He just walked away… And yet she had lived for him.
They had been together for seven years. Seven long, exhausting years where Claire had tried to be perfect. Everything by the book—clean house, endless care, constant attention, always giving in. She had studied every angle of being the “perfect wife,” making herself indispensable, needed, loved. She was so terrified of being alone again that somewhere along the way, she lost herself.
And still, he left.
Not in anger. Not in the heat of an argument. Just one evening, calm and detached, he packed his things and said:
“Claire, I’ve fallen for someone else. I’m leaving.”
She nodded. Stood up. Quietly fetched a suitcase. She folded his shirts, tucked in his socks, neatly rolled his ties. Made sure he didn’t forget his phone charger. Then, softly:
“Take your razor too—you’ll need it.”
Only when the door closed behind him did the pain hit, unbearable, crushing. She slid down the hallway wall and wept. Not for the loss, but because she had failed again. Her “perfection” hadn’t been enough.
Her best mate Sophie was the first to rush over. Claire sat motionless, staring blankly into space. Sophie tried shaking her—useless. Soon the others arrived, a full squad of support. Some with cake, some with wine, some just with open arms.
“You did everything for him!” Rachel shouted.
“He never deserved you!” Emma insisted.
Claire stayed silent. Their words drowned in the hollowness inside her.
Then Natasha spoke. The one who never minced words, no matter what.
“Stop wallowing,” she said bluntly. “He’ll come crawling back. They always do. There aren’t many women as convenient, as soft, as patient as you. Once he’s had his fun, he’ll grovel. But the real question is—do you even want him?”
The others hissed, scolding Natasha for her harshness. But suddenly, Claire whispered:
“Sod him.”
And it wasn’t spite in her voice. It was the first spark of something new.
Women are wise. They can forgive, endure, wait. But when betrayed, they know how to rise from their knees. To smile through tears. And start again.
Because now, they live—not for someone else. But for themselves.
