Dont worry, love, I said, pulling my wife close and resting her head against my shoulder. Weve still got plenty of time ahead of us. One day well be parents, and the baby will look a little like you and a little like me. Do you hear me? It will happen, I promise.
Ethel gave a small nod, pressing her face into my shoulder. I wanted to believe my own words. I really did. Yet inside me a cold, heavy weight had settled, making it hard to breathe fully. Three years of marriage. Three years of hope, disappointment, endless trips to doctors, blood tests, scansnothing to show for it.
I know, Ethel whispered, though even she seemed unsure of herself.
I kissed the top of her head. A brief warmth flickered, but now it felt as if I were merely wearing a mask, hiding my own frustration and anger.
At first I kept my promises. I was there, supportive, caring. I brought her flowers for no special reason, cooked a Sunday breakfast, held her close at night when she broke down after yet another negative test. I tried to be kind, patient, loving.
Gradually, though, things shifted. It started subtly. I began staying late at the office, then the occasional business trip, which became more frequent. I stopped hugging her in the mornings, withdrew when she tried to curl up on the couch after a long day. Our conversations grew shorter, more formal, reduced to oneword answers and vacant stares.
Ethel pretended not to notice. She told herself it was temporarythat I was just worn out by the constant tension, the waiting, the letdowns. She told herself that eventually things would turn around if she just held on a little longer.
And hold on we didfor a year and a half.
One thing, Ethel, we need to talk, I said one evening while she was washing the dishes after dinner.
She froze, plate in hand, my tone suddenly grave and businesslike. She turned slowly toward me.
What about? Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
Im filing for divorce.
Four words. Four simple words, and Ethels world collapsed. The plate slipped from her fingers, shattering against the kitchen tiles. She stood there, eyes wide, trying to process what shed just heard.
What? she gasped.
Sorry, I said, looking away. I cant do this any longer. Im tiredtired of waiting, tired of hoping. This isnt the life I imagined. I want children, a real family. And we were no longer a couple. Were just two people sharing a roof. Its time we stop pretending everythings fine.
Ethel sank slowly into a chair, her legs giving way, a hollow feeling gnawing at her mind.
I dont blame you, she whispered. It just turned out this way. But I cant keep pretending Im content. Im sorry.
I turned and left the kitchen. She heard me gathering my things in the bedroom, then the soft click of the lock and silence.
Time blurred into a single grey mass. Ethel kept going to work, cooking for herself, tidying the flateverything she had always done. Yet inside her was a yawning void, a loneliness that wrapped around her like a cold fog you cant shake off.
She blamed herself for everything: for not holding the marriage together, for not giving me what I wanted.
The only bright spot in that darkness was Clare, a friend from university. Wed spent our student years side by side, swapping secrets and dreaming about the future. Clare was there when I left. She turned up with scones and tea, sat beside me, hugged me, listened. She didnt give advice, didnt lectureshe simply was present.
Everything will be alright, Ethel, Clare would say, rubbing my back. Youll get through this. Youre strong.
Ethel nodded, though she didnt truly believe it. Still, Clares presence was a small warmth, a reminder she wasnt completely alone.
We met regularlyonce a week at a café or someones flat. Clare talked about work, her husband, her plans. Ethel tried to share in her happiness, even as her own heart ached. Clare seemed to have everything: a loving spouse, stability, the life Ethel had lost.
Eventually Ethel noticed something odd. Clare started replying to messages less often, cancelled meetups at the last minute, her smiles became forced, her eyes darted away. She rushed out, citing urgent errands.
It wasnt just Clare. The whole group drifted apart. The group chat fell silent. No one pinged Ethel first. Invitations stopped. She felt invisible, as if everyone had collectively decided to ignore her.
Ethel tried to brush it off. Maybe they were busy, each with their own lives. Still, a cold knot of anxiety settled somewhere in her chest and wouldnt let go.
Then Clares birthday arrived. Ethel remembered the date clearly; wed always celebrated together since universitycake, champagne, presents, laughter until dawn. A tradition we’d kept for years.
But this year there was no invitation, no call, no text. Nothing. Ethel waited until the very end, hoping Clare had simply forgotten to let her know. The phone stayed mute all day.
That evening, Ethel could take it no longer. She bought a scarf Clare had mentioned wanting, wrapped it nicely, and drove to her flat just to say happy birthday and show she still cared.
From the stairwell she heard muffled music and voicessomeone was already celebrating.
She paused, gathering courage, then knocked. The sounds inside didnt stop. After a minute, the door swung open.
Clare stood there, elegant in a dress, a glass of sparkling wine in hand. Her smile froze the moment she saw Ethel, eyes widening as if caught off guard.
Ethel, Clare breathed. What what are you doing here?
I came to wish you a happy birthday, Ethel said, holding out the gift, forcing a smile even as a painful knot tightened in her stomach. Happy birthday.
Clare didnt take the present. She stood, blocking the doorway, looking at Ethel as if she were an unwelcome intruder.
Thanks, but Clare stammered.
Why wasnt I invited? Ethel snapped, unable to hold back any longer. We always celebrated together. Whats happened, Clare? Why are you all ignoring me?
Clare looked away, ran a hand through her hair. Laughter rang from behind her. Ethel peeked inside and froze.
There he wasThomas, my exhusbandstanding at the kitchen table, arm around a young woman with light hair, laughing. He leaned in and kissed her, a lingering, tender kiss.
Ethels breath stopped. The world swirled. Thomas was here, at Clares birthday, with someone else, and she hadnt been invited.
Clare grabbed Ethels arm and pulled her toward the stairwell, closing the door behind them.
Ethel, listen Clare began.
Explain explain whats going on. Why is he here? Why didnt you invite me?
Clare exhaled heavily, leaning against the wall. Her eyes showed a mix of awkwardness and irritation. She glanced off to the side.
We got friendly with Tom during your marriage, she said slowly. You know he was my best friends husband. After the divorce we thought cutting off contact would be odd. Hes a good bloke, interesting to talk to. We kept the friendship.
And you chose his side, Ethel finished, the chill inside her deepening. You chose him, Clare? Weve been friends since university. How could you?
Ethel, its not that simple, Clare crossed her arms. Hes just less weighed down by drama. He doesnt moan all the time. Honestly, no one wanted to listen to your constant complaints any longer. We were all exhausted by the heaviness. We thought it would be easier for everyone if we stepped back.
Ethel stared at her, barely recognizing the woman she thought she knew. The tone was flat, as if they were discussing the weather.
Also, Clare hurried on, eager to finish, Toms life is looking good now. Hes in a new relationship, theyre planning to marry, a babys on the way. Everythings falling into place for him, and meeting him here would be awkward for all of us. We just wanted to avoid a scene.
Ethel nodded slowly, mechanically. Inside, something finally snapped. Tom would soon be a father, with a fresh start, the family hed always wantedsomething Id never managed to give her.
And I? I was suddenly unnecessary.
I understand, Ethel said softly, handing the wrapped scarf to Clare. Here, take it. Happy birthday.
Clare took the box without looking up.
For years of friendship you could have told me this to my face, Ethel continued, her gaze steady. Not hide behind excuses only when the truth finally surfaces. I thought we were honest with each other. I guess I was wrong.
Clare fell silent, eyes fixed on the floor, clutching the gift.
Happy birthday, Ethel finished, turning toward the stairs. Enjoy your celebration. From me
Her steps echoed down the stairwell, each footfall a hollow thud. She clung to the banister, legs wobbling, breath shallow, desperate to reach the street.
Cold air hit her lungs as she emerged onto the pavement. Then the tears shed been holding back exploded, hot and fierce, streaming down her cheeks. She walked the deserted lane, crying not just for the loss of a marriage, but for the loss of friends, for the betrayal, for the crushing loneliness.
In less than a year shed lost a husband and, as it turned out, every friend shed thought she could rely on. The old saying about true friends showing up in trouble rang trueshe had none left. Perhaps she never had any to begin with.
Ethel wiped her eyes and headed home, to a flat where nobody waited. Yet a faint thought lingered in her heart that this wasnt forever, and that, as they say, everything happens for a reason.
