Emily, youve really hit the jackpot! A bloke who knows his way around a motor and can still whip up a proper Sunday roast? Thats a rare find. Youre lucky to have a husband like that, Ill say.
Sophie lounged back in her chair, flashing a dazzling smile. Emily caught the glance her friend threw at her husband, and something uneasy stirred beneath her ribs. She brushed it off quickly Just a new girl in town, trying to find her place.
Sophie had only moved into our lives a month ago. The new friend seemed sweet but a little lost in the bustling streets of London. How could I not lend a hand?
Dont flatter him, Emily said, smiling at me. James only learned to make a decent stew in his seventh year of marriage.
But what a stew! Sophie leaned forward, tapping my elbow. Id marry a chef like you in a heartbeat.
I chuckled, puffing out my shoulders a bit. Emily noticed the pinkish tint on my ears the telltale sign that a compliment had landed just right.
I did what I could.
Sophies first visit stretched well into the evening. She admired the flats renovation, the photo albums of the kids, my vinyl collection. Every topic turned into another chance to ask me something. James, where did you find that record? James, youve got such taste! James, tell me more about that.
Emily kept the tea flowing, watching keenly. Sophie sat a touch too close to me, laughed a little too loud at my dry jokes, and brushed my hand whenever she spoke.
Mum, whos that lady?
Tom, our twelveyearold, peeked into the kitchen while Emily was washing up after the guest left.
My friend. New.
Shes odd. She kept staring at dad.
Emily froze, plate in hand. If even a twelveyearold could notice
You imagined it, she told him.
She repeated the same to herself for weeks. It was just my imagination. Im blowing it out of proportion. Sophies just overly friendly.
Sophie kept showing up. Sometimes she barged in for a recipe, other times she brought tickets to an exhibition that had just become available, or she simply passed by. Each time I was home, each time Sophie seemed to blossom in my presence.
Youre something special, James, not like the rest, she said, perched on the kitchen bench. Emily, where did you dig him up? Men like you dont just walk around with fireworks.
Met on the tube, Emily replied evenly. Fifteen years ago. On the escalator.
Romance!
Sophie clapped her hands, I smiled, and Emily forced a smile too.
One evening after a visit, I lingered in the hallway to see the guest out. Emily heard our muffled laughter through the door.
Why so long? she asked when I returned.
She was telling a joke. A funny one.
Right.
I didnt press the issue. I didnt want to look like a jealous hysteric
Everything changed two weeks later. My phone lay faceup on the nightstand while I was in the shower. I wasnt planning to look, but the screen lit up as a new message came through.
Missing you. Youre such a charmer and a great conversationalist. from Sophie.
Emily perched on the edge of the bed, her hand reaching for the phone. She knew the password; we never kept secrets from each other.
The exchange had been going on for weeks. Sophie complained about loneliness, about how hard it was in a new city, about her luck in finding someone as understanding as James. I replied with encouragement, calling her wonderful and promising shed find happiness, peppering the texts with emojis.
Emily set the phone down. From the bathroom came the splash of water and a faint whistling I was in a good mood.
James.
I stepped out of the shower, towel around my neck, and saw Emilys face.
Whats wrong?
I saw your messages with Sophie.
A pause, brief but enough.
Ah, its nothing special, love.
Nothing special?
Shes just sociable. A lonely girl in a strange town. You brought her to us, after all.
Emily stared at me, searching for any hint of guilt. I looked genuinely surprised.
Youre jealous? Seriously? Weve been together twelve years, have two kids, and youre jealous over a few emojis?
Shes flirting with you.
She talks like that to everyone. Youre overreacting.
Emily wanted to argue, to say that proper friends dont text other men at night, dont call them charms, dont miss them. But I was already slipping into a Tshirt and heading out of the bedroom.
Sophie didnt back off. In fact, she turned up even more often, finding excuses to help: watching the kids while Emily was at work, cooking dinner when Emily ran late. Our eightyearold daughter, Lucy, gushed about Aunt Vicky who baked the best pancakes and let her stay up for cartoons.
I just wanted to help, Sophie said with an innocent look. It must be hard managing everything on your own.
I have a husband.
Of course, of course. James is a wonderful dad. Youre lucky to have each other.
There was something off about those words, a vague falseness. I couldnt pin it down, but the feeling lingered.
James never left his phone. He took it to the loo, tucked it under his pillow at night, grabbed it at every buzz. At dinner he talked less, eyes glued to the screen, a halfsmile on his lips.
Dad, are you listening?
Tom asked three times before I finally tore my eyes away from the phone.
What? Oh, yeah, son. Of course. Whats up?
I was talking about the swimming meet. Youll come, right?
Absolutely. When is it?
Saturday. Ive told you three times already.
I patted Tom on the head apologetically and dove back into the phone. Emily silently cleared the plates. Tom looked at his father with a hurtful stare. Lucy poked at her mince pie, puzzled by the silence at the table.
Sophies flirtation grew bolder. No longer hidden behind innocent compliments, she brushed my collar, brushed away an imagined speck of dust from my shoulder, grabbed my hand when she laughed, held my gaze a moment too long, licked her lips as she looked at me.
I watched this little theatre from the corner of my own kitchen. Sophie acted as if I didnt exist, or as if I were just a temporary, annoying obstacle she could ignore.
James, can you show me that program on the computer? The one for photo editing. You promised.
Now?
Why are you dragging your feet?
We retreated to my study, closing the door behind us.
That afternoon I decided to surprise you, James. I made your favourite lunch stuffed peppers you can never say no to, a shrimp salad packed everything in a container and drove to your office.
The office was quiet at lunch. Most colleagues had drifted to the café. The secretary at reception gave me a nod they knew me.
James Anderson is here. Just a moment
I didnt catch the rest. I walked down the corridor to his office. The door was ajar.
I pushed it open and froze on the threshold.
James was sitting at the edge of his desk. Sophie was perched between his knees, arms wrapped around his neck. They were kissing. Deep, hungry, the sort of kiss you reserve for someone youve been with a while.
The food container slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor. They sprang apart. Sophie looked more annoyed than embarrassed. James turned pale.
Emily its not what you think.
Not what?
I heard my own laugh dry, cracked.
Emily
Come on, James. Explain. Tell me how she just fell onto your chest.
Sophie adjusted her blouse deliberately and grabbed her handbag from the chair.
I suppose Ill be going.
Wait.
I stepped in her way. Sophie stared at me defiantly no remorse, no guilt.
You knew he was married. You came into my home, ate at my table, played with my children.
Adults are responsible for their own actions.
Sophie shrugged and walked past me, her heels clicking. At the doorway she turned:
Call me when youre free, James.
I faced my husband. Twelve years. Twelve bloody years building this family. Sleepless nights with newborns, his promotions we celebrated together, a threeyear renovation, seaside holidays where Lucy learned to swim on her own, Christmas trees, birthdays, kids illnesses. All of that now felt like a joke.
James, Im sorry. I know. But we can fix this.
Can we?
I shes taken my head. But I love you, love the kids
When you get home, your things will be packed. You can take them and go to your Sophie.
I turned and walked out. I didnt cry I had no strength left for tears. Everything inside turned to ice.
At home I packed methodically. A suitcase from the storage room. Shirts from the closet. Socks, underwear, ties all in one pile. Razor, toothbrush, deodorant. Twelve years fit into one suitcase and three bags.
When the kids got home from school, Dads belongings were already by the door.
Mum, wheres Dad? Lucy peeked into the bedroom.
Dad will be living elsewhere.
Tom stayed silent. He looked at his mum, at Dads empty wardrobe, and shuffled off to his room.
That evening I called my mother.
Mum
I wanted to tell her calmly, step by step. But my voice cracked on the first word and tears finally broke free hot, angry, helpless.
Sweetheart, Im on my way. Hold on.
Eleanor arrived an hour later. She hugged me, made tea, and sat me down in the kitchen.
Tell me everything.
I spilled it all. Sophie, the messages, todays scene. Mother listened without interrupting.
You did the right thing, she said when I fell silent.
Right?
Of course. Betrayal isnt forgivable. You can forgive a mistake, a weakness, a foolishness. Not this.
I leaned my head on hers.
The divorce dragged on for six months. Papers, courts, splitting the house. James tried to come back showing up, calling, texting.
I never opened the door.
The kids stayed with me. Tom visited his dad reluctantly every two weeks, because it had to be. Lucy missed him but soon found refuge in dance and drawing.
Two years flew by faster than I expected. I returned to work, signed up for courses, lost six kilos simply because I stopped eating my stress. Life gradually fell back into place.
David entered my life by accident. At a parentteacher meeting for Tom, his nephew turned out to be in the same class. We chatted in the hallway while waiting for the teachers, later met at the school café, and then he called to ask how I was doing.
I like you, he said on our third date. Im not great with flowery words, but its true.
I laughed because David was the polar opposite of James. Solid, reliable, a man of few words who gets things done. The children didnt warm to him right away. Tom watched him like a hawk, Lucy was a bit jealous of the attention I gave him. But David never rushed, never pressured. He simply helped with homework, taught Tom how to fix a bike, drove Lucy to her dance competitions.
A year later we married. Quietly, without a lavish ceremony. Just close family, those who truly celebrated our happiness.
Love, did you hear that?
Eleanor called on a Saturday morning. David was flipping pancakes in the kitchen, the kids were racing around.
Whats up?
I ran into Tanya Morris yesterday. Remember her?
Of course.
She told me about your ex. James and Sophie split up a long time ago. Turns out he left her after six months following the divorce.
I slipped into the bedroom and shut the door.
He left?
Yep. Found someone younger.
Right.
Im saying people dont change. A dog stays a dog. That snake got what she deserved. As they say, you reap what you sow
I hung up and sat on the bed. I had expected some sort of vindictive joy, maybe some satisfaction. Nothing like that. Just a light relief and the thought, Good, its no longer my problem.
Emily, the pancakes are ready!
David walked in holding a steaming stack.
Im coming.
I rose, took his hand.
Something happen?
No. All good.
James was now a thing of the past. Sophie got what she earned loneliness and broken hopes. Here, in this kitchen, the air smelled of pancakes, Lucy argued with Tom over the last banana, and David looked at me with a love that made me smile.
Life went on. This new life turned out to be a good one.
