**Diary Entry – 16th June**
“Mum’s coming? Cancel it! My ex is staying over!”
Emily was at the stove, the rich scent of roasted meat and rosemary filling the kitchen. It was one of those rare evenings when she’d had the time to cook something proper, not just scrambled eggs. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and turned around, calling out:
“James, you do remember my mum’s arriving tomorrow, don’t you?”
A moment later, he shuffled into the doorway, hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep.
“What mum?” He blinked. “Did you mention something?”
“Yes! Days ago!” Emily frowned. “We agreed she’d come Sunday.”
James suddenly tensed, then blurted:
“Cancel it. She can’t come tomorrow. Absolutely not.”
“And why’s that?” Her voice sharpened.
“Because… Sophie’s arriving.”
“Who the hell is Sophie?”
He exhaled. “My ex.”
Dead silence. Then Emily coughed, torn between laughter and fury.
“You’re serious? You want your ex staying here—tomorrow—the same day my mum arrives?”
“It’s not like that! She’s not moving in, just crashing for a night! She and her bloke had a row, and she’s got nowhere else to go. Just a couple of days, I swear. Sophie and I are ancient history—you know that! She’s just in a rough spot.”
“Have you considered how this looks? Mum walks in, and there’s your old flame lounging about. Brilliant impression!”
“We’ll say she’s your friend. You’re a fantastic liar—they’ll buy it!”
Emily rolled her eyes, but already, her mind was racing: Sophie marching in, announcing Irina as the “woman of the house.” Disgusting… but intriguing.
That evening, the doorbell rang. There stood Sophie—tall, poised, with a sleek bob and a designer handbag. Her eyes flicked over Emily, assessing.
“So, you’re the wife. Got it… Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair in a day or two. Won’t lay a finger on him.”
Emily clenched her jaw. “Room on the right. My mum’s coming tomorrow—stay scarce.”
Sophie strode in while Emily retreated to the kitchen, where dinner was cooling.
“Sophie, you joining us?”
“Course! Is that a pie? Don’t tell me you made it. Shop-bought pastry and jam, yeah?”
“Feel free to skip it,” Emily snapped, though the corner of her mouth twitched.
Unfazed, Sophie grinned. “Want me to teach you proper baking? My gran was a chef—I’ve been at it since I was knee-high.”
And just like that, the evening shifted. By midnight, they were chatting like old mates—men, recipes, even fashion. For the first time, Emily didn’t feel like just “the wife.” She was someone who could impress. Sophie wasn’t the enemy—she was an ally.
Next morning, Sophie left for work, and Emily’s mum, Margaret, knocked. The smell of slow-cooked beef hit her instantly.
“You made this?” Her mum gaped. “Since when?”
Emily just nodded, pride swelling. She knew exactly who to thank—that bloody ex.
That night, Sophie called.
“Em, I’m home. Made up with Richard. Cheers for the dress advice—he was chuffed seeing me at that work do. Said I’m his lucky charm now. Oh, and we sealed the deal on that contract. You’re a gem. Popping by tomorrow for my things… and to hug you proper!”
Emily hung up and glanced at James.
“Turns out you were right. She’s decent. And maybe… I finally know who I am. Not just a wife. A woman who’s got something to offer.”
“If you’re mates with Sophie now, the world’s officially lost it,” James muttered.
“Just stay out of the way,” Emily smiled, “and everything’ll be fine.”
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes the people you expect to clash with end up showing you who you really are. Life’s funny that way.
