**Between Two Fires**
Ive always believed the best way to survive betrayal is to drown it in tearsright here, right now, so theres nothing left to cry about later. Even better if you can weep on the shoulder of someone who truly understands.
For nearly an hour, that shoulder belonged to James. My husbands best friend. Or rather, my *ex*-husbands.
«Emily, please dont cry,» James murmured, his voice quiet and weary. His hand moved in slow circles on my back, and the gesture only made me sob harder.
«Why would he do this to me?» I choked out, dragging my sleeve across my damp cheeks. «What did I do wrong? Am I ugly? Just say it!»
«Youre the most beautiful woman in the world. Daniels just blind.»
He said it so plainly, so earnestly, that for a moment, I believed himeven stopped crying. Then I showed him the screenshot. The one Id found in Daniels phone. Some woman named Charlotte had written, *When are you dumping that bore?* And the man whod sworn eternal love to me at the altar had replied, *Shed fall apart without me. I feel sorry for her.*
*Sorry.* That one word erased everythingour past, every whispered *I love you*, every future plan. Our marriage had been held together by pity.
I buried my face in my hands. How humiliating.
James stayed silent. Unlike Daniel, whod fill any quiet with a hundred meaningless words, he knew when *not* to speak. He was the only person in this city I could call in this state. I knew he wouldnt pity me, wouldnt coddle me, wouldnt lecture. That was exactly what I needed.
Hed arrived within twenty minutes. Listened without interruption as I ranted, handed me a glass of water, let me cry into his jumper. Then he just sat there beside me, his silence stronger than any words.
«He *pities* me, can you believe it?» I hiccupped for the hundredth time.
Again, James said nothing. Just clenched his fists and stared out the window. In that restraint, there was more understanding than a million rehearsed platitudes.
***
Id met Daniel in my hometown of Manchester, at a local art exhibition. Id ducked in to escape the rain and saw himarguing passionately with a friend in front of a grim, sprawling abstract piece.
«This isnt art, its a diagnosis!» hed snapped. «Theres no emotion, no thoughtjust shock value!»
Something made me interrupt. «But isnt shock an emotion? Art doesnt have to be pretty. It just has to be honest.»
Daniel turned, his stormy grey eyes softening. «So you believe in art as truth, no matter how bitter?»
We talked for three hours. He was a whirlwindideas, jokes, an insatiable zest for life. That passion was what won me over. He could debate 1970s cinema until he was hoarse, then drag me to a rooftop to watch raindrops fracture light in puddles. With him, I never felt bored. He made me feel alive, fascinating, adored. He saw some dazzling version of me, and I fought to live up to it.
When, after two months of whirlwind romance, he asked me to move to Liverpool and marry him, I said yes without hesitation. Foolish little moth, drawn to his flame.
I remember when he introduced me to James.
«Meet my brother from another mother, my guardian angelJames. And this is Emily, love of my life!» Daniel beamed like a child.
James shook my hand, his gaze awkward? Wary? I didnt understand it then. He seemed quiet, serious, almost broodingnothing like my loud, vivacious Daniel. But later, we found common ground: a shared love for Terry Pratchetts books and the belief that the best coffee came from unassuming cafés, not chains.
In Liverpool, I realized James was a quiet harbor. Daniel was a storm; after the chaos, you craved stillness. James knew how to listenlet me ramble about books or vent about moving struggles. Never interrupted, never tried to impress. Just nodded and sometimes asked the perfect question, proving hed heard every word.
With him, I felt calm. *Safe.* Something I never felt with my husband, whoas time provedonly ever loved himself.
***
I cant say I didnt suspect the affairs before that text. I ignored the little things: sudden «work meetings,» his phone always face-down, vanished hours, unfamiliar perfume. It was obvious. But he twisted excuses so smoothly, I *wanted* to believe. *Daniel loves me. This is the man who swept me off my feet. He wouldnt lie.*
More and more, I found myself preferring Jamess company. He didnt shower me with compliments, but he *listened*as if my words mattered. Once, at a picnic, I mentioned painting a series based on old Lancashire folklore. Daniel yawned. «Sounds like a dull documentary.»
James leaned in. «Which legend would you start with?»
We talked for half an hour, lost in details, while Daniel played games on his phone. Thats when the traitorous thought came: *This is who Id want to share not just holidays, but every ordinary day with.*
Six months later, I caught Daniel flirting in his messages. He shrugged it off*just an old school friend, weve always bantered like this.* *No one lies that convincingly,* I told myself. And ignored it.
Then came the night I found Charlottes messages. The pain, the humiliationbut what cut deepest wasnt the infidelity. He stayed with me out of *pity.*
James had known. Of course he had. Theyd been friends since primary school. Daniel bragged about his conquestsfalling in love (or rather, making others fall for him) was as natural as breathing. James, reserved in affection, never judgeduntil Daniel married.
I hadnt known James tried to talk sense into him, that theyd even fought over me. Daniel, naturally, never mentioned it. Just laughed once, «James fancies you, poor sod.» I dismissed it. *No, he wouldnt. Hes too decent.*
Now I sat on Jamess sofa, my life in shambles, with only him beside me.
«Daniel wont change,» James said quietly, cutting through my thoughts. «Hes not a bad person. Just a child who wants every toy but doesnt treasure the one he has.»
«Im not a toy.»
«Of course not. Youre an entire universe.» He faltered, looking away.
The decision came easily. «I think Ill go home. To Manchester.»
James sighed. Something flickered in his eyespain? Hesitation?
«Yes. Thats for the best,» he finally said. «Youll clear your head.»
«Will you drive me?»
He couldve refused. He had work, commitments. But he just nodded. «Pack your things. Ill help.»
***
Six months in Manchester passed like one long, foggy day. Daniel agreed to the divorce instantlyalmost relieved. I tried to piece myself back together. My parents pitied me, which only made it worse.
James called daily. At first, just checking in. Soon, our talks were as deep and easy as before. We spoke of everythingexcept one person. One day, I realized I waited for his call more eagerly than I ever had for Daniels.
Then, glancing out the window, I saw his car. He hadnt warned me.
My heart lurched. I ran outside. «James? Whats wrong?»
He stepped out, looking uncharacteristically nervous. «Nothings wrong. Everythings finally right.»
He moved closer, eyes locked on mine.
«Emily, Im not good with speeches. I cant paint pretty pictures with words or put on a show. But Ive loved you all this time. Silently. Because you were my best friends wife, and saying anything wouldve been a betrayal. But now Now Im free to say it. Im not asking for anything. Just needed you to know.»
He looked so vulnerable. As lost as Id been that night he comforted me. And in his eyes, I saw what Id been missing all these yearsnot pity. Respect. And love, real and unwavering.
Every shared conversation, every silent moment of support, every knowing glance rushed through me. He valued my thoughts, *saw* menot as «Daniels wife,» but as *me.* Flawed, living, breathing Emily.
I looked at this steady, quiet man whod always been there and realized my heart had chosen long ago.
«James lets try?»
Hope lit his face. «You mean it? Youll marry me?»
Time stopped. The hurt faded. Everything before this moment felt like a long, hard road leading me to himto someone who loved me not for the shine, but the substance.
«Yes,» I whispered, tears flowingbut this time, they were different. «Yes, James. Of course. *Yes.*»
He didnt speak. Just pulled a small box from his pocket. Inside was a worn key.
«Its to my flat. *Our* flat, if you want. I I didnt plan this. Just carried it with me. For luck.»
He pulled me into an embracethe strongest, safest Id ever known.
**Lesson learned:** The loudest love isnt always the truest. Sometimes its the quiet, steady hand that holds you through the storm thats been there all along.
