“Twenty grand? For a jumper? Emily, you could’ve mentioned that earlier!”
“Well, what did you expect? Its handmade, one-of-a-kind. Millions of stitches! Took me nearly three weeks. Put my heart and soul into it,” Emily shrugged defensively.
“For that money, you could buy five jumpers and still have enough left for a hat and gloves,” Sophie gasped, stepping back from the kraft bag as if it held a bomb.
“Should I sell my time for pennies, then?” Emily snapped.
Anger and confusion washed over Sophie. She was the one whod started this jumper businessshed approached Emily first. But who couldve guessed itd end like this?
…Best to start at the beginning. Theyd been friends since school days. Both from decent familiesno tragic backstories, no wild ambitions, just ordinary lives.
But then things changed. Sophie married Richard, a well-off man ten years her senior. His parents ran a small construction firm, gradually passing the reins to him. With a solid nest egg, Richard had grown the business.
To outsiders, Sophie had hit the jackpot, rolling in moneyexcept she wasnt. Richard earned well, but he spent just as much. His job demanded everythingsudden weekend calls, sharp words for his team. He needed ways to unwind.
Food and hobbies were his escape. Takeaways, restaurant meals, the occasional homemade pieif he was feeling generous. At first, Sophie cooked separately, then tried matching his tastes. Soon she gave upthree or four hours just for dinner wasnt sustainable.
“Stop nagging him,” her mother chided. “Its his money. Hes used to this lifeleave him be.”
So Sophie did.
The spending didnt stop at food. Richard loved board gameseach set easily topping a grand, with expansions piling up. Weekends meant game nights with friends, stretching all day, and of course, feeding everyone.
Then there was the house upkeep
They lived comfortably, but far from swimming in gold.
Emilys life took a different turn. She married Tom, a penniless poet who folded roses from tinfoil. Years passed, and Tom stayed the samehopping between customer service and hardware store jobs, shrugging off ambition.
“We get by. If we dont, well cut back. Millions manageso can we.”
They scraped along until their second child arrived. Benefits were meagre, Emily was drowning in nappies, and Tom still hadnt found better work.
“Im at my wits’ end. Soon well be using cloth nappies. And the babyhes on formula. How?” she fretted.
“Em, dont rely on Tom,” Sophie said bluntly. “Why not earn from home? A friend bakes gingerbread, another knits toys. Youre brilliant at this.”
“Brilliant” was an understatement. Emilys handmade clothessocks, dresses, cardigans, even handbagswere masterpieces.
Excited, Emily snapped photos and posted ads. But no one bit.
“Guess no one wants handmade these days. Cheap mass-produced stuff wins,” she sighed after a month.
Sophies heart ached. Handouts felt insulting, so she decided to order somethingnever mind that she hated knitwear. Her grans scratchy jumpers had scarred her for life.
But this wasnt about the jumper. It was about helping.
She browsed online, settling on a simple but elegant design.
“Can you make this? If so, give me a rough priceIve no clue,” she texted.
“Easy. Ill tally the yarn cost and let you know,” Emily promised.
But “later” never came. Between kids and elusive yarn, Emily eventually declared shed charge by time.
“Dont worryIll give you a discount. Well sort it.”
Sophie already sensed disaster. Couldnt Emily at least ballpark a price? But backing out now felt cruel.
And here they were. Emily named an astronomical sum, clutching the bag like a trophy, while Sophies stomach dropped. Twenty grand for a jumper she didnt want. No upfront agreement.
“Em, I cant afford this,” Sophie finally said, shrinking back.
She *could* pay but felt trapped. Refusing would hurt Emily; accepting meant overpaying for something shed never love. Worse, Sophie suspected Emily had hiked the price deliberatelythough maybe she charged everyone the same. No wonder she had no customers.
Emilys face darkened, lips pressed tight, cheeks flushing.
“Are you joking? I poured hours into this! My backs wrecked, my eyesand now youve left me out of pocket! I bought the yarn myself!”
Awkward silence. Sophie swallowed hard. She knew knitting was labour-intensiveEmily wasnt wrong. But how to fix this? An invisible wall stood between them.
“Look, Ill pay for the yarn and your timejust not that much. Seven grand. Thats my limit. Keep the jumper if you like,” Sophie offered.
“Keep your bloody money,” Emily muttered, but took the cash anyway. “Take the jumper too. Youre living off your husbanditd hang off me.”
With the money snatched, Emily stormed off. Sophie stared at the closed door. Today, shed lost more than casha friend, trust, a piece of her past.
She didnt even unwrap the jumper, just tucked it away. “Bad energy,” some might say. Sophie knew seeing it would reopen a wound.
That evening, she confessed to Richard. He listened calmly, then shrugged.
“Thats friendships price. Mix money with mates, and its over.”
Sophie sighed. Hed been here before.
In the end, she gave the jumper to her mum. Soft as down, it prickled not skin but her soul. Emily vanishedblocked online, no contact. The line had been crossed, friendship evaporated, leaving only memories of how things once were. And the bitter truth: theyd never be that way again.
