Betrayal Over a Cuppa: The Story of Olivia
Olivia walked home from work, her heart light—today, they’d been let out early. The streets of Woking, just outside London, hummed with spring warmth, and she pondered how to spend the unexpected free evening.
*Maybe pop round to Emma’s?* The thought flickered. *Haven’t seen her in ages.*
The decision came instantly. Olivia ducked into a bakery for a cherry tart and, half an hour later, was ringing her friend’s doorbell.
“Hello!” Emma swung the door open, her eyes glinting with something sly.
“I thought I’d surprise you!” Olivia smiled, holding out the box of pastries.
“Come in—I’ve got a surprise for you too,” Emma said suddenly, her voice laced with an odd edge.
“What surprise?” Olivia frowned but stepped inside anyway, heading straight for the kitchen. There, she froze, thunderstruck, at the sight of what Emma had called her “little surprise.”
*”Single friends have no place in a married woman’s home,”* Olivia’s gran used to say. *”Keep them at arm’s length—trust too freely, and you’ll weep bitter tears.”*
Olivia had always heeded her gran’s wisdom, and close friends were few. Some had faded with time, others lost to quarrels—but Emma had remained a constant. Their bond, forged in primary school, had lasted nearly forty years. They’d shared joys and sorrows: Olivia and her husband Edward raising two sons, both now off at university in London, while Emma doted on her daughter Sophie, dreaming of her bright future.
“My own happiness never came, but at least Sophie’s got a chance,” Emma would sigh.
“Don’t say that,” Olivia consoled. “Sophie’s brilliant—she’ll go far. And you’ve no right to complain—a lovely daughter, a cosy flat. So what if marriage didn’t work out?”
“Didn’t work out?” Emma’s voice turned sharp. “I put up with his nonsense for years, forgiving him, thinking he’d change. He only got worse.”
Olivia knew the story well. Emma’s ex, Gregory, had spent decades chasing other women. While she single-handedly raised their daughter, cared for her parents, and juggled two jobs, he revelled in the attention. Sometimes he hid the affairs; more often, it ended in rows. Gregory would swear to change for the family, and Emma would believe him—until three years ago, when he left for a much younger mistress.
“Sophie’s grown—she’ll understand. We’re strangers now, so why drag it out?” he’d said.
While Emma reeled, Gregory vanished with their savings, calling it “fair compensation.” The flat, thankfully, was her parents’—untouchable. In those dark days, Olivia was the only one who kept Emma from crumbling.
“Mum, you’re the one who goes on about Gran’s sayings—single friends and married homes,” Olivia’s eldest, Charlotte, would tease.
“Don’t be daft,” Olivia waved it off. “Emma and I are like sisters. I won’t abandon her.”
“Oh, come off it,” her younger son, James, would laugh. “You’ve drilled Gran’s proverbs into us, yet Aunt Emma’s round here every other day!”
“What rubbish!” Olivia huffed. “You think Emma’s after your dad? She’s family—Sophie too. Stop talking rot!”
“We’re only joking!” Charlotte giggled. “Aunt Emma’s practically family—who’s scheming at your age?”
Olivia ignored their jibes. In her youth, she’d followed her gran’s advice—but Edward had never given her reason to doubt. Steady, dependable, he’d worked tirelessly for the family, spending weekends tinkering at home or reading the paper. He’d once been mates with Gregory, but after the divorce, ties were cut. Olivia and Edward stood by Emma, while Gregory vanished into his new life.
“Emma’s alone—we should invite her for Christmas,” Olivia often said, and Edward would nod.
“Emma’s tap’s leaking—could you take a look?”
“Emma needs help with the car Saturday—moving furniture from the cottage. Doesn’t want to hire a stranger.”
Edward did it all without complaint—fixing, driving, helping. Emma repaid them with garden veg and fresh-baked cakes, and it all felt so natural.
“You’re too trusting,” her colleague Karen would say. “You leave your husband and best friend alone like that?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Olivia laughed. “Emma’s like a sister—she was my maid of honour. Edward and I have been married thirty years—there’s no drama at our age!”
“Life’s unpredictable,” Karen warned.
Olivia never doubted them. The idea of anything between Edward and Emma seemed ludicrous—until the day she walked in unannounced. There, in Emma’s kitchen, sat Edward in a dressing gown, spooning soup.
“What’s this?” Olivia’s voice trembled. “You’re meant to be fishing! Did Emma need *help* again?”
Emma stepped forward, chin raised.
“Let’s be honest, Liv. Maybe it’s best you saw. We’re tired of hiding.”
The words hit like a hammer. Olivia’s vision blurred, her chest tight with betrayal. She barely heard the rest—only the roaring in her ears, the shattering of her world. The tears came later, at home, as she clutched a cold cup of tea.
“Didn’t plan this,” Edward mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “But we… fit. Staying married wouldn’t be right. We’re moving in together.”
“*That’s* your answer?” Olivia choked out.
Days later, Emma visited, twisting the knife deeper.
“Don’t judge me,” she pleaded. “You’ve had happiness—I endured hell. I deserve this, even now. It’s not about you.”
“So stealing my husband wipes away *everything*?” Olivia seethed.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Emma muttered.
Olivia had lost them both. No shouting matches—just silence. Edward packed his things and left. Charlotte and James cut ties with him, siding with their mother. Sophie, Emma’s daughter, awkwardly apologised.
“Not your fault,” Olivia said wearily. “My blindness fed their affair.”
“I always saw you as family,” Sophie admitted. “Now Uncle Ed’s my stepdad. It’s… strange.”
“That’s your choice. But I’ll die knowing—trust no one. Female friendship? A myth.”
Alone in her quiet house, Olivia spoke only to her children and coworkers. Edward vanished; Emma’s attempts at conversation withered. The betrayal burned, but somewhere deep, she hoped time might dull the pain.
