“You haven’t got a man of your own, so you throw yourself at someone else’s? Some friend you are. Don’t you dare set foot in my house again,” Emily snapped angrily.
Stepping off the bus was the last thing Sophie wanted. She lived in a new-build estate where public transport didn’t reach. The walk from the stop was long, and the weather was foul. Might as well stop by the shop, she thought. The promised supermarket opening in the next block still hadn’t happened. She’d have to pay for yesterday’s laziness—her fridge was nearly empty.
Sophie stepped out and barely took two strides before a gust of wind tore her hood back, flinging a strand of hair and a handful of icy snow into her face. The wind seemed to blow from all directions at once, determined to blind her.
She yanked the hood low over her forehead, hunched like an old woman, and trudged forward, gripping it under her chin. By the time she reached the shop, she nearly broke into a run, desperate to escape the biting cold.
The door swung shut behind her, muffling the storm’s roar. She pushed back her hood, shaking out her tangled hair before grabbing a basket. Only the essentials today—just enough to fit in one bag. The rest could wait. She still had to walk home, one hand needed to keep her coat in place.
Up ahead, a young woman pushed a pram, a boy of about six clinging to it, bundled up like an astronaut. One hand steered the pram, the other clutched a basket. They moved slowly. No way to pass. Sophie ducked down another aisle, grabbing milk before heading to the bakery.
And there they were again—the same woman and pram. Sophie was about to slip away when a stuffed toy tumbled out. She scooped it up.
“Wait! You dropped this!” she called.
The woman turned. Sophie held out the toy—then froze. “Emily?”
“Sophie!” Emily’s face lit up. “Look at you!”
“I was just thinking, who’s mad enough to take kids out in this?” Sophie laughed.
“We live right here. Ran out of milk and porridge. Tried to dash out alone, but Lily threw a fit, and Harry can’t handle her. Ended up dragging them both along.”
Sophie bit back the question about Emily’s husband. Too personal straight away. Probably still at work.
She glanced at the boy. He stared blankly at biscuit packets.
“My little helper,” Emily said proudly.
“How old is he?”
“Six. Starting school next autumn.”
“Can we go home? I want to finish my cartoon,” Harry whined.
“Hold on,” Emily said sternly. “Sorry, Soph—life’s not my own these days. Listen, take my number. Call me, yeah? The kids are usually asleep by ten.”
Sophie fumbled for her phone.
“Wait—your toy!” Sophie called as Emily headed for the till.
Emily murmured to Harry, who scurried over, snatched the plush rabbit, and dashed back without a word.
“Cheeky,” Emily sighed before disappearing into the checkout queue.
*Never pictured Emily with two kids,* Sophie mused in line. *How does she manage? I wouldn’t brave a blizzard for groceries.*
*That’s why you’re alone,* her inner voice countered.
At home, Sophie fried eggs. Too late for a proper meal. While the kettle boiled, she admired her new kitchen. She’d bought the flat six months ago—her pride and joy. The living room was still sparse—just a sofa, telly, and wardrobe—but the kitchen was done. A woman’s kingdom. Now it was just microwave meals eaten in front of the telly, but someday there’d be a family. A husband. Kids. She’d turn into a homebody like Emily. Sophie sighed.
The glossy cream cabinets reflected the ceiling light. The kettle screeched. She jumped up, switched it off, then stood at the window after dinner, watching car lights streak through the dark like Christmas garlands. Squares of gold glowed in neighbouring flats. Families gathered around tables, sharing news. Maybe someone out there was staring just like her, thinking the same thoughts.
She remembered Emily. No time for idle window-gazing with two kids. The girl who’d once declared, *”I’m not wasting my best years on ungrateful brats who’ll leave me to rot alone. Let other people breed.”*
Sophie had argued then: *”Children are our legacy. The point of life.”*
Emily had scoffed. *”Knock yourself out.”*
Sophie grew up with just her mum. She’d passed a year ago. Her dad was off with another family. A sibling might’ve softened the loneliness. Funny how people crave what they never had.
Emily had two brothers, parents still together. Maybe that’s why she’d been so dismissive—already sick of childcare. Yet here she was, living the opposite of what she’d vowed.
Sophie washed up, half-watched the telly, then called at half-ten.
“Just me. Did I wake you?” she whispered.
“Nah, kids are asleep. Knew you’d call.” Emily sounded warm. “So? Spill. How’s life?”
“Same old. Single, proud homeowner.”
“Why?”
“Always dreamed of leaving that grotty council flat. Sold Mum’s place straight after… wanted no ghosts.”
“You were always driven,” Emily said. “But why *alone*?”
They talked until a baby’s cry cut in.
“Lily’s up. Chat soon.” Emily hung up.
Sophie pictured her—nightlight glow, Emily soothing the cot, a husband watching telly in the next room. A stab of envy.
Then again… *”Grocery runs in a storm? Doesn’t sound like ‘reliable husband’ material,”* her inner voice sniped.
Or maybe he *was* working hard for them. Struggles pass. She sighed and went to brush her teeth.
She resisted calling again. Emily had a family. She didn’t want to intrude.
Two weeks later, Emily invited her to Harry’s birthday.
“Need help setting up?” Sophie offered.
“Got my husband and helper,” Emily chirped.
Sophie arrived in a nice dress, gifts in hand. Harry opened the door.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to let strangers in,” Sophie teased.
He bolted.
“Who’s there?” Emily called.
“Me!” Sophie stepped inside to find Harry glued to cartoons. She handed him the Lego set.
“Kitchen,” Emily’s voice floated.
She sat at the bare table, eyes red. No cake. No guests.
“What’s wrong? Where’s the party?” Sophie sat opposite.
Emily shrugged. “Dave’s in Leeds.”
“Fight?”
“He came home late, drunk. Said he’s here to *rest*, not work. That I ‘sit around all day.’ Try handling two kids solo. Is that fair?”
Sophie soothed her. They slapped together a celebration, Harry grinning through cake. Later, wine in hand, Emily vented.
“I’m exhausted. Laundry, cooking, nursery runs… And Dave? Useless. Thinks kids are *my* job. That his ends with paycheques.”
“And you wonder why I’m single,” Sophie joked.
“But kids *are* joy,” Emily insisted. “Wouldn’t trade them.”
“You once swore you’d never have any.”
“Did I?” Emily laughed. Then the front door slammed.
Dave sauntered in. “Kids asleep? Got anything stronger?”
His eyes lingered on Sophie. She shifted uncomfortably.
After awkward small talk, she stood. “I’ll head out.”
“Dave’ll walk you,” Emily said.
He protested—”Had a pint”—but Emily insisted.
Outside, Dave grilled her about work, hobbies. She chided him.
“Help Emily more. She’s struggling.”
“All she talks about is kids,” he muttered. “At work, women actually *try*. Perfume, heels… Home’s just nagging.”
Sophie defended her friend until they reached her building.
“Thanks. Go apologise to Emily.”
“Cup of tea?” Dave suddenly asked.
She refused. He pushed her into the lobby, pinned her to the wall.
“Get off!” She twisted away.
“Who cares? I’m leaving her anyway.”
Sophie shoved hard. He grabbed her again.
“Help!” she screamed.
A neighbour yanked Dave off. After scuffling, Dave fled, cursing.
“You okay?” the stranger asked.
Sophie nodded, shaken.
Next day, Emily called, furious: “No man of your own, so you steal mine? Stay away.”
Dave had twisted it. No point arguing.
Two months later, they crossed paths. Emily pushed the pram, ignoring her.
“Emily!” Sophie called.
“What?”
“It wasn’t how Dave said—”
“I know. You’re not the first. But with two kids? Where would I go?”
“You’re staying with a cheater?” Sophie gaped.
“You fought him off. Others didn’Sophie watched Emily walk away, then turned to see the neighbour—now her fiancé—waiting with a smile, and she knew some choices lead to happiness, while others stay buried in excuses.
