**Diary Entry – 5th October**
Growing up, Emma always loved having her friends over. Mum never minded—she was just the same. For as long as Emma could remember, the house was always full of her mother’s mates, especially on weekends. Birthdays were never quiet affairs either.
Dad, though, was different—quiet, reserved. He never minded Mum’s visitors. Sometimes he’d join them for tea, crack a joke or two. But more often than not, he’d be tinkering in the shed. He didn’t have many friends himself—just the neighbours, really.
Emma adored it when Mum’s friends dropped by unannounced, just for a cuppa. Wine was rare—only on special occasions. Tea and coffee were the staples. When guests came, Mum was always in high spirits—laughing, singing, the lot.
“Mum, can Sophie and Beth come round?” Emma would ask.
“Of course, love. There’s biscuits and sweets on the table—help yourself,” Mum would say before heading off to work.
If too much time passed without visitors, Mum would bake a batch of scones.
“I’ll invite Natalie and Aunt Sylvia over,” she’d say. “Emma, pop next door and ask them.”
That’s just how it was. Even at university, Emma brought friends home for weekends or holidays—always with Mum’s blessing. Hospitality ran in the family.
Emma married her uni mate, James, in her final year. They moved into their own place, and she kept inviting friends over. At first, James resisted.
“Jamie, we always had guests at home—it’s what I’m used to. You don’t mind if we have friends round sometimes, do you?”
“Not really. Mum was different—never one for hosting. If Dad brought a mate home from work, she’d kick off all evening. But if it makes you happy, go ahead.”
Gradually, James adjusted. They built a circle of friends together, though there was one he never warmed to—Mia. A widow, always a little solemn.
“How d’you even get on with her?” James would grumble. “Never says a word unless you pry it out of her. What’s the point if she doesn’t laugh or joke?”
“But she talks to me—gives good advice, too. And she listens. Really listens. Doesn’t blabber secrets. She’s just not the loud type—doesn’t mean she’s not good company.”
James scoffed. “Sounds riveting.”
“She’s a good friend, Jamie. The quiet ones matter too.”
Years passed. They built a bigger house, had a son, kept up the gatherings. Sometimes they met in parks, but mostly at home—plenty of space for the kids.
Two of Emma’s friends lived with their in-laws—hard to relax there. Only Charlotte had her own place with her husband and son, but she still preferred coming to Emma’s. Occasionally, the husbands joined—a pint in the shed, maybe the pub. That was their routine.
Then one day, Mia dropped a bombshell.
“Emma… I’d be careful around Charlotte if I were you. She’s a bit too interested in your husband.”
“Oh, don’t be daft. She’s just bubbly—loves a laugh.” But the seed was planted.
“Probably just jealous,” Emma mused later. “Mum always said to steer clear of single friends. Maybe I should distance myself.”
She even mentioned it to James.
“Told you she was odd.”
So Emma cut Mia out. Life carried on as usual. The meet-ups, the favours—school runs, mostly.
“Emma, can you grab my Oliver from nursery?” Charlotte often rang. “Harry’s gone fishing with his mates, and I’m stuck at work.”
“No problem—they’re in the same class anyway.”
Then, one day, Emma picked up her son, Alfie, and ran into Charlotte. They decided on a park trip, but as they walked, Oliver piped up:
“Mum, is Uncle James coming over tonight? He brought crisps last time.”
Charlotte stiffened. Emma’s stomach knotted. *Her* husband was James, too.
But James had been at his brother’s last night—helping with furniture. Came home late, near midnight.
“Loads of men called James,” she told herself. But something nagged.
Charlotte fumbled with her dead phone.
“Need to borrow mine?” Emma offered.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll charge it at home.”
Then Charlotte backtracked. “Actually, I need to pop by Mum’s. Rain check on the park?”
She hurried off, leaving Emma uneasy.
Memories flickered—James always complimenting Charlotte’s baking.
“Emma, your husband’s so thoughtful. Mine never notices.”
And James laughing loudest at her jokes.
Then—**the call.**
“Katie, did you buy furniture yesterday? James said he was helping you.”
“What? No. He wasn’t here.”
Emma’s blood ran cold.
That evening, James left his phone behind. A message popped up—Charlotte.
*”Ollie let slip about you being here. Emma knows.”*
She stormed to the shed. “Explain this.”
James sighed. “It’s true. No point lying. I was with Charlotte.”
Emma’s world shattered.
“Pretend it never happened,” he begged. “I’ll cut her off. We’ll go back to normal.”
“Normal?” She shoved his suitcase at him. “Get out.”
Next day, Charlotte cornered her.
“Emma, it’s a misunderstanding! The message wasn’t for *your* James—”
“We’re done. Both of you.”
Charlotte’s parting shot? “Fine. He’ll be mine anyway.”
Soon, James moved in with her.
Emma bought a cake and knocked on Mia’s door.
“Mia… I’m sorry. You tried to warn me. I was blind.”
Mia hugged her. “I’d have doubted too.”
They drank tea, Alfie giggling between them.
**Lesson learned:** Some betrayals cut too deep to forgive. And the quiet friends? They’re the ones who stay.
