“Beth-aaah…” sobbed Rita into the phone.
“What’s all this wailing about? Spit it out—what’s happened? Is it James? Beth, why won’t you talk?” shouted Beth into the receiver.
“Waaah… Oliver… Waaah…” Rita bawled again.
“Oliver? Did something happen to him? Was he in an accident?” Beth pictured Rita shaking her head, as if she could somehow see her through the phone.
“That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m hanging up, you hear me? I’ll be there in ten. Don’t move.” Beth waited, listening to her friend’s sobs, but when it was clear she wouldn’t get a straight answer, she ended the call.
She threw on her coat, grabbed her bag, double-checked her phone and keys, and locked the flat behind her. Rita only lived a quick walk away, so Beth hurried down the street, occasionally breaking into a jog, muttering to herself about Rita’s dramatic tendencies.
Five minutes later, she buzzed the intercom. A crackling sound came through before the door clicked open. Beth rushed inside, the darkness swallowing her as the door shut. She stumbled on the uneven steps, barely catching herself on the railing.
“Bloody hell, someone could break their neck in here. Can’t they put in a decent light?” she muttered.
As she waited for the lift, Beth tapped her foot impatiently, running through every worst-case scenario in her head. “Please just let everyone be alive,” she whispered. Outside Rita’s door, she paused, listening—no sobs, no shouting. That was a good sign. She took a deep breath and rang the bell.
Rita answered, face puffy and red. She turned like a zombie and shuffled to the kitchen without a word. Beth sighed, rolled her eyes, kicked off her trainers, and followed.
Rita slumped into a chair, head drooping, arms limp in her lap. The picture of defeat.
“Rita, what’s happened? You scared me half to death,” Beth said, resting a hand on her back. “Talk to me. I ran here like a madwoman.”
“Oliver left me,” Rita said flatly.
“Left you? For another woman?”
A nod.
“How’d you find out? Did he say it, or are you just spiraling?” Beth wasn’t surprised. Oliver was fit, the kind of bloke who always had women circling. She’d warned Rita to stay sharp.
“He said he’s in love with someone else. Packed his things and walked out. Beth, tell me why. I tried so hard—cooking, cleaning, raising his son, starving myself to stay thin after the baby. And he still left.”
Beth let out a long breath. “Everyone’s alive, and you’re wailing like it’s a funeral. He’ll get bored and come crawling back.” She flopped into the chair beside her.
“You think so?” Rita perked up, desperate hope flashing in her eyes.
“I dunno. Maybe. Who is she? Young? Pretty?”
“Our age. Big, ginger, and she’s got a lazy eye.” Rita shuddered. “Beth, what’s wrong with him? I’m ten times better, and he—” Her voice cracked, and she hunched over again.
“Stop blaming yourself. Midlife crisis, hormones, whatever. He’ll snap out of it.”
Rita shook her head, shoulders trembling.
“Oi, pull yourself together. If he walks in and sees you like this, he’ll bolt for sure.” That set Rita off wailing again.
“Listen, tears won’t change anything. You really think he’ll waltz back in like nothing happened? Dream on. You’ll be paranoid every time he’s late, picking fights, stressing yourself—and Jack—out. Speaking of, where is he?”
“Next door’s looking after him.”
“Good. No kid needs to see his mum like this. He’s a little lad, not your therapist.” Beth sighed. “Stop crying before you make yourself ill. You’ve got Jack. It’s hard, but you’ll live. How d’you know she’s got a lazy eye?”
“Saw her on his phone. He was in the shower, and she rang… then I found her online. What do blokes even want? We think it’s all about skinny models with legs up to their ears and fake boobs, but no—he went for someone built like a wardrobe. I starved myself breastfeeding, terrified of getting fat, and he still left.”
“Bet it’s not about looks. Something else grabbed him.”
“Like what, her sparkling personality?” Rita wiped her face roughly. “She’s vile. But mark my words, she’ll pay for this.”
“Rita, get a grip. You’re gorgeous, fit, young—what, thirty-two? Your whole life’s ahead of you.”
“I can’t live without him. I love him,” Rita whimpered, face twisted. “It hurts so much. I’d rather die.”
“Oi. Don’t say that. Ever. Got any wine?” Beth rummaged in the fridge and poured two massive glasses. “Drink up. It’ll help.”
Rita downed it like water.
“We were supposed to move to a two-bed. His work was building flats—discount for staff if they gave up their old ones. Now he’ll live there with her. Me and Jack are stuck here.”
“Stop crying. You’ll puff up like a balloon.”
“I feel so sick. I just want to disappear.”
“Listen, you daft cow. If you do something stupid, Oliver won’t care. He’ll bloody brag about it—‘Oh, wives can’t handle losing me.’ And his new bird will love it. Meanwhile, you’re rotting in the ground, and Jack’s left with nothing. No mother, just a stepmum who couldn’t care less. And suicide? That’s a one-way ticket to hell, love.”
Rita stared at her, stunned.
“Oh, piss off,” Rita finally grumbled, shoving her. “I’m not going to top myself. He’s not worth it.”
“Thank God. Finally talking sense. Another?” Beth split the last of the bottle.
“Thanks for coming, Beth. You always know what to say.” Rita sipped. “Don’t go, yeah? Stay tonight. I’m better with you here.”
“Course.”
They nursed scalding tea as dusk fell outside. Rita’s sobs had dried up. Her eyes were clearer.
“Need to fetch Jack and put him to bed,” she said, swaying as she stood.
She returned with Jack, who eyed the empty wine bottle disapprovingly.
“We were just having tea,” Rita lied, nudging him to his room.
“He’s a good lad,” Beth said. “Shame he’s caught in the middle. But you’ll be alright. I should head home.”
“Stay. I can’t be alone. The sofa’s comfy.”
Morning came too soon.
“Mum, I’m thirsty,” Jack announced, shaking Rita awake.
“Crap! We overslept!” Rita bolted up, clutching her head.
Beth groaned, squinting in the light. “Christ, I look rough.”
“You’re fine. Get dressed—Jack needs to get to nursery.”
At work, Beth kept an eye on Rita, nudging her whenever she zoned out.
“Coming back to mine?” Beth asked after clocking out.
“Nah, I’ll manage. Thanks, though.”
***
Rita put on a brave face. She collected Jack from nursery, his small hand in hers as he peered up at her, sensing something was wrong but staying quiet.
Days dragged. Oliver didn’t call. Didn’t come back.
Finally, pride crumbling, she rang him.
“Come over. We need to talk… Jack misses you.”
Her heart raced when the knock came.
“Daddy!” Jack yanked the door open before she could.
Oliver stood there, familiar yet distant. Jack clung to him.
“Stay for dinner?” Rita asked, voice brittle.
He shrugged off his jacket. “What did you want to talk about?”
Rita studied him—relaxed, well-dressed. Thriving without her.
“Jack, go play,” she whispered.
Once alone, she folded her hands. “Oliver, I can’t do this. Jack needs you. I won’t bring it up again, just… come home.”
“I can’t. We’re having a baby.”
“A baby? What about Jack?”
“He’s still my son. I’ll see him—unless you plan to stop me?”
“Oh, so now you’re a weekend dad? How convenient.”
“Don’t make this ugly, Rita.”
“You’re the monster! Leaving your son for… I hope that baby’s born cursed!” Her voice rose, venom spilling. She grabbed his arm, nails digging in.
Oliver yanked free, shoving her back. Rita stumbled, chair tipping—her head cracked against the table edge.
Silence.
Then Oliver wasThe ambulance arrived just as Rita began to stir, her eyes fluttering open to see Jack’s tear-streaked face hovering over her, and in that moment, she realized no man was worth losing herself—or her son—over.
