I thought we were friends, and you stole my husband, Polly snapped, her voice cracking into a scream. She slammed the sketchbook shut with a force that made the pages flutter. To you its all just childs play, a hobby!
Polly, thats not what I meant, Mary Whitaker said wearily, pressing her palms to her temples. The migraine that had been throbbing since dawn now hammered at the back of her skull. Im just trying to say that being a designer is unstable. One day you have commissions, the next you have none. Accounting is a safe, steady loaf of breadalways there.
That loaf is yours, not mine! Polly sprang from her chair, eyes flashing. I dont want to spend my whole life crunching numbers like you. I want to create, to make beauty. Aunt Sophie gets me; shes the only one who believes in my talent.
The mention of Sophie made Marys heart tighten. Again Sophie. Her best friend, her rock in the darkest times, had become more of an authority figure to her daughter than Mary herself.
Sophie lives in another world, love. She runs a successful salon and can afford to talk about lofty ideas. You and I are living paycheck to paycheck.
Exactly! Polly shouted, snatching her coat and bolting for the door. I wont live like that!
The front door slammed, and a ringing silence settled over the cramped twobedroom flat in Camden. Mary sank into a chair, cradling her head. Every argument drained the last of her strength. At fortyfive, the past ten years had been a solo battle. After Ian, her husband and Pollys father, walked out, leaving unpaid bills and a vague, Sorry, were strangers now, life turned into an endless survival race. She worked at the local library, took odd jobs typing at night, and gave up everything so Polly could have what she needed.
Sophie had been there from school days, sharing a desk. Bright, selfassured Sophie and quiet, homebound Mary. When the divorce hit, it was Sophie who pulled Mary out of the abyssbringing groceries, taking her for walks, listening for hours to her sobs. Well get through this, Mary, shed say, hugging her tightly. Hell bite his elbows when he sees what hes lost.
Mary believed her. She got up, brushed herself off, and kept movingfor her daughters sake. Sophie had become almost family, a godmother to Polly, the Aunt Sophie who would always understand.
Mary exhaled and walked to the window. The city lights glowed beyond. Somewhere out there, her angry daughter was probably roaming the streets, perhaps heading to Sophies cosy studio in central London, where the air smelled of expensive coffee and haircare products, soft music played, and talks of high art floated free of rent worries.
The kitchen phone buzzed. A message from Sophie: Pollys with me. Dont worry, Ill talk to her. Everything will be fine. A sting of irritation mixed with gratitude rose in Mary. Part of her was relieved Polly was safe; another part boiled at Sophie stepping in again, as if Mary couldnt handle her own child.
She poured herself a cheap tea bag and sat down. Her gaze fell on an old framed photo: the three of themher, Ian, and a tiny Polly on her laphappy and young. How long ago that was. Ian sometimes she could barely picture his face: tall, darkhaired, laugh lines around his eyes, a lover of jazz, strong coffee, and travel books. He left abruptly, no fights, just one evening packing a bag and saying he needed time alone. A week later he called, saying he wouldnt be coming back.
A memory of Sophies hand on Marys arm resurfaced, her voice soft: Hes a fool, Mary, just a fool. Youll meet someone better. Yet Mary had never met anyone else. Her whole life revolved around Polly.
The next days passed in tense silence. Polly came home from school, ate, and shut herself in her room. Mary dared not break the quiet, fearing another explosion. On Saturday morning Sophie called.
Hey, Mary, love. Ive got a crisishealthinspectors here and my cleaners ill. Can you help out? Come over, give the salon a tidy, and maybe you and Polly can make up. She was planning to come to me anyway.
Mary hesitated, guilt and obligation warring, but the thought of a neutral ground to talk to her daughter tipped the scales.
Ill be there in an hour, she replied.
Sophies Cleopatra salon greeted her with gleaming mirrors and the scent of floral perfume. Sophie, immaculate in a tailored trousersuit, greeted her at the entrance. Mary, youre my saviour! she kissed Marys cheek. Grab a mop, the front room needs dusting and the floor mopping. Ill sort the paperwork. Polly will be here soon.
Mary changed into an old tee in the back room and began work. She didnt envy Sophies successSophie had earned every ounce of it. Yet surrounded by luxury, Mary felt her own instability even sharper.
She was finishing the floor when Polly strode in, eyes narrowing at the sight of her mother with a mop. Polly, we need to talk, Mary said quietly.
What? That I should give up my dream and go to some boring college? Polly snapped.
No. About us.
At that moment Sophie emerged, two phones in handher own and a clients left charging. Girls, dont argue! she beamed, her disarming smile brightening the room. Mary, dont be angry with her; shes just a kid with big ambitions. Polly, your mum only wants the best for you. Lets have some coffee. Ill make your favourite, with a dash of cinnamon.
She set the phones on the reception desk and slipped into the staff room. Mary sighed. The conversation still hadnt begun. Polly stared at her phone, ignoring everything. Marys eyes drifted to the two devices. One screen lit up with a new message from I. Missing your coffee and you. A tiny red heart accompanied it.
Marys heart missed a beat. I. Ian? No, it couldnt be. Sophie had mentioned a new romance, a complicated, divorced but fascinating man, but the idea that it was Ian felt absurd. Millions of men named Ian existed. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the absurdity.
The talk never happened that day. They drank coffee while Sophie chattered about the latest hair trends, Polly nodded, and Mary sat silent, feeling an invisible wall rising between her and the people she loved. That message lingered in her mind.
Later at home, she pulled out an old address book, found Ians number, a relic she hadnt dialed in years. Just in case, she thought, hand hovering over the phone. What would she say? Hi, its me. How are you? Silly. She set the phone down.
A few days later Sophie invited them to the cinema. They watched a lighthearted romcom in a dim hall while Mary kept stealing glances at Sophies phone, spotting the same I. initial in the recipient line.
After the film they stopped at a cafe. Mary, Im thrilled! Sophie announced, stirring sugar into her tea. I think Im really in love. Hes reliable, intelligentfeels like a rock.
Were happy for you, Aunt Sophie, Polly said. Who is he? Do we know him?
No, hes not from our circle. We met by chance. Hes just returned to town after years up north.
Up north Mary recalled Ian had taken a roving job in Sheffield after the divorce. A coincidence? Too many coincidences. A cold shiver ran down Marys spine.
Whats his name? she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Ian, Sophie answered, then quickly changed the subject. Polly, theres an art school taking applications for prep courses. I can pay for you to try.
Marys mind raced. Ian. It meant Sophie was seeing her exhusband. Her trusted friend, the one who dried her tears, was now with the man whod abandoned her. The picture, once a blurry sketch, now revealed ugly, sharp edges. Sophie was using Polly against her, encouraging impossible dreams to win Pollys loyalty, just as she had once taken Marys husband.
Mom, whats wrong? Pollys voice cut through Marys stunned silence. You look pale.
Nothing, Mary croaked. Just a headache. Lets go home.
Back in the flat, Mary locked herself in the bathroom, turned on the tap, and let the water drown her sobs. The tears were bitter, searing. It wasnt just betrayal by Ian; it was the deepest stab from someone shed called a friend. She wept for the love that had died, for the friendship ripped apart, for the naïve trust that had kept her blind.
She knew she had to act, but not with a public scene or accusationsthat would be too easy, too humiliating. She needed proof, undeniable proof.
A week later Sophies birthday arrived. She threw a party at a countryside restaurant and, of course, invited Mary and Polly.
Please come, Mary! Ill introduce you to my Ian. Youll love him, Sophie chirped on the phone.
Mary felt a pressure in her chest, as if she were being squeezed.
Fine, Sophie. Well be there.
The whole day passed in a haze. She chose a dress, did her hair, applied makeup, and when she looked in the mirror she saw a stranger with feverish eyes. Polly, oblivious, buzzed around her, excited for the celebration.
The restaurant was elegantlive piano, whitetableclothed tables, welldressed guests. Sophie, radiant in a silver gown, fluttered from guest to guest. Spotting them, she rushed over.
Finally! Come in, dears! Mary, you look stunning! Ill introduce you Ian! Over here!
Ian approached, older, silver at his temples, but unmistakably Ian. He froze when he saw Mary, a flood of emotions crossing his facesurprise, fear, shame.
Mary? he stammered.
Good afternoon, Mary replied, eyes locked on his.
Sophie glanced between them, flustered.
You you know each other? she asked.
Yes, Mary said, a smile curling on her lips. Hes my exhusband. Pollys father.
The room fell silent. The piano seemed to stop. All eyes were on the three of them. Sophies face turned ashen. Polly shifted her gaze among mother, father, and her beloved Aunt Sophie, bewilderment written across her features.
Mom, is this true? she whispered.
Yes, love. Hes your father.
Mary stepped toward Sophie, who clutched Ians arm as if afraid he would vanish.
Happy birthday, dear, Mary said quietly, but firmly. I thought we were friends. Turns out you not only comforted me after my marriage fell apart, you also stole what I lost. Was it easy? To date my husband behind my back and then counsel me on betrayal?
Sophie stammered, I didnt know how to tell you it happened by accident we met half a year ago, he never mentioned
What? Hes my exhusbands? Mary cut in. You knew everything.
She turned to Ian.
Youre not even worth my words. Youre a coward. You left one woman, ran to another. Nothing changes.
She took Pollys hand. Pollys eyes widened, tears brimming.
Lets get out of here, love. We dont belong here.
They walked out past the astonished guests. At the doors Mary looked back. Sophie stood alone, bewildered, while Ian lowered his head, avoiding their gaze.
The ride home was quiet. In the flat Polly broke down.
Mum, how could Aunt Sophie? And Dad?
Mary held her, rubbing her hair. Its alright, sweetheart. People sometimes do terrible things, even those we love. The important thing is we have each other.
That night they stayed up at the kitchen table, Mary spilling the story of her life with Ian, her friendship with Sophie, nothing hidden. Polly listened, her childish hurt maturing into adult understanding.
The next day Sophie stopped calling. Mary ignored the flood of apologetic messages, deleting them without reading. A few days later Ian appeared at their door.
Mary, we need to talk, he said, eyes avoiding hers.
Theres nothing to discuss, she snapped. Leave.
But Polly Im her father!
You only remembered that now? Ten years you didnt care. Go, Ian. Dont come back.
She slammed the door shut, leaning against it, heart poundingnot from pain but from relief. The heavy stone shed carried for years finally dropped.
Life moved on, hard as ever. The void left by Sophie was hard to fill. Sometimes, late at night, her hand reached for the phone to call a friend, to gossip, but she pulled back. That friendship was gone.
Her relationship with Polly grew stronger than before. Polly matured overnight, stopped demanding the impossible, began helping around the house, and took a small sidejob painting portraits online.
One evening Polly placed a envelope on the kitchen table.
Here, Mum. Its for the prep course. I earned it myself.
Mary looked at her daughters serious, grown face, tears welling up.
Youre my pride, she whispered.
No, Mum, youre my pride, Polly replied, hugging her tightly. Youre the strongest.
Mary stood, holding her daughter, realizing she hadnt lost everything. She had lost a friend and fantasies, but she had gained something far greaterher childs respect and love. A new, honest life lay ahead, difficult but genuine. Together, mother and daughter would face it, side by side.
