A Sharp Turn
Emily had never lived alone. First, she lived with her parents, then she got married, and two years later, she and her husband had a daughter, Sophie.
Even when her husband left, she and Sophie stayed together for a while. But now, she was completely alone. She wandered around the empty flat, unsure what to do, or why she was even living. Her life had collapsed, and all she could see ahead was lonely old age and fading into nothing.
She didn’t understand what had gone wrong. What was wrong with *her*? She and James had never had serious fights—just the usual little squabbles. She never nagged him, let him go out with his mates, kept the flat clean and cosy. There was always a pot of soup in the fridge and dinner ready on the stove.
Emily had stayed slim even after giving birth—she’d never been curvy. During pregnancy, her chest had gone up a size, much to James’s delight, but after she stopped breastfeeding, it returned to normal. But you don’t divorce someone over *that*. Everyone said she and James were a perfect match.
Of course, she wasn’t blind—she’d noticed him changing lately. He wasn’t coming home late, but he’d started paying more attention to his appearance, carefully matching his ties to his shirts, getting a trendy haircut.
*”Why don’t you wear dresses?”* he asked once.
*”I do—special occasions,”* Emily replied, confused. He’d never cared before.
*”You look pale today. Feeling alright?”*
*”I always look like this. Why are you picking at me?”* she snapped.
One day, she actually put on makeup, blush and all, and went to work like that.
*”Wash it off. It doesn’t suit you,”* James said when he saw her that evening.
*”Everyone at work complimented me all day,”* Emily muttered, but obediently scrubbed her face clean.
*”Thought you’d finally look nice every day now,”* a colleague remarked the next morning.
*”James didn’t like it.”*
*”Probably just worried you’ll catch too much attention,”* the colleague teased. Emily didn’t argue.
Then her best friend, Claire, rang and suggested meeting at a café after work. Claire was gorgeous and vivacious—they’d been friends since school.
*”How do you stay so slim without dieting? I have to watch everything, or I’ll balloon,”* Claire sighed.
*”Oh, stop. Blokes turn their necks staring after you,”* Emily laughed.
*”They’d look at *you* too if you gave them a chance. You’ve got great legs—shame you always hide them in trousers. A pencil skirt would suit you. And you need a haircut, maybe go ginger. Sort yourself out—you look like a retiree.”*
Emily knew Claire wasn’t just being casually cruel.
*”Claire, what’s this about? You’ve never—”*
*”Doesn’t matter what I’ve said before.”* Claire cut her off, then hesitated. *”Sorry. Saw James with some young girl. Sweet little thing, barely twenty. The way he looked at her…”*
Emily squeezed her eyes shut. *”Stop.”*
*”Em, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you’ve been the same for years. Men have eyes. You’re so dull it’s painful.”*
*”That’s not true!”* Emily stood and rushed out.
At home, she sat on the edge of the bath, staring at the tiles.
*”Mum, Dad’s here,”* Sophie called through the door.
Emily splashed her face and stepped out. Sophie disappeared into her room, and James sat at the kitchen table, hands folded like a schoolboy.
*”Sorry, I didn’t make dinner. Was out with Claire.”*
*”Not hungry. So you know, then,”* he said.
*”Know what?”* But she already did. *Claire hadn’t lied.*
*”I’m in love with someone else. Tried to fight it, but… She’s half my age, but I can’t live without her. I’m sorry. I’ll pack my things.”*
Emily didn’t stop him. Then Sophie betrayed her too. She started visiting James often—Emily didn’t mind, until Sophie began bringing home gifts. James’s new girlfriend, Diana, gave her crop tops, short glittery dresses, makeup, half-used perfume.
*”Look what Diana got me! Isn’t she brilliant? Suits me, right?”*
*”Stop taking things from her!”* Emily snapped.
*”Why?”*
*”She stole your dad!”*
*”So? She’s fun. You’re just… boring. No wonder Dad left.”*
It got worse. Sophie picked up new slang, dyed her hair green and pink, caked on makeup. Teachers wrote notes—*rude, skips class.*
But arguing was useless. Every time: *”Diana says…”*
Emily trembled at the name. When she tried banning visits, Sophie said she’d move in with James.
*”So I’m a bad mum? Diana’s better? Fine. Go. Once she has a baby, you’ll be out the door.”*
*”Wait—seriously? I can live with Dad?”* Sophie asked coldly.
*”Yes. Just tell him to call me.”*
James rang the next day. *”Sophie says you want her with me.”*
*”She forced this! I can’t manage her—she’s rude, misses school, dresses like… and it’s all Diana’s fault!”*
*”They get on well. You’re just bitter… Fine, she can stay.”* He hung up.
Sophie left. Emily spiralled—hardly ate, grew gaunt. Calls from Sophie only twisted the knife: *”Me and Diana went to a gig…”*
Her A-levels were a disaster. No uni chances. Didn’t care.
Then James called: Sophie had moved in with some bloke.
Emily couldn’t breathe. *”YOU LET HER?!”*
*”She’s an adult. Your parenting. Diana’s pregnant, I’ve got my hands full—”*
*”So our daughter doesn’t matter? You ruined her! Diana brainwashed her, then tossed her aside!”*
When Claire called, Emily nearly sobbed. *”Hanging myself. James left. Sophie betrayed me. Everyone’s gone…”*
Claire arrived with brandy. Emily spilled everything between drunken gulps. Claire tossed in comments: *”Prick.” “Idiot.” “Nightmare.”*
At dawn, Claire stood. *”Enough. First, we fix you—hair, nails, clothes. Then we find you real men.”*
*”Where?”* Emily slurred.
*”You’ll see.”*
After the makeover, Emily barely recognised herself—ten years younger. Claire dragged her to galleries, exhibitions. Emily didn’t get art, but loved it. She kept calling Sophie—no answer.
Then Sophie rang.
*”Mum, can we stay a fortnight? Need time to find a new place.”*
Emily didn’t ask why. *”Of course!”*
She cleaned, changed the sheets, cooked a feast. She’d tolerate the boyfriend if it meant Sophie coming home.
At the door, her smile died.
Sophie stood there, hollow-eyed, holding a bundle. Behind her—a lanky guy with shoulder-length hair.
Sophie wordlessly handed over the baby, kicked off her trainers, and vanished into her room. Emily stared at the bloke.
*”Uh. Hi,”* he mumbled.
*”Who?”*
*”Boy,”* he said, nodding at the baby. *”Callum.”*
The guy—Jasper—wolfed down food like he’d starved for weeks. Between bites, he mumbled about getting kicked out, no money, losing his job…
A wail saved Emily from screaming. She rushed to Callum. Sophie didn’t even come out.
Now, she missed being alone. She raced from work to shops, cooked, cleaned. Sophie dumped the baby on her the second she got home.
One evening, she found a drunk crowd in her flat—music blasting, Callum screaming. She kicked them out, scrubbed till midnight.
*”Soph, this stops. You’ve a baby! And Jasper—has he *looked* for work? You’re living off me! Neighbours are complaining—”*
*”Kicking us out? This flat’s half Dad’s—he gave me his share. I live here too. We’ll do what we want.”*
Emily was speechless. Next day, she called Claire, crying.
*”Got an idea,”* Claire said over coffee. *”Remember that old film where the teacher scares off awful flatmates? You ‘go to a spa,’ we rent your room to actors—proper rough types. Jasper’ll bolt, Sophie’ll beg you back.”*The actors moved in—loud, messy, and intimidating—and within a week, Jasper was gone, Sophie was begging Emily to come home, and life slowly settled back into something resembling peace.
