“Emma, be honestdo you really think this haircut suits me?” Sophie adjusted her fringe in the salon mirror and glanced anxiously at her friend.
“Dont be silly, you look gorgeous!” Emily assured her, though a faint note of insincerity crept into her voice. “It makes you look years younger.”
Sophie turned to pay the stylist. In the mirror, the face of a forty-something woman stared back, the short bob undeniably freshening her features. Yet it brought no joy.
“Fancy a coffee?” Emily suggested as they stepped outside. “Theres a new café just round the corner.”
“Alright, but quickIve got dinner to make.”
They settled by the window. Emily ordered a cappuccino with cake; Sophie, just tea.
“So, what does James think of the new look?” Emily stirred her coffee.
“Dunno.” Sophie shrugged. “He barely notices what I do. Wore a new dress yesterdaydidnt even glance my way.”
“Seriously?” Emily leaned in. “I thought things were good between you.”
“Its complicated. Were more like flatmates these days. Hes at work dawn till dusk; Im home doing chores. Weekends, hes off fishing or watching football. Im either cleaning or visiting Mum.”
“Soph, when was the last time you two went out? Theatre? Cinema? Even a walk?”
Sophie racked her brain. Nothing came to mind.
“Honestly? Cant remember. Probably Sarahs birthday three months ago. And even then, we barely spoke.”
Emily shook her head. “Oh, love. He used to be mad for you. Remember uni? Flowers every day, writing you poems.”
“That was twenty years ago,” Sophie smiled faintly. “People change.”
“Not all of them,” Emily countered. “My Toms still romantic. Surprised me with philharmonic tickets last week. Said he missed culture.”
Sophie studied her friendglowing, content. They were the same age, friends since primary.
“Youre lucky,” Sophie murmured.
“Lucks got nothing to do with it,” Emily said, slicing her cake. “Its about keeping things fresh. No offence, but youve let yourself go a bit.”
“How dyou mean?” Sophie stiffened.
“Honestly, love? Dressing gowns, baggy jumpers, no makeup. When did you last hit the gym?”
Heat flooded Sophies cheeks. Yes, shed gained a stone or two. Yes, shed stopped prioritising herself. But between work and home, when was there time?
“Em, Im not a model. Cant prance about in heels every day.”
“Its not about heels. Its about being his wife, not his housekeeper. Maybe James drifted because he sees a caretaker, not a woman.”
Sophie nodded, though her chest ached. So their strained marriage was *her* fault?
On the way home, she bought new lipstick and mascara. That evening, she dressed upher best frock, fresh makeup.
James came in at eight. Noticed the set table, her made-up face. “Guests coming?” he asked, washing his hands.
“No. Just felt like something nice.”
“Right.” He dug into his meal. “New haircut?”
“Today. Do you like it?”
James glanced up. “Fine. Shorter.”
That was it. No praise, no warmth. Sophie swallowed her disappointment.
“James, maybe we could go out this weekend? Its been ages.”
“Cant. Helping Tom with his shed.”
“Tom? Emilys husband?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
She cleared the table; he switched on the telly. Another ordinary night. No connection.
Next day at work, she couldnt focus. Emilys words gnawed at her. Maybe she *had* let herself go. At lunch, she bought gym gear and signed up for a nearby class.
That evening, she told James.
“Good idea,” he said. “Get healthier.”
*Healthier*, not *sexier*. She winced internally.
A month in, shed toned up, lost half a stone.
“Look at you!” Emily gushed at their next coffee. “See? Told you. What does James say?”
“Not much. Said I looked nice once. Thats it.”
“Odd. Maybe he needs a wake-up call?”
“Like what?”
Emily lowered her voice. “Jealousy. Show him other men fancy you.”
“Em, Im *married*.”
“So? Just a bit of flirting. Make him realise he could lose you.”
Sophie shook her head. Games werent her style.
At home, same routine. Dinner, telly, bed. James remained polite, indifferent.
Then one evening, Emily called, frantic. “Soph, can I come over? Need to talk.”
Emily arrived dishevelled. “Toms cheating,” she blurted.
Sophie gaped. “What? How?”
“Found a note in his jacket. Some woman. Its obvious.”
Sophie hugged her. “Maybe its a misunderstanding?”
“Misunderstanding? He *admitted* it! Said she gets him, and I just nag.”
“But you always said he adored you”
“Lies,” Emily sniffed. “Didnt want to admit we were struggling. I envied your stability.”
Sophie blinked. So Emilys perfect marriage was a façade too?
“What now?”
“Dunno. Divorce? Or fight for him.”
They talked till late. Sophie tried to comfort her, though her own world felt shaky.
Next morning, she told James over breakfast.
“Shame,” he said. “Though Tom did say Emilys demanding. Always wants flowers, theatre trips. No peace.”
Sophie frowned. So Emilys efforts pushed him away? Maybe her own hands-off approach *was* better?
“Would you mind if I wanted more dates?”
James looked baffled. “Why? Homes fine. Works exhausting enough.”
“Right,” Sophie said, sipping tea.
Days passed. Emily called nightly, swinging between reconciliation and rage.
“He said she inspires him, and Im *boring*,” she wailed.
Sophie pondered her own marriage. Maybe boredom beat storms?
One Saturday, baking Jamess favourite apple pie, she ran into neighbour Margaret.
“Sophie, love! How are you?”
“Alright, Margaret. You?”
“Not bad. Saw your James yesterdaywith a lovely woman. Thought it might be your sister?”
Sophies stomach lurched. “I dont have a sister. Where?”
“Near that new café on High Street. He was ever so attentive.”
Sophie hurried home, heart pounding. Was *James* cheating too?
He came home late, citing work. She didnt probe.
Next day, she skipped work and staked out the café. An hour passed. Nothing. Maybe Margaret was mistaken?
That evening, Emily rang. “Im fighting for Tom!” she declared.
Sophie listened, uneasy. Emilys planspsychology courses, mind gamesfelt desperate.
Next afternoon, Sophie returned to the café. This time, she spotted James. With *her*sleek, mid-thirties, laughing at something he said.
Sophies hands shook. So Margaret was right.
She fled, nausea rising. Confront him? Or pretend ignorance?
That night, James noticed her quietness. “You okay?”
“Just tired.”
They ate in silence.
Next day, Sophie called in sick, paralysed by betrayal. That evening, she phoned Emily.
“Em, I need you. *Now.*”
Emily arrived, and Sophie spilled everything.
“The *bastard*,” Emily hissed. “Divorce him!”
“But what if its a fling?”
“Soph, wake up! Hes checked out.”
Sophie wavered. “Maybe we should see her again? Learn more?”
Emily agreedreluctantly, Sophie thought.
They tailed James the next evening. Near the café, the woman appearedpink coat, knee-high boots.
“That her?” Emily whispered.
“Yes.”
Emily froze. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I know her.”
“Who?”
Emilys face paled. “Rachel. My coworker.”
Sophie frowned. “And?”
“We dont get on.”
Something in Emilys tone felt off, but Sophie let it drop.
At home, Sophie paced. James and that woman looked *happy*. Should she scream? Cry?
He came home at eleven. “Work ran late.”
She bit back accusations. Hed only lie.
Next day, Emily didnt pick up. When she finally called, her voice was strained.
“Soph we need to talk. Face-to-face.”
At Emilys flat, the air felt heavy.
“I lied,” Emily blurted. “Rachels not
