We All Stumble, Not All Rise Again
“Penelope, where will you find such a man? Theres always time to divorce later. A married woman always has her admirers. All the responsibility falls on the husband, while the other man has his hands freeno obligations, just enjoy the foolish mistress while you can. But if youre left alone, no one will glance your way. Especially with little Arthur growing up. He needs his real father, not some stranger. Theres no logic in what youre doing,” I pleaded sincerely with my childhood friend, hoping to make her see reason.
But I knew I was talking to the wind. Penelope had already made up her mind.
Life often forces us to choose. There are always two pathsthe right one and every other. But who opens the right doors and closes the wrong ones? Sometimes, even the soundest advice falls on deaf ears. We learn from our own mistakes. The wisdom of generations means nothing to us. Later, we weep, regret, and sink into despair.
I have two dear friendsPenelope and Olivia. Weve known each other since we were girls. Penelope was the girl next door, Olivia my schoolmate. We know everything about one another, as only those closest can.
The three of us are so different that Ive always kept my friendships with them separate. Once, I tried to bring them together, but alas My friends are like night and day.
“How can you stand that overdressed doll? What could you possibly talk about? Nothing but clothes and married men,” Penelope hissed after meeting Olivia.
“Your friends neckline dips below her navel. A proper hussy, if you ask me. Her eyes are always hunting for a man with a fat wallet. That smile of hers is as fake as her botched lip fillers,” Penny scoffed, eyeing Olivia with disdain.
Their first meeting was their last. The evening was ruined, and I never tried to reconcile them again.
Over the years, there have been quarrels, misunderstandings, reconciliations, months of icy silencetoo many ups and downs to count.
Now were all forty. Penelope has a son, Olivia a daughter.
Penelope divorced her husband, Alexander, long ago. It had all begun so romantically.
Theyd met in a café. At the time, Alexander was married with a daughter. Penelope was striking, unconventionalthe sort of woman men turned to watch. Shed studied at an art school, sewed her own daringly bold outfits, and dreamed of her own business, a loving husband, a happy home.
And for a while, she had it all. Then, like snow in the sun, it vanishedthanks, in no small part, to Penelope herself. Shed always preferred charging at a yellow light rather than waiting for green.
Alexander, smitten, divorced his wife without hesitation. They had a lavish wedding, then came the drudgery of daily life. He adored Penelopeeighteen years her senior, he treated her like a cherished daughter. “Little Mouse,” he called her. “Mouse, want to see Paris? Done! A new car? No trouble! The finest sewing machine? Yours! A touch-up from the best cosmetic surgeon? Just say the word!”
Penelopes every whim was indulged. Of course, Alexander wasnt a saintsaints dont walk this earth. He had his complaints. Why was dinner never ready? Why was the house a mess, his shirts unironed? But Penelope would silence him with a kiss, and hed retreat, frying his own eggs, vacuuming the carpets, heating the iron.
She was his third wife. Perhaps that was why he feared losing her, overlooking her domestic failings.
Then Arthur was born. Alexander worshipped the boy. Penelope? She never quite warmed to motherhood. She slipped away often, leaving the child with her husband or his mother. With her looks, temptation was never far. As her closest friend, I knew of her affairs. Alexander suspected but stayed silent. “Shes young,” he reasoned. “Perhaps she lacks love.”
After eight years, the marriage crumbled. They say all couples face such trials, but not all survive them.
By then, Penelope had her own thriving business. She stood on her own two feet and decided she no longer needed Alexander. She left him, took Arthur, and rented a flat.
“I despise him,” she told me. “Hes useless in bed. I hope some woman snaps him up so hell leave us alone.”
Well, as they say, a woman bent on folly will have her way.
Arthur became the battleground. He loved both parents equally, but with his mother always working, life with his fatherand doting grandmotherwas calmer. He left Penelope for Alexander.
She knew she was torn between her son and her work, yet she refused to change. Alexander called endlessly, begging her to return, using the boy as leverage. Penelope stood firm.
“The bridges are burned. No going back.”
Young, beautiful, and free, she soon found another mana colleague, married with two children. That didnt stop her.
“His wife should watch him better. Ill borrow him and return him none the worse,” she quipped.
They jetted off to Germany, to Greecea whirlwind of passion.
True to her word, she “borrowed” him for six months, then sent him home. Alexander still called, still pleaded. It wore on her. Then she met Dennis, her own age, unattached. Love bloomed. He moved in.
At first, all seemed welluntil it became clear Dennis liked his drink. Work, too, was a struggle.
“Penny, let me help with your business,” he offered.
She began to see the truth. “Victoria, I think Ive taken in a drunken freeloader.”
“Kick him out!” I urged. “Hes latched onto you like a tick.”
Then came the call from an old schoolmate.
“Penny, dont be angry, but Alexander and I are getting married. Ive never been happier.”
“May you walk the same road forever,” Penelope replied coolly.
So she was alone. Arthur, now nineteen, refuses to speak to her. When she calls, he ignores herexcept once.
“Dads new wife raised me. Focus on your business, Mum. Stop calling.”
Olivia, though, weathered her own storm.
Shed met Vincent on holiday by the sea. Hed come with a friend, though he had a wife back home. Ive never understood such arrangementswhy let a spouse wander into temptation?
Olivia announced her engagement. The holiday fling became a weddingtwo, in fact, as Vincent was from out of town. She moved away, and though we saw less of each other, we spoke often. I knew every twist in her tale.
Vincent adored her. He built a fine house, furnished it lavishly, bought two cars. Their daughter, Evelyn, was born. Olivia wanted for nothingclothes, shoes, cosmetics, all from the finest boutiques. She earned a second degree, though she never worked. Vincent provided, proud to do so.
At first, Olivia missed her old life. But time passed. She made new friends, grew to love her home. All should have been wellyet it wasnt.
Seven years in, she decided to leave. “The love is gone,” she declared. Her parents, in-laws, Vincentall were stunned. Olivia began staying with her parents, refusing to return.
“Victoria, you wont believe itIm bored stiff with Vincent. His roses prick my hands, his jealousy suffocates me.”
“Spare me,” I said. “Youre spoiled rotten. Mark my wordssomeone will snatch him up if youre not careful.”
Olivia was elegant, polished, always immaculateher French perfume lingering like a whisper. No wonder Vincent was jealous. He tried to win her back, but she was resolved.
For two years, they teetered on the edge. Then, at last, a thaw. They reunited. Vincent still worked tirelessly to give his family every luxury.
The Maldives, Venice, ItalyOlivia travelled the world with him and Evelyn.
When we met, she confessed, “I nearly lost the best man Ill ever have.”
