I thought we were friends, yet youve taken my husband away!
You just dont get it! You wont understand! Emilys voice cracked into a shout, and she slammed the sketchbook shut. To you its all nonsense, childish games!
Emily, thats not what I meant, Marion said wearily, pressing her palms to her temples. The headache that had started that morning now hammered its relentless rhythm at the back of her skull. Im only saying that being a designer is unstable. One day you have commissions, the next youve got nothing. Accounting is a steady slice of bread. Always.
Your slice of bread! Not mine! Emily leapt from her chair, lightning flashing in her eyes. I dont want to spend my life hunched over numbers like you! I want to create, to bring beauty into the world! Aunt Sophie believes in me; shes the only one who sees my talent!
The very mention of Sophie made Marions chest tighten. Sophieher best friend, her rock through the darkest yearshad lately become more of a mentor to Emily than a mother ever was.
Sophie lives in another world, love. She runs a successful salon, can afford to talk about lofty things. You and I are living paycheck to paycheck.
Exactly! Emily erupted, snatching her coat and storming for the door. I wont live like that!
The front door slammed, and a ringing silence settled over the tiny twobedroom flat in Manchester. Marion sank into a chair, cradling her head in her hands. Every such fight drained the last of her strength. At fortyfive, shed spent the past decade bearing everything alone. Since Ian, her husband and Emilys father, walked out, leaving only unpaid bills and a vague, Sorry, weve grown apart, her life had become a relentless survival race. She worked at the city library, took odd jobs typing manuscripts at night, gave up everything so Emily would have what she needed.
All the while Sophie was there. Theyd been schoolmates, sharing a desk. Bright, selfassured Sophie and quiet, homebound Marion. When the divorce hit, it was Sophie who pulled Marion from the abyssbringing groceries, dragging her out for walks, listening for hours to her sobs. Well get through this, Mar, shed say, hugging her tightly. Hell bite his elbows when he sees what hes lost.
Marion clung to that hope, rose, dusted herself off, and kept movingfor her daughters sake. Sophie had become almost family, a godmotherfigure to Emily, the Aunt Sophie who always understood.
Marion breathed out and walked to the window. The evening city lights glittered. Somewhere out there, her angry daughter was probably wandering toward Sophies cosy studio in the centre, where the air smells of premium coffee and haircare luxuries, soft music drifts, and conversations drift to high art without worrying about the next utility bill.
The kitchen phone buzzed. Marion picked it up. A message from Sophie: Emilys here. Dont worry, Ill talk to her. Everything will be fine. A sting of irritation mixed with gratitude rose in her. Part of her was relieved Emily was safe; another part boiled at Sophie once again playing the peacemaker, as if Marion couldnt handle her own child.
She poured herself a cheap tea bag, sat at the table, and stared at the faded framed photograph of three: herself, Ian, and a baby Emily in her arms. Young, happy. Iantall, darkhaired, with laugh lines around his eyeshad loved jazz, strong coffee, and travel books. Hed left one night, saying he needed time alone, then a week later called to say he wouldnt be back.
Sophies voice echoed in Marions memory, soothing: Hes a fool, Marion, just a fool. Youll meet someone new. But Marion never did; her world revolved around Emily.
The next days passed in tense silence. Emily came home from school, ate, and withdrew to her room. Marion dared not break the quiet, fearing another explosion. On Saturday morning Sophie called.
Mar, love, Ive got a crisis. Healthinspection teams turned up, and my cleaners ill. Can you help? Come over, give the place a tidy, and maybe you and Emily can make peaceshe was about to pop over anyway.
Marion hesitated, feeling guilty yet hopeful that a neutral space might finally let her talk to Emily.
Ill be there in an hour, she agreed.
Sophies boutique Cleopatra greeted her with glittering mirrors and a waft of floral perfume. Sophie, immaculate in a tailored trousersuit, met her at the entrance.
My saviour! she kissed Marions cheek. Change into something comfortable; the jobs just dusting and mopping the main hall. Ill handle the paperwork. Emily will be here soon.
Marion slipped into a faded tee in the backroom, feeling the gulf between her modest life and Sophies polished world. As she finished scrubbing the floor, Emily stepped in, eyes narrowing at the sight of her mother with a mop.
Emily, we need to talk, Marion said quietly.
About what? That I should give up my dream and go to some boring college? Emily retorted.
No. About us.
At that moment Sophie emerged, two phones in handher own and a clients, still charging.
Oh, girls, dont fight! she beamed an disarming smile. Marion, dont be angry; shes just a kid with big ambitions. Emily, Mum only wants the best for you. Lets have a coffee. Ill brew your favourite with a pinch of cinnamon.
She set the phones on the reception desk and vanished. Marion sighed. The conversation stalled again. Emily buried herself in her phone. Marion glanced at the devices; one screen suddenly lit up with a short message from I. Miss your coffee and you. A tiny red heart pulsed beside it.
Marions heart lurched. I. Ian? No, nonsense. Sophie had mentioned a new romance, a complicated, divorced, but interesting man. Could it be Ian? Millions of men named Ian roamed the UK. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought.
The talk never happened. They sipped coffee while Sophie chattered about the latest hair trends; Emily nodded, Marion stayed silent, feeling an invisible wall rise between her and the people she loved. That message haunted her.
Later at home, Marion dug out an old notebook, found Ians numberunused for years. She lingered on the keypad, wondering what to say. Hi, its me how are you? She slipped the phone back into the drawer.
A few days later Sophie invited them to a cinema. In the dim hall, a romcom flicked across the screen while Marion kept stealing glances at Sophies phone. Once, she caught the familiar initial I. in the recipient field.
After the film they stopped at a café.
Oh, Marion, Im thrilled! Sophie exclaimed, stirring sugar into her tea. I think Im really in love. Hes solid, clever I feel safe with him.
Were happy for you, Aunt Sophie, Emily said. Who is he? Do we know him?
No, not at all, Sophie brushed it off. Hes not from our circle. We met by accident. He moved back to town after years up north.
North Ian had taken a flyinflyout job up in Newcastle after the split. Marion remembered the gossip. A chill ran down her spine.
Whats his name? Marion asked, trying to sound casual.
Ian, Sophie replied, then quickly changed the subject. Oh, Emily, theres an art school advertising prep courses. You should apply; I can fund it.
Marions mind whirred. Ian. The same name that haunted the message. Her best friend, the woman whod soothed her after the divorce, now dating her exhusband. The picture of Sophie, once a supportive aunt, now looked grotesquely distorted. She sensed the betrayal underneath the friendly façade.
Emilys voice cut through her reverie.
Mum, whats wrong? You look pale.
Nothing, Marion replied hoarsely. Just a headache. Lets go home.
In the bathroom, she turned the tap on, letting the water drown her sobs. The tears burned, searing not just hurt, but a deep, poisonous betrayal by those she trusted most. It wasnt Ian she mourned; it was the shattering of a friendship shed built on faith.
She knew she had to act, but not with a rash outburst. She needed proof, undeniable proof.
A week later Sophies birthday was set at a countryside restaurant, and shed invited Marion and Emily.
You must come, Marion! Sophie chirped on the phone. Ill introduce you to my Ian. Youll love him!
Marion felt the air tighten around her.
Well be there, she managed.
The day passed in a haze. She chose a dress, did her hair, applied makeup, and saw herself in the mirrora strangers reflection with feverbright eyes. Emily, oblivious, fluttered nearby, excited for the celebration.
The restaurant glittered with live music, whitecloth tables, guests in elegant attire. Sophie, radiant in a silver gown, flitted from guest to guest. Spotting them, she swooped over.
At last! Come in, my dears! Marion, you look stunning! Ill now bring you Ian! Come here!
Ian approached, grey at the temples but unmistakably Ian. He froze when he saw Marion, a flood of emotions crossing his face: surprise, shame, fear.
Marion? he murmured.
Good evening, she said coolly, meeting his gaze.
Sophie fidgeted, eyes darting between them.
You you know each other?
More than you think, Marion replied, a thin smile curving. Hes my exhusband. Emilys father.
The room fell dead silent. The music seemed to stop. All eyes were on the three of them. Sophies face went ashen. Emilys expression flickered between mother, father, and her beloved Aunt Sophie, confusion clouding her eyes.
Mum, is this true? she whispered.
Yes, love. Hes your dad.
Marion stepped toward Sophie, who clutched Ians arm as if fearing hed disappear.
Happy birthday, friend, Marion said quietly, the words cutting like glass. I thought we were friends. Turns out youve been consoling me while stealing what I lost. Was it easy? Courting my husband behind my back, giving me advice on betrayal while committing a worse one yourself?
Marion, I I didnt know how to tell you, Sophie stammered. It happened by accident we met six months ago, he never mentioned
Hes your friends husband? Marion finished for her. I cant believe you. You knew everything.
She turned to Ian.
And you youre no hero. You ran from one, landed in another. Nothing changes.
She took Emilys hand. The girls eyes were huge, brimming with tears.
Lets get out of here, love. We dont belong.
They walked out, guests watching in stunned silence. At the doors, Marion glanced back. Sophie stood alone, bewildered, while Ian kept his head bowed, avoiding their sight.
The ride home was mute. In the flat, Emily broke down.
Mum, how could Aunt Sophie? And Dad?
Marion hugged her, smoothing her hair.
Shh, darling, shh. People sometimes do terrible things, even those we love. The important thing is we have each other.
That night they sat at the kitchen table for hours. Marion spoke of her life with Ian, of the friendship with Sophie, leaving nothing hidden. Emily listened; the childs hurt turned into a mature understanding.
The next day Sophie stopped calling. Marion ignored the flood of apologetic messages. A few days later Ian appeared at the door.
Marion, we need to talk, he said, eyes downcast.
Theres nothing to discuss, she snapped. Leave.
But Emily Im her father!
You remember that now? Ten years you didnt care. Go. Dont ever return.
She slammed the door, pressing her back against it. Her heart hammered, not from pain but reliefas if a massive stone shed carried for years finally dropped.
Life moved on, difficult as ever. The void left by Sophies betrayal was hard to fill. Sometimes, late at night, her hand reached for the phone, tempted to call the friend shed lost. She stopped herself. That friendship was gone.
Her relationship with Emily deepened. Emily grew up in one night, stopped demanding the impossible, began helping around the house, even taking a modest gig painting portraits online.
One evening Emily placed a envelope on the kitchen table.
Here, Mum. Its for the prep course. I earned it myself.
Marion looked at her daughters serious, adult face, tears welling.
Youre my pride, she whispered.
No, Mum, youre my pride, Emily replied, hugging her tightly. Youre the strongest.
Marion held her daughter, realizing she hadnt lost everything. Shed lost a friend and a fantasy, but shed gained something far richerher childs respect and love. The future stretched ahead, hard but honest. Together, mother and daughter would face it, side by side.
