**Diary Entry – July 12th**
Who’d have thought two childhood friends like *Emily and Sophie* could fall out? The whole village whispered:
*”What on earth happened? They used to be inseparable, and now they won’t even say hello if they pass each other on the lane.”*
Neither spoke a word, so the gossip only grew wilder—especially among the women by the well. The only thing anyone knew for sure was that *Lucy*, Emily’s daughter, and *Thomas*, Sophie’s boy, had been close. They were thick as thieves all through school, but after graduation, life pulled them apart. Thomas joined the army, while Lucy went off to university in *London*.
As kids, you’d never see one without the other—walking to school, splashing in the river in summer, or later, sitting side by side on the riverbank, lost in quiet conversation.
*”Luuce! Come out!”* she’d hear his voice under her window, and she’d fly downstairs, just as they’d planned the night before.
They were opposites—Lucy, quick-witted and bossy; Thomas, quiet and steady, always pausing to scratch his head before agreeing to anything. *”Tom, let’s go mushroom picking tomorrow.”* He’d think, then nod. *”Tom, let’s sunbathe by the river.”* Never a protest.
Emily and Sophie? They’d played together since they were in nappies—hide-and-seek, tea parties, running between their houses, just a garden apart. Their parents and grandparents had been neighbours too. They’d even married around the same time, to mates from the next village.
Emily was the first to divorce, when Lucy was three. Her husband had a temper, and one bruise too many was the last straw.
*”Blimey, Em, your cheek—it’s black!”* Sophie had gasped, not needing to ask where it came from.
*”Kicked him out. No idea where he’s gone—back to his mum’s, probably.”*
*”Good riddance,”* Sophie sighed. *”Mine’s no better. Shoved Thomas last night for ‘disturbing his rest.’ Called him ‘your son,’ like the lad wasn’t his own.”*
Half a year later, the village buzzed again: *Sophie’s thrown hers out!* Turned out he’d spent years accusing her of infidelity, even held a knife to her throat. Both women were free of their men now, raising their kids alone—but they never complained.
After school, Thomas trained as a lorry driver; Lucy left for uni. When his draft letter came in November, she rushed home to see him off. They spent every minute of his last three days together.
All winter, Lucy visited on weekends, stopping by Sophie’s to hear Thomas’s letters—though she got her own. Then, abruptly, the visits stopped.
*”Em, where’s Lucy been?”* Sophie asked after work one evening.
*”Studying. Exams, you know.”*
But by April, Lucy still hadn’t returned. Then Emily vanished for a few days—quiet, withdrawn. When Sophie finally confronted her, Emily broke:
*”Lucy’s married. Expecting.”*
Sophie stormed out, furious. That night, she wrote Thomas, careful to soften the blow. When he finished his service, he didn’t come home—just vanished up north, lost in work to numb the pain.
The friends became strangers. Thomas visited once in three years, barely speaking. Lucy? She never returned, not even with her child.
*”Too posh for us now,”* the village muttered.
Then one day, the postwoman *Maggie* stopped by Sophie’s.
*”Emily’s poorly. Asked for you.”*
*”We haven’t spoken in years!”*
*”Well, she’s asking now.”*
Sophie found Emily frail under a blanket, pills by her side.
*”Forgive me,”* Emily whispered.
*”For Lucy? That wasn’t your fault.”*
*”No. Listen.”*
What Emily said next left Sophie reeling. She sprinted home, grabbed the mobile Thomas had given her, and dialled with trembling hands.
*”Tom, love—come home. I’m not well.”* She feigned weakness, then hung up before he could protest.
Days later, Thomas strode into the village, rucksack on his back. His mother—suddenly energetic—piled the table with food.
*”You’re too thin! Eat!”* Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Baffled, he escaped to the river, memories flooding back—Lucy giggling in the shallows, fishing rod in hand. Then a voice:
*”Hello, Tom.”*
He turned. Lucy stood there, a curly-haired boy beside her.
*”Meet Oliver. Your son.”*
The truth tumbled out: Emily, thinking Lucy had been with someone else, had hidden the pregnancy. Sophie, in revenge, had lied that Thomas had married in the army.
*”Bloody women,”* Tom muttered, pulling them both close. *”All these years… wasted.”*
Lucy wiped his tears. *”I’ll fill that emptiness. With love. With us.”*
Oliver tugged their hands. *”Mum, Dad—come on!”*
And so they walked home—to scold two meddling grandmothers and start anew.
**Lesson learned:** Pride and silence cost more than honesty ever could.
(Word count preserved, cultural adaptation complete.)
