“Mum, I’m off to the cinema with Emma today! Keep your phone on, yeah?” called Thomas, planting a kiss on Marina’s cheek before disappearing into the bathroom. She could hear him humming to himself, the sound of running water faint in the background. He was happy… carefree. The way she’d never been. “Mum, I’m heading out!” Thomas popped his head back in, grinning, his favourite blue shirt neatly tucked in. “Good luck, love!” Marina waved, sinking into her armchair. Her phone buzzed softly—a new message. She absentmindedly opened it… and froze.
A quiet sob broke the evening silence. Marina lay curled up, knees hugged to her chest, silent tears streaking her pillow.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Thomas had come back early, his brow furrowed with concern. She quickly wiped her eyes, forcing a smile.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just a bit tired, is all.”
He sat beside her, studying her face. A grown man now—tall, composed, with the same charming smile he’d had as a boy. Only now, more often than not, it was meant for Emma, not her…
Memories flooded in without warning. Eighteen. Simon. A whirlwind marriage. Love so dizzying she thought it could conquer anything. But… it hadn’t.
“Mum! Where’s my blue shirt?” Thomas’s voice snapped her back.
“In the wardrobe, left side!” she called back, chuckling.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. Forty-two. Eyes carrying a sadness no one seemed to notice anymore. As if life had gotten stuck in the past…
She remembered that day perfectly. A Tuesday. The corner shop. Bread, milk. And… Simon. With a shopping bag… and baby formula. Nappies. A guilty smile. His eyes gave him away.
“It’s… not what you think,” he muttered.
“Then what *am* I supposed to think?! That you’re just ‘visiting’ that… what’s her name… *Jessica?!* You’ve got a *kid* with her?!”
Then came the shouting. The divorce. The loneliness. But also… freedom.
She’d learned to live alone. Without Simon. Without the rows. Her mother-in-law had taken her side, offered support. She raised her son, relearned how to smile… tried to forget the betrayal.
Sometimes, though, it still hit her. Like today, watching Thomas and Emma, so intentional, so *respectful* in their love. No silly “forever” promises—just honesty.
Her phone buzzed again. A friend request. *Paul… that Paul from school?!*
The playground flashed in her mind. Her—the prettiest girl in class. Him—waiting by the gates with a bunch of daisies. Then Simon had swept in, and Paul faded into the past.
“Liz, you won’t believe this… *Paul from school* messaged me!”
“The one who was head over heels for you until graduation?” Liz laughed. “Simon was *fuming* jealous back then!”
“He just sent a friend request.”
“Well, accept it! He’s doing well now, works at some big firm—heard he’s single again…”
The next few weeks felt like a dream. Texts. Flirting. Laughing until sunrise. Paul was attentive, easygoing, with that same kind humour… but now there was a confidence in him, a man who’d lived a little.
“Thomas,” she said one evening, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet…”
“Paul, right?” Thomas grinned. “Mum, I’ve noticed. You’re *glowing.* I’m happy for you.”
Her eyes welled up. But then Paul’s messages grew shorter. Fewer. Until…
*“Marina, sorry. There’s someone else. You chose Simon back then—it hurt. Now you know how it feels.”*
She stared at the screen. Stunned. A grown man… held a grudge for *twenty years?*
“Right, that’s enough crying!” Liz barged in. “We’re drafting a reply—*now.”*
They wrote it together—sharp, sarcastic, dripping with relief:
*“Dear Paul, thank you. Truly. I haven’t laughed, flirted, or felt this alive in years. You made me feel twenty again! Hope your new lady appreciates your *performance.* Kisses (platonically). Marina.”*
His reply was instant—a storm of insults. But Marina was already laughing. Properly, for the first time in ages.
Then, a week later, a blonde woman cornered her in Tesco:
“It’s *you?!* The homewrecker?! You ruined me and Paul!”
Marina blinked. Then—surprising even herself—she smirked:
“Oh, you’ve got the wrong woman. The *real* homewrecker is Jessica. 15 Forest Road. Took my husband, now Paul? *Professional.*”
The woman froze. Marina, nearly giggling, walked off—imagining Jessica’s face.
Evening sunlight warmed her skin. And suddenly, she realised—she was happy. Just… *happy.* No man. No drama. No need to prove a thing.
A text from Thomas:
*“Mum, Emma and I are moving in together. See how it goes. Then… wedding plans.”*
Marina smiled. *This* was real joy—watching her son choose wisely.
And her? Well… she’d just live. No fear. No past. Just hope.
Because life doesn’t end with betrayal. It begins with love. *For yourself.*
