**That Kind of Friend**
*— Why did you even tell me all this?* — asked Emily, her voice quiet and strange.
*— I don’t know,* Joan replied just as hollowly.
She seemed about to say more, but then she met Emily’s gaze—sharp, guarded, piercing. The kind of look you give someone you no longer trust.
That Friday, like always after work, Emily and Joan stopped by their usual café. It had been their ritual for years: a glass of wine, warm chatter, laughter, the occasional tear. Just two women, worn out by life, by family, by the endless rush. Here, at this little table by the window, they could be themselves.
But that evening, everything went wrong.
Emily suddenly leapt up, eyes bright with excitement, and tossed out, *— Sorry, just a minute!* before rushing outside. Joan, raising a puzzled brow, watched her go.
Through the glass, she saw Emily embrace a woman—slim, polished, with a gentle smile. Joan froze.
A second passed. Another. Then the woman’s face clicked in her memory, and Joan went cold.
She *knew* her.
When Emily returned, the air had changed. Joan forced a smile.
*— Who was that?*
*— Oh, just Victoria. My cousin. Why?*
*— Just… thought I recognised her face.*
*— Do you know each other? Should I introduce you properly? She’s wonderful!*
*— No!* Joan blurted, too loud, too sharp. A few heads turned. *— I mean… it’s not worth it.*
Emily frowned. *— What’s going on?*
Joan dropped her gaze, hands clenched under the table. *— Emily… Victoria was married, wasn’t she? His name was David, right?*
*— Yes. So?*
*— He was with me. I’m the one who broke them up.*
Everything Emily knew about Victoria’s split had come from her sister. The affair. The betrayal. The quiet, crushing divorce. Pain, swallowed whole.
And now, this confession—from Joan. Her *friend*. The woman she’d trusted.
Joan spoke as if unravelling a knot that had festered for years:
*— Victoria and I grew up together. Same street, same school, same university. Then she met David. At first, I was happy for her. But then… I lost my head. His smile, his voice… he held me during a dance at their wedding, and that was it. I didn’t understand how it happened. I just knew: I wanted him. And being Victoria’s friend wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted to be her rival.*
First, it was glances. Then touches. Then late-night goodbyes. Then—while Victoria was in hospital—he came to *me*. Supposedly for help. Instead, I became his mistress.
He chose me. I thought it was love. Turned out, it was hell.
David compared me to her. Criticised. Blamed me. Said how perfect Victoria had been, how I fell short. On their anniversary, he’d drink himself stupid and sob. Every time.
I lived a lie. Until I realised—he never loved me. I was just a place to hide. Never to stay.
Emily listened, lips pressed tight, hands shaking. *Years* of friendship with Joan. The late-night talks, the advice, the comfort. All with the woman who’d shattered her sister’s life.
*— Did you know she was my sister?* she asked, voice dull.
Joan shook her head. *— No. Not until now. And whatever you say next… I’ll take it. I deserve it. I’ve known that for years.*
Emily stood. *— Then we’re done. Goodbye, Joan. Good luck.*
Joan went home to chaos—clothes strewn about, wine on the table, dirty plates. David had been there. And not alone.
A girl slept in her bed. Young, peaceful.
Joan turned and walked silently to the kitchen. David appeared soon after in *her* robe, drunk.
*— Go on. Shout, cry, make a scene. I don’t care. I’m leaving. For good.*
*— Pack your things. Then get out.*
He hadn’t expected that. He’d wanted drama. Resistance. *Her* tears.
But she didn’t cry. The tears had dried long ago. Inside, there was only hollowness.
Emily told Victoria everything. Her sister listened in silence. Finally, she said:
*— Joan died to me years ago. So did David. I forgave them. But they’ll never step back into my life. Forgiveness is easy. Trusting again? Impossible.*
