If Not for You…
Emma and Claire had been inseparable since childhood, attending the same nursery and sharing a desk in school. As they grew older, Emma blossomed into a striking beauty, effortless in her charm, never without admirers. Claire, on the other hand, was one of those unremarkable girls who faded into the crowd, her face never lingering in anyone’s gaze.
After school, Claire enrolled in nursing college, driven by a need to care for others. Emma, convinced that life owed her success without effort, took a beauty course and worked at a salon, shaping brows and painting lashes for women chasing youth.
The two endured each other’s heartbreaks like sisters. A day couldn’t pass without them meeting or chatting on the phone—Emma doing most of the talking, Claire listening, absorbing every tear and triumph of her friend’s latest romance.
Then, as often happens between best friends, they fell for the same man.
Claire met Daniel first. He wasn’t some heartthrob—just an ordinary bloke, the kind she might’ve built a quiet life with. But fate, as always, had other plans.
Leaving Tesco, Claire dodged a puddle left by the afternoon downpour when she spotted him—a bloke on an electric scooter, hurtling straight at her. He wasn’t looking. She wasn’t sure he’d seen her at all until, at the last second, she yelped and leapt aside—right into the water.
“Bloody menace!” An old woman shook her gnarled finger at him. “Nearly took the poor girl out!”
Daniel braked, glancing back. Claire, standing ankle-deep in grime, scowled.
“Sorry,” he offered. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Would’ve swerved.”
Claire ignored him, focusing on her ruined trainers.
“Need a lift?”
“Just leave me alone.”
“Already said sorry. Fancy a ride? Where d’you live?”
“Just round the corner. Elm Street, number ten.”
With a sigh, she climbed on, gripping the handles. The scooter glided smoothly, wind whipping through her hair, her pulse quickening with speed. She’d never ridden one before—terrifying, exhilarating—but with him, fear vanished.
They pulled up at her building. “Which door?” His breath tickled her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
“Third one.”
He stopped perfectly, letting her step straight onto dry pavement.
“Cheers,” she muttered.
Their eyes met—his warm, crinkled at the edges. Suddenly, he wasn’t just some reckless rider.
“Name’s Daniel.”
“Claire.”
“Let me make it up to you. Fancy a film? Mates have all buggered off. Hate going alone.”
She shrugged. “Suppose.”
“Brilliant. Tomorrow, seven, right here.” With a grin, he disappeared round the corner.
Claire floated home, her skin still tingling.
“You’re glowing,” Mum remarked.
“Just tripped in a puddle.” She handed over the bread and locked herself in the bathroom, replaying every second.
The next evening, Claire waited outside—trainers, jeans, nerves wound tight. He wasn’t coming. Stupid, stupid—
“Hey.”
She spun around. Daniel grinned, heart-stopping.
“Hop on. Starts in twenty.”
She did. The ride was just as thrilling, his chest pressed against her back, her heart hammering.
After the film, they walked home, chatting, the scooter forgotten.
“Who was that?” Emma demanded the next morning.
“Mum told you?”
“Course not. Spill.”
Claire bit her lip. “Just some bloke.”
But he wasn’t. He was the first to see her.
They planned another walk, but as they left the courtyard, Emma appeared—like she’d been lying in wait.
“Hi!” She beamed at Daniel.
He stared, transfixed. Emma giggled, flicking her hair.
Claire lagged behind. They didn’t notice.
She cried into her pillow that night.
Emma came the next day, breathless. “I’m—I’m in love.”
Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. She couldn’t stay angry. They stayed friends, even after Daniel and Emma married.
Claire became a nurse. Emma kept working at the salon—more for fun than pay. Daniel earned well.
They celebrated birthdays, holidays, barbecues. Claire’s feelings deepened like an untreated wound.
Then, at 3 AM, the phone rang.
“Do you know what time—?”
“Emma’s dead.” His voice cracked.
“What?!”
“Coming back from the country—she insisted on driving… A tow truck came out of nowhere—she didn’t—”
“Which hospital?”
She threw on scrubs, grabbed her bag.
“Who called?” Mum mumbled.
“Emma. Car crash.”
“At this hour? They won’t let you in.”
Claire sped off.
Daniel lay in bed, wires snaking around him, staring at the ceiling. Dawn painted his face ghostly.
“How bad?”
“Surgery’s done. Can’t feel my legs.” His voice hollow. “Should’ve been me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Where the hell did that truck come from?”
The doctor was blunt. “Nerves intact, but recovery’s on him now.”
Claire buried Emma with her parents. Every day, she visited Daniel. He blamed himself, pushed her away.
“We can’t keep him here,” the doctor said. “Needs rehab, physio—hope.”
His parents couldn’t afford proper care. Claire offered, working nights to be with him.
Then his mother hired a young carer. Pretty. Claire’s chest burned watching her flirt. She visited less.
Two weeks later, Daniel’s mum called, weeping. “She robbed us. Took everything—money, Nana’s rings—”
Claire rushed over. The carer had drugged him, stolen valuables, vanished.
Police had no leads.
“Daniel won’t eat, won’t speak,” his mum begged. “Talk to him.”
Claire did.
“You’re not to blame,” she whispered.
“Who wants a cripple?” he spat. “Piss off.”
“I want you.”
“Why? Pity? Get bored soon enough.”
“Think that’ll scare me off?” Her voice shook. “I’ve loved you since that damn scooter ride. Watched you marry Emma. Smiled at your wedding. Cried every night. I’ll get you walking—for her. Then I’ll leave.”
She did. Injections, massages, relentless exercises. A bike. Straps. Pain.
Until, one day, Daniel stood.
Claire stopped visiting.
Months later, she came home to voices in the kitchen.
“Tea, love?” Mum chirped.
Daniel stood, leaning on a cane.
Claire froze.
“Came to say thanks.” His voice was rough. “And—I was a coward. Thought you pitied me. When you left…” He pulled out a ring. “Marry me?”
She stared.
“Too late? Found someone else?”
“I waited so long…”
Two years on, Daniel walked unaided, just a slight limp. Claire, heavily pregnant, waddled beside him. He bought her vitamins, fussed over fruit.
A person can do anything—if someone believes they can.
