“Mum, have you lost your mind completely?” Edward’s voice trembled with fury. “How could you trust that conniving witch?”
“Don’t you dare speak about Emily like that!” Margaret snapped. “She’s been like a daughter to me!”
“A daughter?” Edward let out a bitter laugh. “Mum, she robbed you! Took every penny of your savings!”
“She didn’t steal anything! I gave her the money willingly!” Margaret slammed her fist on the table. “And it’s none of your business how I spend my own funds!”
“*My* funds, Mum! That was Gran’s inheritance! Your pension, *my* help! And she took it all and vanished!”
Margaret turned to the window. Rain streaked down the glass like tears, but she didn’t cry. She’d spent all her tears yesterday, when she finally realised Emily had played her for a fool.
“She hasn’t vanished,” she murmured. “She’s gone to visit her sister in Manchester. Said she’ll be back in a month.”
“Mum, wake up! What sister? You *know* she’s got no family! She’s an orphan!”
“Maybe she found someone. Maybe—”
Edward gripped her shoulders. “Mum, look at me. Emily Carter is a fraud. She *targeted* you, just to get the money. There are dozens of women like you she’s swindled.”
“How do you know?”
“I hired a private investigator. Here—look.”
He pulled a folder from his briefcase—documents, photographs.
“Emily Carter, thirty-eight. Convicted of fraud. Specialises in lonely elderly women. These are her with other victims.”
Margaret’s hands shook as she took the folder. The photos showed Emily, arm in arm with women just like her—all smiling, all fooled.
“This can’t be true,” she whispered.
“Mum, she took *twenty thousand pounds* from you. Said her daughter was sick, needed surgery. But she’s *got* no children!”
Margaret sank into a chair. Her vision blurred.
“But she… we were friends for a *year*… She helped me with shopping, took me to the hospital…”
“She was grooming you, Mum. Gaining your trust. Then she struck when you least expected it.”
Margaret remembered the day they’d met—at the GP’s surgery, waiting for the cardiologist. A young woman had sat beside her, struck up a conversation. Said she was alone too, husband gone, daughter living abroad. Just like her.
Then the “chance” meetings—Tesco, Boots. Emily always so kind, so eager to help. Soon, she was coming round for tea, sharing memories.
“Remember how I warned you?” Edward pressed. “Told you to be careful with strangers?”
“I remember,” Margaret admitted. “But you suspect *everyone*. Think the worst of people.”
“Not everyone. Just the ones who become ‘best friends’ too fast.”
Margaret closed her eyes. She remembered the day Emily had arrived in tears—said her daughter, Sophie, was *dying*, needed an operation. That she was desperate, had nowhere else to turn.
“*Maggie, you’re the only one I trust!*” she’d sobbed.
And Margaret had handed over every penny. Without hesitation. How could she *not* help a friend in need?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Edward asked. “I’d have stopped you.”
“Because I *knew* you’d refuse. You never liked her.”
“I *knew* she was fake. Too much laughter, too much flattery. Real friends don’t act like that.”
Margaret stood, walked to the sideboard. There, in a silver frame—a photo of her and Emily by the fountain in Regent’s Park. Smiling, arms wrapped around each other. She snatched it up and hurled it to the floor. Glass shattered.
“Mum!” Edward flinched.
“Stupid!” Margaret screamed. “*Pathetic* old fool! How could I be so *gullible*?”
She crumpled into sobs. Edward pulled her close.
“Don’t blame yourself. She’s a professional. She *knows* how to manipulate people.”
“But *why* me? Why did she pick *me*?”
“Because you’re kind. Because you trust too easily. Because you’re alone.”
Margaret pulled back, met his eyes. “I’m reporting her to the police.”
“It’s too late, Mum. She’s gone. They’ll never find her.”
“They *will*. They *have* to.”
Edward shook his head. “Even if they do, you won’t get the money back. It’s gone.”
“Then at least she won’t cheat anyone else.”
Margaret wiped her face, straightened her spine.
“I’ll go tomorrow. File a report.”
“Fine. I’ll come with you.”
“No. I’ll do it alone.”
Edward tucked the folder away. “Mum… why didn’t you call me? I was *worried*.”
“I was *ashamed*. Knew you’d say ‘I told you so’.”
“I’m not saying that. I just—I *care*.”
“I know. Forgive me, Ed.”
He kissed her forehead. “Come live with me. I don’t like you being alone.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve always managed on my own.”
“But after this—”
“*Especially* after this. If I run now, I’ll never forgive myself.”
He wanted to argue, but he knew she was right. She’d always been stubborn.
“Fine. But I’m checking on you daily.”
“Once a week is enough.”
“Mum—”
“*Edward*. I’ll be *fine*.”
He left. Margaret picked up the shattered frame, tore the photo to pieces, dumped it in the bin.
Then she sat by the window, thinking. How could she have been so *stupid*? Trusted a stranger over her own son?
Her phone rang. *Emily*.
She stared at the screen, heart pounding. Then answered.
“Maggie! *God*, I’ve missed you!” Emily’s voice was honey-sweet.
“Emily,” Margaret said coldly.
“Listen—*amazing* news! Sophie’s had the op! She’s *recovering*!”
“How lovely,” Margaret said flatly.
“…Maggie? You sound odd.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Right. Well—I’m back next week! We *must* meet! I’ll tell you everything!”
“Emily,” Margaret said slowly, “show me a photo of your daughter.”
“A… photo?”
“Any one. I’d like to see her.”
Silence.
“I—I don’t have any on me. Dropped my phone, lost everything.”
“I see.”
“…Maggie, what’s *wrong*?”
Margaret took a deep breath.
“I know everything.”
“Know *what*?”
“That you’ve no daughter. That you’re a fraud. That you *conned* me.”
More silence. Then—a nervous laugh.
“*Maggie*, what nonsense is this? Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m perfectly sane. *You’re* the one with the problem.”
“I don’t *understand*—who’s fed you these lies?”
“No one. I found out myself.”
“Found out *what*?”
“That you’re a professional swindler. That there are *dozens* of women like me.”
Emily’s voice turned icy.
“So what now? Running to the *police*?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t bother. I’m long gone. You’ll just humiliate yourself.”
“Margaret,”—suddenly formal—”you *gave* me that money. I’ve got your signed agreement.”
“An agreement for a *fake* child’s surgery?”
“Prove it.”
“We’ll see.”
Margaret moved to hang up—but Emily stopped her.
“Wait. Margaret… you *were* happy with me, weren’t you?”
“What?”
“You weren’t lonely. You had a *friend*. Someone to talk to.”
“And?”
“And those months were the *best* you’d had in years. You *said* so.”
Margaret’s chest tightened. It was true.
“Let’s make a deal,” Emily said smoothly. “I’ll return *half*.”
“All or nothing.”
“I *can’t*. It’s spent.”
“Then forget it.”
“Margaret, be *rational*. Half’s better than *nothing*.”
“Emily,” Margaret said quietly, “I realised something. You never needed *me*. Just my money. The rest was an *act*.”
“Not *all* of it. I *liked* you.”
“Liar. If you had, you wouldn’t have *stolen* from me.”
“Margaret, I’ll *come back*. We’ll talk—”
“*DonShe blocked the number, knowing the only thing left to do was move forward—alone, but wiser.
