Between Truth and Dreams
Verity draws her warm tartan throw tighter around her shoulders, relishing the quiet calm of her living room in the heart of York. Outside, snowflakes drift down softly, gathering along the window ledges in gentle heaps like a silent winter waltz. Shes just returned from trying on her wedding dressa milestone shes been both dreading and dreaming of. In her hands, a bag with delicate earrings, a slim tiara, and other trinkets to finish her bridal look. Her mind is abuzz with thoughts of the big day; picturing herself in white, imagining how the light will sparkle on her jewellery, imagining the admiring glances from guests.
The hush is broken by the sharp ring of her doorbell. Verity jumps, clutching the blanket a little tighter. She glances at the wall clockten to seven. Who on earth could it be at this time? Delivery shed forgotten about? The neighbour from next door, needing help?
Verity tiptoes to the door and peers through the spyhole. She cant make out who it is. She hesitates, not eager to open up to a tall stranger.
“Who is it?” Her voice comes out steady, though she doesnt feel it inside.
“Its me, Will,” comes a muffled but unmistakable voice. “I need to talk. Its urgent.”
She hesitates. Its not as though shes been yearning to speak to him unless something has happened to Isobel. With a sigh, she flicks the lock and opens the door a fraction. Will stands there, snow melting on his shoulders, dampening his dark coat. His face is pale, his eyes fixed, burning with a wild intensity shes never seen before. Alarm gnaws at hera part of her wonders if shes done the right thing sliding back the bolt.
“Come in,” she manages, stepping aside, trying to hide her nerves. What else can she do? Slam the door? That would be ridiculous. “Youre soaked through.”
Will enters, not even bothering to take off his shoeshis boots already marking the light parquet floor with muddy streaks. But hes oblivious, staring ahead as if seeing things invisible to her. Verity stands quietly, anxiety building steadily in her chest. Shes no idea whats driven him here tonight, but she knowsits not going to be an easy conversation.
“Verity,” he turns to her, clutching his gloves in his hands, “I cant do this anymore. I love you!”
She stands frozen.
“Will, you” she begins, but her voice falters, the words hanging unfinished in the air.
He steps towards her, as though terrified any hesitation will rob him of his last chance.
“I know youre getting married. I know its madness. But I cant keep quiet. These past months, Ive tried to move on, to forget you, but I cant,” his voice is soft but determined, each word coming as though dragged out of him. “I should have said something sooner. Isobel I only started seeing Isobel because of you! I wanted to be near you, to see you more. But I never loved her. Never!”
Verity feels a chill snake through her. What? This man started dating her friend out of selfish motives for her? Poor Isobel, whod fallen genuinely in love!
She lets the throw slip to the back of her armchair, needing to steady herself in reality. The room feels shrunken, air thick and heavy.
“Will” she tries again, struggling for words. “Do you realise what youre saying? I have a fiancé. I love him. Were getting married. Its real. Were making plans. What about Isobel?”
He nods, gaze never leaving hers. In his eyes, pain and determination mix, as though laying down the burden of a secret long carried.
“I know. But I cant bury it anymore. In a matter of weeks, youll be out of my life forever.” He pauses, gathering strength. “I know its not the time or place, but if I kept silent, Id regret it all my days. And Isobelshes nothing to me, do you understand?”
Verity stiffens, her voice distant, as if echoing from somewhere far away:
“How can you say that? How can you even”
“Its the truth!” Will is desperate now. “Isobel was just a way to be close to you. I hoped, just maybe, youd see me for who I amkind, generous, a good man. That were meant to be together! And now now I know for certainmy life is empty without you.”
He drops to one knee, trembling, and produces a little ring from his pocketit glints in the lamps glow, fine and delicate.
“Leave him. Leave your fiancé. Be with me. Ill make you happy, I swear it.”
Verity can barely process it. Her mind flashes through memory after memory: Will laughing with Isobel at a party, holding her hand, gazing at her with such care that once made Verity so pleased for her friendshed finally found happiness! But was it all false? The tapestry of her past unravels suddenly. Now, she cant make any sense of it.
“Get up,” she says quietly, almost whispering. “Please, Will. Get up.”
He rises, hope flickering in his eyes, already fading.
“You dont believe me?” His question is fragile.
“I do,” she answers calmly, steadily. “I believe you. But it changes nothing.”
She steps back, giving herself space to think. The words are hard, but need saying, plain and clear.
“Youre my friend, Will. But I love someone else. Im marrying him because I know hes my future. I dont need anyone else.”
He lowers his gaze, clutching the ring, voice barely audible:
“And if Id said something sooner? Before you met him?”
She hesitates, then gently replies:
“The answer would have been the same. Im sorry, Ive never thought of you like that. Youre a good man, but just not for me.”
Will comes closer, a kind of wildness to his movements, desperate not to lose his last shot.
“Why, Verity? Ive seen it toohow you look at me. Theres something between us.”
She edges towards the door, heart racing with a flicker of fear. His gaze unnerves her. She quietly calculates what shell do if he loses control; if she nudges him away, perhaps hell stumble back onto the sofa and she can slip into the hallway
“Theres nothing between us, Will,” she tells him in her calmest tone, not wishing to show an ounce of fear. “What you feel isnt love. Its obsessiona story youve written in your head, where Im perfect, and everyone else is just a tool. Please, lets end this conversation.”
Will clenches his fists, not with anger, but frustration. He searches for a way to contradict her, to make her understand.
“Youre wrong,” he says, staring into her eyes. “Ive never felt this for anyone else. Its not made upI love you.”
Verity bites her lip, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Who knows how Will might react if she raises her voice? But she cant just stand by silently, especially when her best friend is part of this.
“What about Isobel?” she asks, peering at him as if looking for a sign of guilt. “Did you think about how deeply youve hurt her? You played with her feelings, used her. And now you want me to throw everything away for you?”
“I know Im in the wrong,” he mumbles, looking down. “I know it was dreadful. But even if I could start again, I wouldnt change it. Id do it all the same.”
“You cant build happiness on someone elses heartbreak,” Verity says quietly, eyes flicking to her phoneif only she could reach it. “And you dont love the real me; we barely know each other! You love the dream, your idea of me. But real life is never that simple.”
She lets the silence hang for a few seconds, waiting for him to reflect.
“You need to speak to Isobel. She needs the truth. You have to apologise.”
Will freezes. His fingers twitch; he clenches them, forcing himself to stay calm.
“Why bother? I said, I dont love her. She just irritates me. But you youre different.”
He lifts his eyes; the pain there almost makes Verity pity him. But she steels herself. Pity would send the wrong messagehe might think shed accept.
“Theres nothing for you here, just as with Isobel. And youre mistaken if you think Ill keep silent about this.”
Will stares at her for a few moments, making her shiver. At last, he says:
“Im leaving. But I wont give up. Ill wait, until youre ready to see we were meant for each other.”
“Please, dont,” Verity shakes her head, unnerved by a lurking threat in his words. “Dont wait. Live your life. Find someone you truly lovesomeone real, not a fantasy. Now, pleasego.”
With slow, heavy steps, Will trudges to the door. Each movement betrays his inner strugglelike pushing against a great weight. He pauses at the threshold, glancing back.
“Thank you for being honest,” he says quietly, simply, with no drama. “But Im not saying goodbye for good.”
And with that, he leaves, gently closing the door behind him. Verity stands, staring at the door as the tension drains away. She drifts to the windowthe quiet, snowy street bathed in orange lamplight. Will slouches away, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumpedeach step looking heavier than the last.
Verity watches him vanish round the corner, heart thudding. Will had truly unsettled her. She cant leave things as they are. What if he says something to Isobel? Or lies, hoping to cling on? If he wont relent?
She scrolls in her phone, selects Isobels number, and presses call. Her heart beats faster, but her voice is steady and matter-of-fact when Isobel answers:
“Isobel? Hi, we need to talk. Its important.”
She hears a faint rustling at the other endpapers, maybe. Isobels voice is gentle, but the worry is plain:
“What is it? You sound tense. Everything okay?”
Verity takes a careful breath, ordering her thoughts. She mustnt be dramatic, but cant delay.
“Wills just been here,” she says, choosing her words to soften the coming blow. “He admitted he only started dating you because of me. He said he never loved you, it was just to get close to me.”
An agonising silence follows. Verity imagines Isobel sitting somewhere, phone gripped tightly, her world tilting. The silence stretches so long Verity almost breaks it when Isobel speaks, her voice shaky and small with shock:
“And what does that mean? Is that true How”
“Im sorry, I didnt want to hurt you, but you deserve to know the truth. Youre my best friend,” Veritys own nerves show in her rush. “He said he loves only me, that he wants me to leave my fiancé for him. Isobel, hes not himselfbeing alone with him was frightening!”
Another silence. Verity hears Isobels unsteady breath, gathering herself.
“I see,” Isobel says at last. Her voice is controlled, but the pain leaks through. “So what now?”
“I dont know,” Verity admits, honestly lost. “I imagine hell come to see you soon. Im really worried about his behaviour. Are you at home alone?”
After a pause, Isobel softly murmurs,
“Dont worry. Ill be okay. Thank you for telling me.”
“Im sorry you had to learn this way,” Verity says, meaning it.
“Its better to know the truth than to live in a lie,” Isobel answers, more steadily now.
They say goodbye, and Verity puts her phone down. Silence returns to her living room. She presses her forehead to the cold windowpane, watching the snow swirl in the lamplight. Out there, two people are struggling with the mess hes made. All Verity can do is hope that eventually things settle, and that everyone finds their way.
Her thoughts whirl, never settling. She tries to imagine what Isobels feeling now, how hard it will be to accept, to rebuild trust in anyone. But Verity knows: bitter truth is always better than falsehoodeventually the lie hurts far more.
***
Elsewhere, Isobel sits at her kitchen table, Veritys words echoing through herall mixed up with memories, washing over her like waves. The first date with Will, all his sweet charms, his silly jokes, the little shyness in his smile that once felt so genuine. She remembers his hand in hers, his whispered I love you.
“He never loved me,” runs through her mind again and again. It doesnt hurt, not exactly, but as if somethings shattered insidea world she spent months building has begun to crumble.
Her tea is cold. She hasnt touched it since she took the call. The only sound is the ticking of the clockthe seconds stretching on, reminding her life moves forward, whatever we lose.
She breathes deep, searching for clarity. Phone Will? Wait? Ask Verity to come round? Nothing seems right. All shes sure of is that she needs timeto accept, to recover, to figure out lifes next steps.
A knock startles her. Shes just been pouring a fresh cup of tea, trying to clear her thoughts. She glances through the spyhole. Will is there. Isobel hesitateswhat will he say? Lies? Confessions?
She opens the door. He stands there, hair dusted with snow, face pale, red-eyed as if hes slept little or stood in the cold for hours. He looks determined, and lost.
“Isobel,” he begins, not waiting for an invitation, “I have to tell you everything. I I never”
“Verity told me,” she cuts him off, voice cool and firm, though shes stinging inside. Hearing it from him is far more painful. “I doubt you can surprise me.”
Will falters. His shoulders sag, he lifts a hand, as if to reach for her, then lets it fall.
“So she rang you. I wanted to explain myself before you heard it from someone else.”
Isobel folds her arms, hurt simmering beneath her control. She wont show weakness, but her words tumble out.
“Why are you here, Will?” Her voice shakes despite herself. “To humiliate me? To repeat that I was just your stepping stone to someone else?”
He steps forward, but she backs away, putting space between them. He stops. “No,” he says quietly. “I came to apologise. For lying, for using you. For everything.”
He hesitates, searching for the least painful way to admit what hes done.
“I know theres no excuse. I know Ive hurt you. I dont expect you to forgive me or understand, but I couldnt leave without saying this in person. I am so sorry.”
Isobel says nothing. She looks at him, too numb for anger now. Its contempt she feelsa coldness for someone who could so easily play with anothers feelings.
“You could have been honest,” she murmurs at last. “You couldve just said you felt nothing. But you went to Verity, begging her to leave her fiancé and now youre sorry?”
He shrugs miserably. “It was my last chance. I wasnt thinking.”
Will takes a small box from his pocketthe one hed shown Verityand opens it to show Isobel.
“Here. Take it. As an apology,” he says, barely above a whisper.
Isobel looks at the ring; its simple but eleganta fine gold band set with a tiny diamond. What, a last insult? Giving her a ring meant for her friend?
She meets Wills eyes, expression now utterly calm.
“Keep it,” she says flatly. “I want nothing from you.”
He lets the box drop back into his pocket, defeated.
“Isobel, please,” his voice cracks, “I know Ive done you wrong. But can I try to make amends?”
She tilts her head, searching for the person she once loved. But theres only a stranger herethe man who lied, who played games.
“Make amends?” she laughs bitterly. “What do you wantmarry me out of guilt, step in front of a bus so Ill feel sorry for you? Go home, Will. Start over somewhere else. Im done. I need space. I need time with you nowhere near me, and no wish to hear your name.”
Will bows his head, pocketing the ring, and nods.
“I get it. Im sorry for all Ive done.”
He turns for the door, then looks back, one final plea in his eyes.
“If you ever want to talk”
“I wont,” she cuts in, calm and certain. “Im”
A ring at the door interrupts her. Who now?
Isobel checks the spyhole. There stands AndrewVeritys fiancé. Tall, well-groomed, with neatly-coiffed dark hair and a stern, unreadable expression. His voice is measured, all business as he steps inside when she opens up.
“I know whats going on,” he says, eyes fixed on Will. “And I know exactly what youve done to her. To both of them.”
Will opens his mouth to speak but Andrew silences him with a curt, “Enough. Veritys told me everything. And trust meyou wont learn the lesson any other way.”
He advances. Will shrinks back against the wall as Andrew approaches, unmistakeable intent in his stride.
“Please, Andrew, dont” Isobel pleads. She knows Will deserves it in a way, but her heart still aches for him despite everything.
“This doesnt concern you, Isobel,” says Andrew, shaking his head. “Hell get what he deserves now.”
Will braces, pressed to the wall by shame and dread. It dawns only now what hes set in motion, and how Andrewso solid, so determinedwont let things go.
“Look,” Will tries to speak, trembling, “I know I was wrong. Ive said sorry, to Verity, and to Isobel. I”
“Sorry?” Andrew sneers, mirthless. “Sorry isnt enough. You burned two peoples trust, and now you want forgiveness?”
He moves closer; Will clenches his fists, but knows resisting is useless.
Isobel draws a shaky breath. She wont watch this descend into violence.
“Andrew, please. This helps nothing. Lets talk.”
For a moment Andrew seems to reconsider, glancing at her. Theres doubt in his eyesbut its fleeting.
“Words arent enough.”
Andrew doesnt hesitate. In one swift, measured move, he punches Will, who crumples to the floor, clutching his injured mouth.
“This is just a warning,” says Andrew coldly. “If you ever show your face near Verity or Isobel again, itll be worse. Do I make myself clear?”
Will doesnt reply. He rises unsteadily, wipes blood from his lip and gives Isobel a fleeting, almost desperate look for sympathy. But her face is calm, closed off.
Without another word, he turns and heads for the door. Pausing, as if to justify himself, he meets Andrews icy gaze and thinks better of it. The latch clicks, leaving a cold hush behind.
Andrew softens, stepping over to Isobel.
“Sorry about that,” he says quietly. “I know violence solves nothing, but some people only understand this way.”
Isobel studies himshe hadnt expected any of this, but hes not angry, only resolute. A desire to protect, not hurt.
“You didnt have to” she begins, but trails off. “Actuallythank you. For standing up for me, even if I didnt want it at the time.”
Andrew gives a small smile.
“I know how you feel. Betrayal hurts. Youre strong. Youll get through it.”
Isobel nods; the storm of emotions inside her at last beginning to fade. She is strongshe believes it again now. Sometimes, she just needs reminding.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything. And for being there for Verity, too.”
“Its all shes been thinking about, you know,” Andrew says gently. “She wanted to come, but I said Id sort it.”
“Shes the best friend anyone could wish for,” Isobel sighs warmly. “And shes lucky to have you.”
They fall silent for a time, the snow drifting down outside, covering York in a soft hush, hiding the evenings sharp edges. Isobel draws a long breath. She knows theres a lot of healing aheadlearning to trust, opening her heart again. But now, shes comforted by the knowledge shes not alone, that she has true friends beside her.
Once Andrew is gone, she closes the door and sits quietly on the sofa.
“Its over,” she thinks. An endand a beginning. Theres pain, but also, somewhere, a gentle relief. Not the end, after all, but the start of a new chapterone where shell slowly learn to trust, to dream, and perhaps love, in a new, more discerning way, free of illusion.
***
Will meanwhile trudges through snowy streets, barely noticing the cold or the flakes softly settling in his hair. His lip achesdull and insistent, a reminder of his humiliationbut the pain in his heart is worse. He knows hes lost both women: Isobel, forevera chasm between them, now nothing but regrets. Veritylong before, when he surrendered to a fantasy of his own making.
He destroyed everything himself; now all hes left with is emptiness.
The next day, Will turns up at the office with a bruised face. Colleagues shoot curious glances, murmuring to each other, but nobody asks directly. He doesnt care. All that matters is surviving the day unnoticed.
A week later, he requests a transfer to another city. His boss raises an eyebrow but, seeing his seriousness, signs the papers without argument. Will knows he cant stay. Every street, every pub, every corner in York reminds him what hes broken.
Before leaving, he returns the ring to the jeweller. The shop assistant looks puzzled, but processes the refund without probing. Will offers no explanation. He feels a tiny weight lift with the sale, one last piece of baggage gone.
He wires the money to Isobel with a short note: “Sorry. Its rightfully yours.” No justifications, no explanationsjust that, simple and honest.
On the day he leaves, he waits for the taxi outside his old flat, the snowfall thick and silent, cloaking the city in white. He looks up at the wintry sky, breathes the crisp air, and feels, for a fleeting moment, that the world has pausedletting him reflect, accept that his past is now out of reach.
“I wrecked everything,” he whispers, not as complaint but as admission. Theres no rewinding time; some consequences must simply be lived with.
The cab pulls up. Will throws one last glance at the little block of flatsonce home, now just bricks and mortar. No more ghosts or hope. He shuts the car door and tells the driver to take him to the station.
As the taxi slides away and the snow whirls past, the city fades into anonymity. Will stares ahead, not sure what the future holds, only knowingits time to try and live differently.
Meanwhile, Isobel sits in a cosy cafe with Verity and Andrew. Three mugs of piping hot chocolate steam on the table, perfect for a snowy January afternoon.
The conversation is calm, easy. They talk about whats ahead for them all. Verity describes her wedding plans, cheeks flushing as she mentions odd moments with Andrew. Isobel listens; gradually, a sense of hope returnslife goes on, and better things await.
Andrew, usually reserved, is particularly attentive, content just to listen and offer the occasional remark.
“You know,” Isobel says softly, watching the snow pirouette outside, “Im not angry anymore. I just wish it hadnt had to be like this.”
Her words are gentle, with neither bitterness nor self-pity. Its simply an acceptance.
Verity smiles kindly, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“Theres nothing for you to regret,” she says firmly. “You deserve the real thing. No lies, no pretending.”
Isobel nods, believing Verity means itnot to comfort her, but because its honest.
“Yes,” she agrees, smiling. “And I will find it.”
Theres no bravado, just quiet certainty. The past is closed behind her, and ahead is a path shes ready to walk.
Snow still falls outside, covering York in a fresh white sheeterasing footprints, drawing a clean page. In the little cafe, things are peaceful. The hot chocolate cools, and three friends sit together knowing that, whatever else, life does go onand that is, after all, the most important thing.
