him?”
Emily took her hands.
“Listen. You did *nothing* wrong. You were loyal, supportive, practically his wife. But Victor? He’s not the man who could’ve made you happy. He’s selfish, Marina. Always was.”
“You don’t know him! He *can* be sweet, caring—”
“When it suits him. Remember how he’d vanish for months when *you* needed him? How he’d promise to introduce you to his family, then back out? Say he loved you while seeing others?”
“How do *you* know about ‘others’?” Marina’s voice turned lethal.
Emily hesitated, eyes darting away.
“I… saw him a year ago. With a blonde. Kissing in a café. I wanted to tell you, but—”
“But you *didn’t*!” Marina was on her feet again, pacing. “You knew he was cheating and stayed quiet!”
“I wasn’t sure! Maybe she was just a friend—”
“Or his mistress! You should’ve told me! I had a *right* to know!”
“And what would you have done? Stormed off? We *know* you’d have forgiven him—like always!”
Marina opened her mouth—then shut it. Emily was right. She’d forgiven Victor for everything: broken promises, absences, even indifference. Made excuses, believed he’d change.
“Know what hurts most?” Marina whispered, sinking back down. “I thought we were alike. Shared dreams, values. Turns out he doesn’t even *remember* our talks. When I asked if he recalled our plans, he called it *nonsense*.”
“It wasn’t nonsense to *you*.”
“No. Every word mattered. Every touch, every kiss. To him? I was just… convenient. Reliable. Until something *better* came along.”
Emily stirred her tea, avoiding Marina’s gaze.
“So… what now?”
“Dunno.” Marina’s voice was hollow. “Sometimes I imagine confronting him. Other times, I wish I could erase him.”
“Maybe the second one’s wiser?”
“Easy for *you* to say! How do I forget *twelve years*? The man I loved more than myself? I even turned down that London job for him—remember? Because he *hated* the city.”
“I remember. Thought you’d lost your mind.”
“I *did*. Built my life around him, and he never noticed. Or he did—and just *expected* it.”
Marina stood, studying her reflection in the mirror.
“Mum always said, ‘Don’t give yourself completely—keep something for *you*.’ I didn’t listen. Thought love meant sacrifice. That if you *truly* loved, you gave *everything*.”
“Maybe she was right.”
“She was. But I didn’t see it. Thought being the ‘perfect girlfriend’ would make him *value* me. That patience and loyalty would win.”
“And now?”
“Now I know men don’t cherish what comes easy. They want a *challenge*—like he said. I was an open book. Predictable. *Boring*.”
Emily set down her cup.
“What if he regrets it? Realises too late what he lost?”
“Then *what*?” Marina’s laugh was brittle. “He’ll crawl back, say he was a fool, and I’ll take him in? Wait like a stray dog for scraps? *No*. Even if he returns, I won’t have him.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes. I’m not that naive girl anymore. I want a man who loves me for *me*—not because I’m *useful*. Who’s *proud* of me, not ashamed.”
“They exist, love.”
“Maybe. But first, I need to remember who *I* am without Victor. Twelve years living *his* life. What do *I* even like? What do *I* want?”
“Now you can find out.”
“Yeah. I can.” A flicker of lightness touched her voice. “That French you mentioned—maybe it’s time I learned. Or travelled. Never been abroad.”
“Brilliant! I’ll come with you—fancy?”
For the first time that evening, Marina smiled.
“Yes. *God*, yes. You know… I’m *glad* he’s marrying her. Otherwise, I’d still be waiting, hoping. Now it’s over.”
“No, love. Now it’s *yours*.”
“*Mine*,” Marina echoed. “No more waiting. No more disappointments. No more begging for scraps.”
“Exactly. And mark my words—he *will* regret this.”
“Maybe.” Marina shrugged. “Or maybe not. And you know what? I don’t care. Let him have his *mysterious* Olivia. Let him raise their child. *I’m* living for *me* now.”
Emily pulled her into a hug. They sat in silence, listening to the snowfall outside. Marina breathed deeply. Tomorrow wasThe first light of dawn crept through the curtains, and for the first time in years, Marina felt something unfamiliar—hope.
