**Diary Entry: A Return to Betrayal**
I was stirring a pot of stew in the kitchen when my phone buzzed on the counter. A message from my best friend, Sophie—short and cold. “Meet me at the café. We need to talk.” I tried calling back immediately, but she didn’t pick up. A pang of unease settled in my chest, but I knew I had to go. I turned off the stove, changed quickly, and half an hour later, I was stepping into our favourite café. There, at the corner table, was Sophie. And beside her—Daniel. My husband. Their posture left no room for doubt.
“Sophie? Daniel?!” My voice trembled, as did my hands.
Sophie didn’t flinch. Instead, she perched on Daniel’s lap and leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek. He tried to stand, but I was already turning away, walking out the door.
That moment was the final straw. There had been suspicions before—odd behaviour, late nights at the office—but knowing my childhood friend was involved shattered everything. My heart, my trust.
Sophie and I grew up together in a quiet village in Yorkshire. She was an orphan—her mother vanished, her father unknown—raised by a stern grandmother. My family, warm and loving, took her in as one of our own. Picnics, cinema trips, summer fairs—she clung to us like a sister. Our childhood was all about *us*: climbing trees, playing dress-up, dreaming of escaping to the city.
I made it out. Medical school, marriage to Daniel—the son of a wealthy businessman—a flat in London, a job as a doctor. Sophie stayed behind, working at a shoe shop. When I suggested she move in with us, she jumped at the chance. Daniel even helped her find a place.
What I didn’t know was that they’d already been talking behind my back. That he’d met her at the train station. That an affair had already begun. It all came out later. First, Daniel’s sudden distance. Then Sophie’s cryptic message. And finally, that scene in the café—impossible to forget.
A month later, Daniel filed for divorce. Sophie moved into *our* flat. I clenched my teeth and went back to the village, working as a GP and renting a small room. The hospital’s head doctor eventually offered me a promotion—the senior physician was retiring.
One day, during rounds, I met a new patient—a distinguished man with kind eyes. Leonard. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Later, mid-conversation, he chuckled.
“Aren’t you the little girl I once caught falling out of a tree?”
I froze—the memory rushed back. As children, Sophie and I had climbed an old oak after school. My dress snagged, panic set in—then strong hands lifted me down. His voice: “What were you thinking? That was dangerous.”
Now, that same voice soothed me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
Weeks later, Leonard invited me to celebrate his discharge. I hesitated but agreed. Things unfolded effortlessly from there. We grew close, spent more time together. Soon, we married.
Now, Leonard and I live in a countryside estate with our twin boys. My parents adore him. For the first time in years, life makes sense.
And Sophie? She’s back in the village, living in her grandmother’s old flat. Daniel lost interest fast and kicked her out. Last I heard, she works at a greengrocer’s—bitter, resentful.
Funny how karma works. What goes around comes around. And sometimes, it hits harder than you’d expect.
