“So you don’t have a man of your own, so you go after someone else’s? Some friend you are. I don’t want to see you in my house again,” Sophie spat angrily.
Stepping off the bus was the last thing Emily wanted. She lived in a new-build estate, one of those areas still without proper transport links. The walk from the stop was long, and the weather was miserable. Well, at least she could pop into the shop. There had been talk of one opening nearby, but heaven knew when that would actually happen. Now she was paying for yesterday’s laziness—her fridge was nearly empty.
Emily stepped onto the pavement and barely took two steps before a gust of wind yanked her hood back, tossing a strand of hair into her face along with a handful of icy snowflakes. The wind seemed to come from every direction at once, determined to blind her. She pulled the hood down tighter, hunched her shoulders, and trudged forward like an old woman. By the time she reached the shop, she nearly broke into a run, desperate to escape the biting cold.
Finally, the door swung shut behind her, muffling the howling wind. She pushed back her hood and shook out her tangled hair, then grabbed a basket and moved through the aisles, picking up only the essentials—just enough to fit into one bag. The rest could wait till tomorrow. She still had to walk home, after all, and she needed a free hand to keep her hood in place.
Up ahead, a young woman manoeuvred a pram while a little boy, bundled up like a tiny astronaut in a thick winter coat, clung to the side. The woman pushed the pram with one hand and balanced a basket in the other, moving slowly. Emily veered into the next aisle to avoid holding them up. She grabbed a carton of milk and headed for the bread section—only to see the same woman again. She was about to duck into another aisle when a small stuffed toy tumbled out of the pram.
“Wait! You dropped this!” Emily called, picking it up.
The woman turned, and Emily’s breath caught. “Sophie? Is that you?”
“Emily? Oh my god!” Sophie’s face lit up.
“I was just thinking, what kind of madwoman takes her kids out in this weather?” Emily laughed.
“We live just up the road. Ran out of milk and cereal, and my little one threw a fit—Sam here couldn’t handle her alone,” Sophie said, nodding at the boy. “So here we are.”
Emily bit back the question hovering on her tongue—*Where’s your husband?* Too soon to pry. Probably still at work.
She glanced at the boy, who was eyeing a box of biscuits with detached interest.
“My little helper,” Sophie said proudly.
“How old is he?”
“Six. Starting school next autumn. Sam, say hello.”
“I wanna go home and finish my show,” Sam muttered, shooting his mum a sulky look.
“Patience,” Sophie chided, then sighed. “Sorry, Em. Life’s not my own anymore. Here, take my number—we should catch up properly.”
Emily fished out her phone and saved the details.
“Call me, yeah? Kids are usually asleep by ten,” Sophie said as they headed for the tills.
“Wait—the toy?” Emily called after her.
Sophie murmured something to Sam, who scampered over, snatched the pink rabbit from Emily’s hand, and bolted back without a word. Sophie rolled her eyes but grinned as she mouthed, *Kids.*
*Never pictured Sophie with two babies,* Emily thought, queuing at the till. *And braving a blizzard for groceries? I’d never.*
*That’s why you’re alone,* her inner voice jabbed.
At home, Emily fried up some eggs—too late for a proper meal. As the kettle boiled, she admired her new kitchen. She’d bought the flat six months ago and still swelled with pride over it. The living room was half-empty—just a sofa, telly, and wardrobe—but the kitchen? That was *hers*. The heart of a home, she’d always thought. Right now, she ate quick meals in front of the telly, but one day… One day there’d be a family here.
She sighed.
The soft cream cabinets glowed under the pendant light. The kettle screeched, snapping her out of her thoughts. After eating, she washed up, then lingered at the window, watching car lights weave through the dark like tangled fairy lights. Squares of gold dotted the neighbouring buildings—families gathered around tables, sharing meals, sharing lives. Someone out there was probably staring just like her, thinking the same things.
Sophie popped into her mind. No time for window-gazing with two kids. And yet—Sophie had once sworn *never* to have children.
*“I’m not wasting my best years on ungrateful brats who’ll leave me to rot alone,”* she’d declared in sixth form. *“Let other people breed. I’m living my life.”*
Emily had argued—*Children are our legacy, our purpose*—but Sophie had just laughed. *“Knock yourself out, then.”*
Now here she was: two kids, a husband, the whole package.
Emily’s own childhood had been quiet—just her and her mum. Dad had another family somewhere. After Mum died last year, she’d sold their cramped old flat and bought this place, desperate to leave the ghosts behind.
She wondered if Sophie resented the turn her life had taken. Maybe not. Maybe it was just exhaustion talking earlier.
The phone buzzed.
Sophie’s name flashed on the screen.
*Speak of the devil.*
—
“Emily? It’s me. Did I wake you?” Emily whispered into the phone.
“No, no—kids are down. I’m glad you called.” Sophie’s voice was warm. “So, what’s new with you?”
“Not much. Still single, still proud of my flat.”
“Why proud?”
“I mean, come on—no more grotty old council flat. Fresh start.”
“You always were driven,” Sophie said. “But I mean… why *single*?”
They talked for ages, until a baby’s wail cut through the call.
“Gotta go—Sophie’s up. Talk soon,” Sophie said, hanging up.
Emily set the phone down, picturing the scene: Sophie soothing her daughter in a dimly lit nursery, her husband—reliable, strong—lounging in front of the telly. A pang of envy flickered.
Then again… *She still went out in a snowstorm with two kids. How reliable is he, really?*
*Maybe he’s working hard to provide,* she countered. *Family’s family. Hardships pass.*
She sighed and went to brush her teeth.
—
Two weeks later, Sophie called again—inviting her to Sam’s birthday.
“Need me to come early and help?” Emily offered.
“Nah, I’ve got Mark. And my little helper.” Sophie’s laugh was light. *Good sign.*
Emily showed up dressed nicely, gift-wrapped Lego in hand.
Sam flung the door open without a word.
“Oi. Don’t just open the door to strangers,” Emily mock-scolded.
He bolted.
“Who is it?” Sophie called from inside.
“Me!” Emily stepped in, unwinding her scarf.
The living room was quiet—just Sam glued to cartoons. She handed him the present, ruffled his hair, then followed Sophie’s voice to the kitchen.
Her friend sat slumped at the table, eyes red-rimmed. No cake. No guests.
“What’s wrong?” Emily sat opposite her.
Sophie shrugged listlessly.
“Where’s Mark?”
“At the pub,” Sophie muttered bitterly.
“Ah. Rows?”
“He came home late, reeking of beer. I *snapped*. Says he works all day and deserves to unwind, while I ‘do nothing.’ *Nothing.* Try looking after two kids, you absolute—” She cut herself off, pressing her palms to her eyes. “I *planned* this. Cake, presents… And he *ruined* it.”
Emily reached across the table. “Hey. Let’s celebrate anyway. Sam shouldn’t miss his party.”
They pulled together a makeshift tea, Sophie juggling the baby while Sam demolished his cake. Later, with the kids asleep, they shared a bottle of wine.
“I’m *exhausted*,” Sophie admitted. “Laundry, cooking, nursery runs—it never ends. And Mark? Useless. Thinks kids are *my* job. His ‘duty’ ends at a paycheck.”
Emily snorted. “And *this* is why I’m single.”
Sophie swatted her. “Don’t be daft. Kids are *everything*. I wouldn’t trade them.”
“Says the girl who swore she’d never breed,” Emily teased.
Sophie blinked. “*I* said that?”
Then—the front door slammed.
Sophie smoothed her hair, wiped her face.
Mark loomed in the doorway.
“Kids asleep?” His gaze flicked to Emily. “WhoAs Emily left their house that night, her heart heavy but her future unexpectedly bright, she realized that sometimes the storms we weather lead us exactly where we’re meant to be.
