“How could you, behind my back?”
“Hello, Marian. How long has it been? Fifteen years? Or more?”
“Probably more. But you haven’t changed a bit.”
“You have. You’ve grown even more beautiful.”
Valerie studied the face of her once-closest friend, scarcely believing they’d actually run into each other—not just run into each other, but collided right outside the dance studio where they’d both brought their daughters for a free trial lesson.
“Thank you, Val,” Marian replied with a faint smile.
She wanted to offer a compliment in return, but the right words wouldn’t come. They’d run out over fifteen years ago, the last time they’d spoken. That conversation had been heavy, difficult, and Marian still shuddered at the memory.
“Who did you bring?” Valerie asked. “A son or a daughter?”
“A daughter,” Marian answered. “Veronica. She’s ten. And you?”
“I’ve got a girl too, though she’s just turned nine. Did you… have her with George? Did you two end up marrying?”
Marian stared at Valerie in disbelief. Did she really still believe her best friend could have stolen the man she loved—and then married him? All these years later, and Val, it seemed, truly hadn’t changed.
“Let’s go down to the café. We can sit, have a coffee, and talk.”
Valerie hesitated, visibly uneasy. Spending time with a former friend—one who’d turned into a rival overnight—hardly thrilled her. Still, after a brief pause, she nodded. What was the point in keeping a distance that had felt unbridgeable for so long? They’d both moved on.
“Alright.”
They walked downstairs in silence, stealing glances when the other wasn’t looking. Both were curious about how life had treated the other, but neither spoke, pretending the past had never happened.
They talked about everything and nothing. Valerie had returned to their hometown two years ago—her mother had fallen ill, needing care, and she’d convinced her husband, Ian, to move back.
“It wasn’t easy,” she said. “But Ian’s wonderful! Kind, thoughtful, patient. I’m so glad I met him.”
Marian smiled. So Valerie had found happiness after all—a loving husband, a daughter. Did that mean the resentment was gone? But before a minute passed, Valerie asked again:
“And you? Did you marry George, have his child? Are you happy with him?”
Marian’s expression darkened. Why did life have to be so complicated? Two girls, friends since they were toddlers in the sandpit, inseparable through school, until one stupid misunderstanding shattered everything. Marian had been sure Valerie would come to see the truth—but clearly, she’d spent all these years believing Marian had built her happiness on her best friend’s heartbreak.
“Val, do you really still think there was ever anything between George and me? We talked about it. I tried to explain. I thought you’d understood eventually—just pretended not to because you were hurt.”
Valerie pursed her lips. That old habit—Marian remembered it from childhood. She’d always done it when upset, or when she had no argument left.
“I hardly ever thought about either of you,” Valerie said, the lie obvious in her voice. “I’ve had my own life for years.”
“You’ve been thinking of George all this time, convinced I married him. And now you’re pretending you never cared?”
Valerie smirked bitterly and looked away. Marian studied her profile, searching for any sign that she’d moved on.
“I really didn’t think about it,” Valerie repeated. “That last conversation… I cut you both out of my life. And all your denials—just lies, far as I was concerned.”
*So she never forgave me.* Marian sighed, then pulled out her phone, scrolled through her gallery, and handed it to Valerie.
“Look. That’s my husband, Victor. The same lanky, awkward Vic Saunders you used to mock for being a boring bookworm.”
Valerie’s eyes widened as she flicked through the photos. She zoomed in, studying each detail before finally lifting her gaze.
“You actually married Saunders? I thought you were joking when you said you were with him. And your daughter—his?”
Marian nodded.
“A daughter and a son. Andrew’s nearly thirteen, Veronica’s ten. I’m happy with my husband, just like you are, Val. There was never anything between me and your George. He made it all up—to drive us apart, and to end things with you.”
Valerie pressed her lips together again. Marian felt frustration rising. How much longer would they dredge up the past? Their friendship might still be intact if not for George’s interference.
They’d met at five, neighbours in the same building. A fight over a doll nearly turned physical, until Marian’s mother stepped in: *Never take what isn’t yours.* Valerie had burst into tears, realising she’d been in the wrong. Marian, pitying her, silently handed over her Barbie. *Here. You can play with her.*
From that moment, they were inseparable—same nursery, same school, same university. Then, in their second year, George arrived—a transfer student. Valerie fell for him instantly.
“Marian! I’m in love!” she’d gushed a week later. “He’s perfect!”
Marian was thrilled. George seemed like a decent bloke, and Valerie had never been one for romance before.
“Think it’ll work out?” Marian asked.
Valerie’s expression soured.
“Why? Because you’re the only one who can get a boyfriend?”
Marian was stunned. Where had that come from? Sure, she’d dated a few lads, but Valerie had never resented her for it. Then again, Valerie had never been in love before, either.
Things only got worse. George had grown closer to both of them, but Valerie didn’t trust it. Marian was already seeing Vic—quirky, studious Vic, whom Valerie dismissed as dull. Meanwhile, George made his move on New Year’s Eve, confessing feelings Marian didn’t return.
“You’re *with* Val. What’s the point in this?”
George smirked.
“With her? We hooked up a couple times—hardly a relationship.”
Disgust twisted Marian’s stomach. George was handsome, confident, smart—but he had no decency.
“You think I’d betray my best friend?”
“Is she in love with me?” He scoffed. “Seems to me she just liked the attention.”
Marian threw him out. The next day, Valerie stormed in, furious.
“How could you?” she screamed. “You *knew* I loved him! You knew we were together, and you still went after him!”
Marian was speechless.
“Val? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb!” Valerie’s face was red, tears streaming. “George told me everything! How you went to him, said you didn’t believe in us, *offered* yourself—”
“That never happened!”
Then—a stinging slap.
“I’m *pregnant*, and he said he doesn’t care—because of *you*! I hate you!”
“But I didn’t—!” Marian clutched her cheek.
Valerie was already gone.
Marian tried reaching out, but Valerie had left town. Soon after, George moved on to a lecturer.
Fifteen years later, here they were. Both married, both mothers. Yet the past still lingered.
“You never let me explain,” Marian said softly. “You wouldn’t listen. I saw what George was—but I kept quiet, because I knew how you felt.”
Valerie checked her watch and stood abruptly.
“Class is almost over. Let’s get the girls.”
They stood side by side outside the studio, waiting.
“Are you still angry?” Valerie asked suddenly. “About the slap?”
Marian shook her head.
“No. You were hurt, hormonal—I don’t blame you. I just wish we’d talked properly sooner. Fifteen years wasted on misunderstanding.”
Valerie turned, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“You know what I just realised?”
“What?”
“If not for George… I’d never have met Ian. Never had my daughter. Never had the life I do now.”
Marian smiled back just as Veronica bounded over. Valerie’s daughter—a spitting image of her mother—arrived moments later.
“Fancy taking the girls to the park this weekend?” Valerie asked.
Marian agreed, surprised but relieved.
Things would never be the same between them, not like before. But the weight was gone—fifteen years of bitterness, finally lifted.
And that was better than nothing.
