We were once a young couple in a modest terraced house on the outskirts of Manchester, and the memory of those days still haunts me. David would often pull me close, his arms warm around my shoulders, and whisper, Patience, love. Our time is ahead of us. Well have a child, a little one who will be a blend of you and me. I promise you, that will happen. I nodded, pressing my face into his shoulder, desperate to cling to his certainty. Yet, a cold weight had already settled deep within my chest, making each breath feel like a labor. Three years of marriage had stretched into three years of hopeful appointments, endless tests, and relentless scansall returning the same barren result.
I understand, I murmured, though even I doubted the truth of those words.
David kissed the crown of my head; his smile seemed to radiate heat. Yet, I began to suspect his affection was merely a mask, hiding frustration and anger.
At first, David kept his vows. He stayed by my side, tended to me, brought flowers for no reason, cooked a Sunday breakfast, and held me when I wept into my pillow after yet another negative test. He was kind, patient, loving.
Gradually, however, things shifted. It started subtly. David lingered later at work, then began to travel for business more often. He stopped greeting me with a morning embrace, withdrew when I tried to nestle beside him on the sofa, and our conversations grew terse, reduced to clipped replies and distant eyes. I told myself it was temporary, that the strain of endless waiting would pass, that I only needed to wait a little longer.
And I waited for a year and a half.
One evening, as I washed the dishes after supper, Davids voice cut through the clatter, Eleanor, we need to talk. The tone was grave, formal. I turned slowly, plate in hand.
What about? My own voice sounded foreign in my ears.
Im filing for divorce. Four simple words, and my world shattered. My plate slipped, shattering on the tiles. I stared at David, eyes wide, trying to grasp the meaning.
What? I gasped.
Sorry, he said, averting his gaze. I cant go on. Im tiredtired of waiting, tired of hoping. This isnt the life I imagined. I want children, a proper family. But were not a couple any longer; were just two people sharing a roof. Its time to stop pretending everythings fine.
I sank onto a chair, legs giving way, a void yawning in my mind.
I dont blame you, David continued. It just happened this way. I cant pretend Im content any longer. Forgive me. He turned and left the kitchen. I heard him gather his things in the bedroom, then the soft click of the door bolt, and a lingering silence.
Time blurred into a single grey smear. I kept going to work, cooked for myself, tended the flatexactly as I had before. Yet inside a hollow emptiness gnawed at me, a cold fog of loneliness that could not be brushed aside.
I blamed myself for the collapse, for not preserving the marriage, for not giving David what he wanted.
The only bright spot in that darkness was my old university friend, Lucy. Wed shared secret notes, dreamed of futures together, and she had been a steadfast presence when David walked out. She would appear with cakes and tea, sit beside me, listen without offering counsel, simply be there.
Everything will be alright, Eleanor, Lucy would pat my back. Youll get through this. Youre stronger than you think. I nodded, though I doubted the words. Still, Lucys presence warmed me, reminding me I wasnt entirely alone.
We met regularlyonce a week, at a café or a friends flat. Lucy talked about her job, her husband, her plans; I listened, forcing a smile while the pain tightened inside. Her life seemed perfect: a loving husband, stability, the family Id lost.
Then oddities began to surface. Lucys replies grew sparse, she cancelled plans at the last minute, her smile strained, her gaze darting away. She would rush off, citing urgent errands.
It wasnt just Lucy. Our wider circle fell silent. The group chat went quiet; no one messaged me first, invitations ceased. It felt as if I had become invisible, collectively ignored.
I tried to convince myself it was mere busyness, that everyone had their own lives. Yet a chill of anxiety settled in my chest, refusing to leave.
When Lucys birthday arrived, a date wed celebrated together since universitycake, champagne, laughterI waited for an invitation that never came. No call, no message. I lingered until the days end, hoping she might have simply forgotten, but the phone stayed mute.
That evening, desperation pushed me. I bought the scarf Lucy had longed for, wrapped it neatly, and walked to her flat, intent simply to wish her well, to show I still remembered.
From the stairwell, muffled music and voices drifted up; a party was in full swing. I paused, gathering courage, then knocked. The sounds inside continued unabated. A minute later the door swung open.
Lucy stood there in a lovely dress, a glass in hand, her smile frozen as she saw me. Her eyes widened, clearly taken aback.
Eleanor, she breathed. What are you doing here?
I came to wish you a happy birthday, I said, offering the gift, forcing a smile despite the knot in my throat. Happy birthday.
She hesitated, didnt take the present, and stood blocking the doorway, her expression turning sour, as if she wished me away.
Why wasnt I invited? I blurted, the dam of restraint breaking. We always celebrated together. What happened, Lucy? Why have you all ignored me?
Lucy looked away, ran a hand through her hair. Laughter spilled from the apartment behind her. I caught a glimpse that stopped my heart.
Davidmy exstood at a table, arms around a fairhaired, smiling woman. He leaned in and kissed her gently, a lingering, tender kiss.
I could not breathe. The world spun. David was here, at Lucys birthday, with another woman, and I had not been invited.
Lucy grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the stairwell, closing the door behind us.
Eleanor, listen she began, voice strained.
Explain whats happening? Why is he here? Why was I left out? I demanded.
She sighed heavily, leaning against the wall, her eyes a mix of embarrassment and irritation. We became friends with David during our marriage. After the divorce, I didnt want to cut ties completely. Hes a nice bloke, interesting to talk to. We kept the friendship.
You chose his side, I snapped, the chill inside deepening. Weve been friends since university, Lucy. After all these years, how could you?
It isnt that simple, she muttered, crossing her arms. Being with him is easier. He doesnt dwell on problems, he doesnt constantly complain. Honestly, no one wanted to listen to your endless grievances any longer. We were all tired of the heaviness, tired of you.
She hurried on, eager to finish. Besides, Davids life is settled now. Hes in a new relationship, a weddings coming, his partner is expecting. Everythings perfect for him. If wed all been here together, it would have been awkward. We just wanted to avoid drama.
I watched her, barely recognizing the woman who once shared my secrets. Her tone was as flat as a weather report.
I understand, I whispered, handing her the scarf. Happy birthday.
She took the box without looking at me.
For years of friendship you could have said this to my face, I continued, fixing my gaze on her. Instead of hiding behind excuses when the truth finally emerged. I thought we were honest with each other, but perhaps I was wrong.
Lucy remained silent, eyes fixed on the floor, clutching the gift.
Congratulations, I said finally, turning toward the stairs. I wish you happiness. Enjoy your night. As for me I paused, the echo of my footsteps reverberating as I descended, my legs trembling, breath shallow. I clung to the railing, each step feeling like a battle.
The cold night air hit me as I emerged onto the deserted street. Tears I had held back for months burst forth, hot and fierce, streaming down my cheeks. I walked aimlessly, sobbing for the pain, the betrayal, the loneliness.
In less than a year I had lost a husband and, as it turned out, every friend I had believed was steadfast. The old saying, A friend in need is a friend indeed, resurfaced in my mind, only to reveal that I had none leftperhaps never truly had any.
I wiped my eyes and headed home, to a place where no one awaited me. Yet within the dim recesses of my heart a faint hope lingered: perhaps this was not forever, and maybe, just maybe, what ends can still lead to something better.
