After my husband left me for my best friend, I couldnt stop smiling when I ran into them three years later.
When my marriage fell apart after the miscarriage, I found out hed left me for a girl wed known since school. Three years passed before I saw them at a petrol station, and I couldnt wipe the grin off my face.
When James started pulling away, I turned to my closest friend, Emily. She told me I was imagining thingsturns out, she was lying. Fate made sure Id see the consequences of their betrayal myself.
I used to think infidelity only happened in soap operas or whispered gossip over Sunday roasts. Not to me. Not to us.
For five years, James and I built a life together. It wasnt glamorous, but it was oursfilm nights on the sofa, Sunday morning coffee runs, inside jokes only we understood.
Emily had been there through it allmy best friend since secondary school, like a sister. She stood by me at our wedding, holding my hand, crying happy tears.
When I got pregnant, I thought it would be another beautiful chapter.
Then James changed.
At first, it was little thingslate nights at work, smiles that never reached his eyes. Then it got worse. He barely looked at me. Conversations shrank to one-word replies. Nights where he slept facing the wall like I wasnt even there.
I didnt understand. I was exhausted, heavily pregnant, desperately trying to fix whatever was crumbling between us.
So I called Emily.
“I dont know whats happening,” I sobbed into the phone, curled in the dark while James slept soundly beside me. “Its like hes already gone.”
“Youre overthinking it,” she said softly. “He loves you. Its just stress.”
I wanted to believe her.
But the constant tensionsleepless nights, loneliness despite being marriedwore me down.
Then one morning, I woke in agony. By evening, I was in hospital, watching the doctors lips move but hearing nothing.
No heartbeat.
No baby.
They say grief comes in waves. Mine was an avalanche.
The miscarriage shattered me, but James? He was already gone. He sat beside my hospital bed, cold and silent, never reaching for my hand, never offering comfort. Just waiting, like he was at a bus stop, not mourning the loss of our child.
A month later, he finally said the words I think hed rehearsed for ages.
“Im not happy anymore, Sophie.”
That was it. No explanation, no emotion. Just an empty goodbye.
The day he left was quietno shouting, no tears. Just silence.
“Im not happy anymore, Sophie.”
I blinked at him across the kitchen table, his words like a weight on my chest.
“What?” My voice shook.
He sighed, rubbing his temples like I was the problem.
“I dont feel anything. I havent for a while.”
For a while.
I swallowed hard.
“Since we lost the baby?”
His jaw tensed.
“Thats not the point.”
The lie was almost laughable.
I searched his face for any signremorse, guilt, anything. But he just sat there, refusing to meet my eyes.
“So thats it? Five years, and you just walk away?” My hands clenched under the table.
He sighed again, impatient this time.
“I dont want to argue, Sophie.”
I laughedthat sharp, brittle laugh you only make when youre breaking.
“Oh, you dont want to argue? Funny, because I didnt get a say in any of this.”
He stood, grabbed his keys.
“Ill stay with mates.”
Before I could reply, the door slammed.
Emily, my best friend, vanished soon after. She stopped answering calls, ignored messages. Thenblocked me everywhere.
I didnt understand until my mum found out first.
“Sophie, love look at this,” she said tightly over the phone, sending me a link to Emilys Instagram.
And there they were.
James and Emily. Arms around each other at the seaside, laughing like theyd been in love for years.
My hands shook as I scrolled. Picture after picture, week after week. Fancy restaurants, ski trips, cosy nights by the fireplace. Shed posted it allpublicly, shamelesslywhile I was still his wife.
The betrayal burned like acid. But if they thought it would destroy me, they were wrong.
I turned my pain into power. James had been careless, too wrapped up in his fantasy to cover his tracks. In court, his infidelity became my ace. I kept the house, half his savings, and the satisfaction of knowing he had to start over.
He took my trust. I took what was mine.
Starting over wasnt easy. But life rewards those who endure.
A year later, I met Daniel.
He was everything James wasntkind, patient, never dismissing my feelings as “too much.”
We built a real life, not one for social media. Soon, our daughter arrivedmy mini-me with his smile.
Then fate handed me the perfect ending.
One evening, I stopped at a petrol station. And there they were.
James and Emily.
No designer clothes, no happy snaps now. Their cara rusted heap, an argument in the shop, a crying toddler, a declined card.
“Cant even afford petrol?” Emily sniffed.
“You knew money was tight,” James snapped.
Emily laughed bitterly.
“Guess Sophie won in the end.”
I started the engine and drove home. To my real happiness.
