“Honestly, Emma, doesn’t this haircut make me look frumpy?” Charlotte adjusted her fringe in the salon mirror, frowning at her reflection.
“Dont be sillyyou look gorgeous!” Emma reassured her, though there was something forced in her voice. “Seriously, it takes years off you.”
Charlotte paid the stylist, studying her reflectiona forty-something woman with a fresh bob that did, in fact, make her seem younger. But for some reason, it didnt bring her any joy.
“Fancy a coffee?” Emma asked as they stepped outside. “Theres a new café just round the corner.”
“Go on, then,” Charlotte agreed. “But quicklyIve still got dinner to sort.”
They settled by the window. Emma ordered a cappuccino with a slice of cake; Charlotte, just plain tea.
“Right, what dyou reckon James will say about the new do?” Emma stirred her coffee lazily.
“Dunno.” Charlotte shrugged. “He barely notices when I change anything. Wore a new dress yesterdaydidnt even blink.”
“Really?” Emma leaned in. “I thought things were good with you two.”
“Define good,” Charlotte sighed. “Were like flatmates at this point. Hes at work dawn till dusk, Im home doing the chores. Weekends, hes off with his matesfootball or fishing. Im either cleaning or visiting Mum.”
“Char, when was the last time you two did something together? Theatre? Cinema? Even just a walk?”
Charlotte racked her brain but came up blank.
“Honestly? Cant remember. Probably Sarahs birthday three months ago. And even then, we spent the whole night at opposite ends of the room.”
Emma shook her head sympathetically. “Bloody hell. And here I thought he was mad about you once. Remember how he chased you at uni? Flowers every day, writing you poems?”
“Yeah, well. That was twenty years ago. People change.”
“Not all of them,” Emma countered. “My Toms still a proper romantic. Last week, out of nowhere, he booked us tickets to the symphony. Said he missed cultural outings.”
Charlotte studied her friendglowing, genuinely happy. Same age, same school, yet worlds apart.
“Youre lucky,” Charlotte murmured.
“Lucks got nowt to do with it,” Emma said, slicing into her cake. “Its about effort. Not letting yourself go. Andno offencebut youve let things slide.”
“Excuse me?”
“Be honest, love. Those tatty jumpers, no makeup, hair in a bun. Whens the last time you hit the gym?”
Charlottes face burned. True, shed put on a stone over the years. Stopped dressing up. But between work and the house, who had time?
“Emma, Im not some Instagram model.”
“Its not about that. Its about being his *wife*, not his housekeeper. Maybe James drifted cause he forgot youre a woman, not just I dunno, the help.”
Charlotte nodded stiffly, though her chest ached. So *she* was to blame for their stale marriage?
On the way home, she popped into Boots for new lipstick and mascara. That evening, she dressed upher best frock, fresh makeup.
James walked in at eight, eyebrows shooting up.
“Expecting company?” he asked, washing his hands.
“No. Just fancied making an effort.”
“Right.” He sat, shovelling food without looking up. “New haircut?”
“Yeah. Dyou like it?”
He glanced at her briefly. “Looks shorter.”
That was it. No compliment, no warmth. Charlotte swallowed her disappointment.
“James maybe we could do something this weekend? Been ages since we went out.”
“Cant. Promised the lads Id help Tom with his shed.”
“Tom? Emmas Tom?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“No reason.”
She cleared the table while he zoned out in front of the telly. Another night of silence.
The next morning, she couldnt focus at work. Kept replaying Emmas words. Maybe she *had* let herself go.
At lunch, she bought workout gear. That evening, she announced shed joined the gym.
“Good,” James said. “Get healthy.”
*Healthy*, not *fit*. Charlotte grimaced internally.
A month in, shed toned up, dropped half a stone. Emma gushed over her progress
“Look at you! James must be chuffed!”
“Hardly noticed,” Charlotte admitted.
“Odd. Maybe he needs a proper wake-up call?”
“Like what?”
Emma lowered her voice. “Jealousy. Show him other blokes fancy you.”
“Emma, Im *married*.”
“Not suggesting an affair! Just a bit of harmless flirting. Let him think he could lose you.”
Charlotte shook her head. Games werent her style.
That night, the usual routine: dinner, telly, separate sides of the bed. James remained politely indifferent.
Then, a call from Emmaurgent, shaky.
“Char, can I come over? Need to talk.”
Emma arrived flustered, collapsing onto the sofa.
“Toms cheating.”
“What?!”
“Found a note in his jacket. Some woman its obvious.”
Charlotte held her as Emma sobbed.
“Maybe its a misunderstanding?”
“Misunderstanding my arse! Confronted him, and guess what? He said *she* gets him, and I just nag!”
Emmas perfect marriage was a lie.
Days later, Charlottes elderly neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, stopped her in Tesco.
“Saw your James with a lovely woman yesterday. Thought it might be your sister?”
Charlottes stomach dropped.
“No sister. Whered you see them?”
“That new café on High Street. He was ever so attentive.”
That evening, Charlotte watched James eat, her skin crawling. Was *he* having an affair?
The next lunch break, she camped outside the café. An hour passedthen she spotted him. Arm-in-arm with a striking womansleek dark hair, designer coat. Laughing like teenagers.
Charlotte fled, nausea rising.
Later, Emma urged: “We should follow him. See whats *really* going on.”
Reluctantly, Charlotte agreed. They tailed James the next eveningEmma in oversized sunglasses, absurdly covert.
Outside the café, James waited. Then *she* appearedpink trench, knee-high boots.
Emma froze.
“Lets go,” she snapped.
“Why? We just got here”
“*Now*, Charlotte.”
Back on the street, Emma was pale.
“You *know* her,” Charlotte realised.
Emma exhaled shakily.
“Yes. Shes a colleague.”
Something wasnt right.
The next night, Emma called, voice strained.
“Need to tell you something.” Face-to-face, she crumpled.
“That woman shes my friend. *I* introduced her to James.”
Charlotte stood, blood roaring in her ears.
“I didnt *know* theyd! It was a work do. They got chatting I tried to stop it, but he pursued her. She didnt even know he was marriedI never told her. I was *scared*”
Betrayal, sharp as glass.
“You *knew*. And you let me”
“I *messed up*,” Emma whispered.
Charlotte walked out, clarity cutting through the hurt.
The next morning, she filed for divorce.
Not for revenge.
But because, for the first time in years, she chose *herself*without apologies.
