**Betrayal in Bloomsbury**
The moment she spotted her husband with another woman in the café, Claire froze. And when her best friend confessed she had introduced them, the ground dropped beneath her.
*”Claire, be honestdo you think this haircut suits me?”* Emily adjusted her fringe in the salon mirror, her eyes flickering with unease.
*”Dont be silly, you look gorgeous,”* Claire assured, but the words rang hollow. *”It makes you look younger.”*
Emily turned to pay the stylist. The mirror reflected a woman of forty with a fresh, youthful cutyet the sight brought no joy.
*”Fancy a coffee?”* Claire suggested as they stepped onto the street. *”Theres a new place just round the corner.”*
*”Go on, then,”* Emily agreed. *”But quicklyIve got supper to cook.”*
They settled by the window. Claire ordered a cappuccino with cake; Emily, just tea.
*”So, what does Mark think of the new haircut?”* Claire stirred her coffee absently.
*”No idea,”* Emily shrugged. *”He barely notices anything I do. Wore a new dress yesterdaydidnt even glance my way.”*
*”Seriously?”* Claire leaned in. *”I thought things were good between you.”*
*”Its complicated,”* Emily sighed. *”Were like flatmates. Hes at work dawn till dusk; Im at home. Weekends, hes off with his matesfootball or the pub. Im left cleaning or visiting Mum.”*
*”Em, when was the last time you did something together? Theatre? Cinema? Even a walk?”*
Emily tried to recall. Nothing came to mind.
*”Months ago. Maybe Sarahs birthday? And even then, we barely spoke.”*
Claire shook her head sympathetically. *”Oh, love. He used to chase you like a lovesick puppy. Remember uni? Flowers every day, terrible poetry.”*
*”Ancient history,”* Emily smiled faintly. *”People change.”*
*”Not all of them,”* Claire countered. *”My Toms still a romantic. Surprised me with tickets to the symphony last week. Said he missed culture.”*
Emily studied her friendglowing, effortless. Same age, same school years. Yet Claire radiated happiness.
*”Youre lucky,”* Emily murmured.
*”Lucks got nothing to do with it,”* Claire cut into her cake. *”Its about effort. Not letting yourself go. No offence, but youve stopped trying.”*
*”What?”* Emily stiffened.
*”Be honest. Frumpy jumpers, no makeup. When did you last hit the gym?”*
Heat flooded Emilys cheeks. Yes, shed gained a stone. Yes, shed neglected herself. But between work and home, when was there time?
*”Im not a model, Claire.”*
*”Its not about that. Men want a woman, not a housekeeper. Maybe Marks distant because youve become well, boring.”*
Emily flinched. So it was *her* fault?
At home, she bought new lipstick, wore her best dress. When Mark arrived, he blinked.
*”Guests coming?”* he asked, washing his hands.
*”No. Just felt like dressing up.”*
*”Right,”* he said, digging into his meal. *”New haircut?”*
*”Today. Do you like it?”*
He glanced up, assessing. *”Fine. Shorter.”*
That was it. No compliment, no warmth. Emily swallowed her disappointment.
*”Mark, maybe we could go out this weekend? Its been ages.”*
*”Cant. Helping Tom with his shed.”*
*”Tom? Claires husband?”*
*”Yeah. Problem?”*
*”No,”* Emily lied.
That night, she signed up for pilates. Lost half a stone. Claire cheered her progress, but Mark barely noticed.
Then came the call.
*”Emily, can you talk? Its urgent.”* Claires voice was frayed.
She arrived distraught. *”Toms cheating. Found a note in his jacketsome woman named Sophie. He says she *understands* him.”*
Emily listened, stunned. All Claires boasts of romancelies.
Days later, her neighbour Mrs. Wilkins spotted Mark with a “lovely, well-dressed woman” near a café in Covent Garden.
Emilys stomach lurched.
She followed him the next day. There he waslaughing with a stunning brunette in a trench coat. Younger. Polished.
Her hands shook as she fled.
Claire, ever the strategist, urged revenge. *”Make him jealous! Show him youre desirable!”*
But Emily refused. Until Claires next visit.
*”I need to tell you something,”* Claire whispered, face ashen. *”That woman? Sophie? Shes my friend. I introduced them.”*
The room spun. *”You *what*?”*
*”I didnt know theyd! It was just drinks after work. Then they kept meeting. I tried to stop it, but”*
*”You *knew*. And you let me humiliate myself!”* Emily stood, cold fury settling in her bones. *”Thank you. Youve made everything clear.”*
The next morning, she filed for divorce.
Not for revenge.
But because, for the first time in years, she chose herselfwithout apologies, without illusions.
