I thought we were friends, and youve taken my husband away, Lucy shouts, her voice cracking. She slams the sketchbook shut with a force that makes the pages bang. To you its all froth, childish fun!
Sarah, rubbing her temples, sighs wearily. The migraine that has been pounding since this morning spikes again. Im not saying what you think, Lucy, she says, her tone exhausted. Design work is unpredictable. One day you have commissions, the next you have none. Accounting is a steady loaf of breadalways there.
My loaf of bread, not yours! Lucy leaps from her seat, eyes flashing. I dont want to spend my whole life crunching numbers like you. I want to create, to make something beautiful! Aunt Emma gets me; shes the only one who believes in my talent.
The mention of Emma makes Sarahs chest tighten. Emma, Lucys best friend and her rock in dark times, has lately become more of an authority for her daughter than Sarah herself.
Emma lives in a different world, love, Sarah replies. She runs a successful salon, can afford to talk about lofty ideas. You and I are living paycheck to paycheck.
Exactly! Lucy shrieks, grabbing her coat and bolting for the door. I cant live like this!
She slams the front door, and a ringing silence settles over the tiny tworoom flat. Sarah drops onto a chair, burying her face in her hands. Every argument drains her. At fortyfive, she has spent the last ten years carrying everything alone. Since James, her husband and Lucys father, walked out, leaving a pile of unpaid bills and a vague, Sorry, weve become strangers, her life has turned into a relentless survival race. She works at the local library, picks up nighttime typing jobs, and denies herself anything so Lucy can have what she needs.
All the while Emma has been there. Theyve been friends since school, sharing a desk. Bright, selfassured Emma and quiet, homebound Sarah. When the divorce hit, Emma pulled Sarah from the abyss of despair. She brought over groceries, took her out for walks, listened for hours to her tears and wails. Well get through this, love, she would say, hugging Sarah tightly. Hell still be chewing his elbows when he sees what hes lost.
Sarah clings to that hope, gets up, brushes herself off, and moves forwardfor her daughters sake. Emma becomes almost a family member, a godmother to Lucy, the Aunt Emma who always understands and supports.
Sarah sighs and walks to the window. The evening city lights sparkle. Somewhere out there Lucy roams, probably heading to Emmas cosy studio in Shoreditch, where the air smells of premium coffee and fancy hair products, soft music plays, and conversations drift to high art without worrying about the next utility bill.
The kitchen phone buzzes. Sarah picks it up. A text from Emma: Lucys with me. Dont worry, Ill talk to her. All will be well. A sting of irritation mixes with gratitude. Part of her is relieved Lucy is safe; another part burns that Emma once again plays the peacemaker, as if Sarah cant handle her own child.
She brews a cheap tea bag and sits down, eyes landing on an old framed photo of three: herself, James and a baby Lucy cradled in her arms, all smiling. How long ago that was. Jamestall, darkhaired, eyes crinkled with laughterloved jazz, strong coffee, and travel books. He vanished one night, packed a bag, said he needed time alone, and a week later called to say he wouldnt be returning.
Emmas voice in Sarahs memory soothes her: Hes a fool, Sarah, just a fool. Youll meet someone better. But Sarah never meets anyone else; her world narrows to Lucy.
The next few days pass in tense silence. Lucy drags herself home from school, eats, and retreats to her room. Sarah hesitates to start a conversation, fearing another fight. On Saturday morning Emma calls.
Hey, Sarah! Ive got a crisishealth inspectors due, and my cleaners sick. Can you swing by and help tidy up? Ill owe you one, and maybe you and Lucy can patch things up while youre here.
Sarah balks, feeling guilty and obliged, yet the thought of finally talking to Lucy on neutral ground tips the scale.
Ill be there in an hour, she replies.
Emmas salon, Cleopatra, greets her with glittering mirrors and a hint of floral perfume. Emma, immaculate in a sleek trouser suit, meets her at the door.
Sarah, youre a lifesaver! Emma kisses her cheek. Just change into something comfortable. I need the front room dusted and the floors mopped. Ill handle the paperwork. Lucy will be here soon.
Sarah nods, changes into an old tee in the backroom, and starts scrubbing. She doesnt envy Emmas success; Emma has earned every bit of it through hustle. Yet surrounded by beauty and abundance, Sarah feels her own instability keenly.
She finishes mopping when Lucy appears, eyes narrowed at the sight of her mother with a mop. Lucy, we need to talk, Sarah whispers.
What? That I should quit dreaming and go to some boring college? Lucy snaps.
No. About us.
At that moment Emma steps out, two phones in her handsher own and a clients left charging.
Oh, girls, dont fight! she beames, disarming as always. Sarah, dont be mad at her; shes just a kid with big ambitions. Lucy, mum only wants the best for you. Lets have a cuppa, Ill make your favouritetea with a dash of cinnamon.
She puts the phones on the reception desk and disappears into the storeroom. Sarah exhales. Again, nothing seems to change. Lucy retreats into her phone. Sarahs gaze flicks to the devices; one screen lights up with a short message from J. Miss your coffee. Miss you. and a tiny red heart.
Sarahs heart skips. J.? James? It cant be. Emma once mentioned a new romance with a complicated, divorced, interesting man, but the idea that its James feels absurd. Millions of men have names starting with J. She shakes off the thought.
The conversation with Lucy never happens that day. They sip tea while Emma chatters about the latest hair trends, Lucy nodding, Sarah silent, feeling an invisible wall rise between her and those she loves. That message loops in her mind.
Later, she pulls out an old notebook, finds Jamess number she hasnt dialled in years, and wonders what she would even say. She puts the phone down.
A few days later Emma invites them to the cinema. In the dim hall a romantic comedy rolls, and Sarah watches Emma glance at her phone, typing quickly, a familiar initial J. appearing in the recipient field.
After the film they stop at a café.
Oh, Sarah, Im thrilled! Emma says, stirring sugar into her cup. I think Ive really fallen for him. Hes reliable, cleverfeels like a rock.
Were happy for you, Aunt Emma, Lucy replies. Who is he? Do we know him?
No, hes not from our circle, Emma replies evasively. He just moved back to town after years up north.
Sarahs mind flashes to James, who after the divorce took a rotational job in a mining town up north. The coincidence feels too sharp. A shiver runs down her spine.
Whats his name? she asks, trying to keep her tone casual.
James, Emma answers, then quickly changes the subject. Lucy, I saw an advert for a prestigious art school taking prep students. Maybe you could try? I can fund it.
Sarahs attention snaps. James. The pieces click into a disturbing picture. Emma, the woman who soothed Sarah after the divorce, is now courting Sarahs exhusband, subtly pushing Lucys unattainable dreams. It looks like a calculated move to win Lucys loyalty and undermine Sarah.
Mom, whats happening? Lucys voice pulls Sarah out of her stupor. You look pale.
Nothing, Sarah mutters, head throbbing. Lets go home.
Back in the flat, Sarah locks herself in the bathroom, runs the tap, and lets her sobs echo against the tiles. The tears are bitter, searing. It isnt just betrayal by James; its the betrayal of a friendship that turned out to be a mask. She cries for the loss of trust, for the foolish years spent believing a man could be both lover and friend.
She knows she must act, but not with a scene or accusationthat would be too easy and humiliating. She decides to wait for undeniable proof.
A week later Emmas birthday arrives. She throws a party at a countryside venue and, of course, invites Sarah and Lucy.
Dont miss it, Sarah! she chirps over the phone. Ill introduce you to my James. Youll love him!
Sarah feels her throat tighten.
Alright, Emma. Well be there.
The whole day passes in a fog. She selects a dress, does her hair, applies makeup, and looks in the mirror at a face that feels borrowed. Lucy, oblivious, flits around excitedly.
The venue is elegantlive music, white tablecloths, welldressed guests. Emma, radiant in a silver gown, flits from group to group. Spotting Sarah, she rushes over.
At last! Come in, dear! You look stunning! Let me introduce you James! Over here!
James steps forward, older now, silver at his temples, but unmistakably the same man. He freezes when he sees Sarah, a mix of surprise, fear, and shame flashing across his features.
Sarah? he murmurs.
Good afternoon, Sarah replies coolly, meeting his gaze.
Emma looks between them, flustered.
You you know each other?
More than that, Sarah says with a wry smile. Hes my exhusband. Lucys father.
A hush falls over the room. The music seems to stop. All eyes are on the three of them. Emmas face turns ashen. Lucy darts her eyes between mother, James, and her beloved Aunt Emma, bewilderment written across her face.
Mom, is it true? Lucy whispers.
Yes, love. Hes your dad.
Sarah walks toward Emma, who clutches Jamess arm as if fearing hell vanish.
Happy birthday, Emma, Sarah says quietly but firmly. I thought we were friends. Turns out you not only comforted me in my darkest hour but also stole what I thought Id lost. Was it easy? To be with my best friends husband behind her back? To give her advice on betrayal while committing an even worse one?
Emma stammers, I I didnt know how to say it It just happened We met half a year ago, he never told me
So hes your friends husband? Sarah finishes, incredulous. You knew everything.
She turns to James.
Youre not even worth my words. Youre a coward. You left one woman and ran to another. Nothing changes.
She takes Lucys hand. The girl looks up, eyes wide and tearfilled.
Lets get out of here, love. We dont belong, Sarah says.
They walk through the crowd toward the exit. At the doors, Sarah glances back. Emma stands alone, lost, while James hangs his head, not meeting their eyes.
The ride home is silent. Once inside, Lucy breaks down.
Mum, how could Aunt Emma I trusted her! And dad?
Sarah holds her, rubbing her hair.
Shh, sweetheart, shh. People sometimes do terrible things, even those we love. The important thing is we have each other.
That night they sit at the kitchen table for hours. Sarah tells Lucy everythingher life with James, her friendship with Emmaleaving nothing out. Lucys youthful hurt softens into mature understanding.
The next day Emma stops calling. Sarah ignores the flood of apologetic messages. A few days later James shows up at the door.
Sarah, we need to talk, he says, avoiding eye contact.
Theres nothing to discuss, Sarah snaps. Leave.
But Lucyshes my daughter!
You only remembered that now? Ten years you didnt care. Go, James. Dont come back.
She slams the door, backs into it, heart poundingnot from fear, but from relief. The heavy stone shed carried for years finally drops.
Life goes on. Its hard. The void left by Emmas betrayal is hard to fill. Sometimes, evenings find her reaching for the phone to call a friend, to gossip, but she pulls her hand back. That friendship is gone.
Her relationship with Lucy deepens. Lucy matures overnight, stops demanding the impossible, helps around the house, finds a side gig drawing portraits online.
One evening Lucy places a envelope on the table.
Here, Mum. Its for the prep course. I earned it myself.
Sarah looks at her daughters serious, grownup face, tears welling.
Youre my pride, she whispers.
No, Mum, youre my pride, Lucy replies, hugging her tightly. Youre the strongest.
Sarah holds her daughter, realizing she hasnt lost everything. She may have lost a friend and an illusion, but she has gained something far more valuableher childs love and respect. A new life lies ahead, tough but honest, and together they will manage, just the two of them.
