For My Sake…
Monotonously, Emily ran the iron back and forth across the board. Sweat trickled down her temples, her neck, and along her spine. The evening heat had eased slightly, but the iron still radiated suffocating warmth. There wasn’t much left to press when her phone rang. The call silenced briefly, only to start again, fraying her nerves.
Emily set the iron aside, crossed to the table, and picked up the phone. Seeing her friend’s name flash on the screen, she stiffened in surprise.
“Claire? Is that really you? What’s happened?” Her voice wavered.
“Who else would it be? Listen—I’m coming. Last-minute work trip, and I turned down the hotel. Thought I’d stay with you. Mind if I crash for two nights?”
“Of course not. When do you arrive?” Emily tensed, realizing her fridge held only essentials. She barely cooked for herself these days.
“Tomorrow. I know it’s short notice, but it all came together last second. I’ll text the train details. Will you meet me?”
“I’ll be there,” Emily promised, though her stomach twisted at the thought of taking more time off work. She’d already called in sick too often.
But Claire reassured her—she’d arrive late, stay two full days. The tightness in Emily’s chest loosened.
“Don’t go to any trouble—I know how you get. We’ll have plenty of time to talk,” Claire said before hanging up.
Emily finished the ironing, stacking the clothes neatly in the wardrobe. She was glad to hear Claire’s voice. But doubts crept in. *She’ll pry, dig into my soul, and I’ve only just made peace with how things are. Even grown used to the quiet.* She glanced at the wall clock. *I’ll dash to Marks & Spencer before closing. No time tomorrow. After all these years—she’s actually coming.*
She checked the fridge. Meals had become an afterthought since the chemo stole her appetite. Changing quickly, she headed out, thoughts lingering on her old friend.
They’d bonded instantly, back in Year 7, when the new girl—Claire, with her effortless confidence—walked into their classroom mid-term. Later, they chose the same university. By third year, Claire fell hard for an army cadet, married him in a whirlwind, and vanished into garrison life, transferring to a distant uni for remote study.
At first, they wrote letters. Then mobile phones took over, and calls became routine—until even those faded to obligatory birthday texts. Lives diverged. Claire had two sons now, a whirlwind of her own.
Emily married a year after graduation, conceiving immediately. The birth nearly broke her—no more children after that. Her daughter grew up, married a medical student, and left for his hometown just before finals.
Picking up groceries, Emily sighed. No time to clean. *Who cares? It’s Claire, not the Queen.* She debated mentioning her husband’s “business trip” or his visit to their daughter—but Claire would see through it instantly. *She’ll walk in and know. The house stinks of solitude. Why lie? I’m not the first wife traded in for someone younger.*
She’d sensed the affair long before he left. The sudden shift to jeans and jumpers, suits reserved for meetings. New trainers, morning runs—though that phase didn’t last.
While their daughter lived with them, they’d kept up appearances. He’d pretend to work late, coming home only to sleep. Emily dreaded his arrivals—well-fed, straight to bed. *Someone else feeds him now. Someone else pleases him.*
When their daughter left, the charade ended. Emily packed his pressed shirts into a suitcase herself. Let the other woman see—his wife hadn’t neglected him. Let *him* know what he’d lost. Would his new love warm his slippers by the fire? Would she understand his moods? Men craved comfort as they aged. Passion burned out fast.
She’d hoped he’d return. But weeks became months.
Then—
A routine scan. The word *cancer*.
Suddenly, betrayal didn’t matter. Surgeries. Chemo. Each check-up felt like a death march. But the disease held stable. No spread.
Some nights, she ached to call him. *Would he stay out of pity? Return to her bed straight from hers?* No. Pity wasn’t love.
So she walked alone. Made no new friends. The park regulars—retirees, mothers with prams—nodded hello.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
“Where’s your little one today? With Gran?”
“Haven’t seen you in a while!”
Small talk. Nothing more.
The next evening, Emily rushed home from work and started cooking, even mopping before heading to the station. Exhausted, but no time to rest—Claire’s train was due.
The platform buzzed as the train slowed. Emily scanned the windows, searching. Passengers flooded out. She stayed put—no use fighting the crowd. *What if I don’t recognize her? Decades apart.*
She hovered near the underground passage, where the flow bottlenecked. Easier to spot faces.
Then—there. Claire. Fuller-figured, eyes darting, but unmistakable. Emily waved.
Claire spotted her, shoved through the crowd. Luggage bumped them; they clung together, oblivious.
“Let’s go,” Emily said.
The echoey tunnel amplified their chatter—fears of missing each other, the same questions asked twice. The bus’s stifling heat made Emily queasy. Claire’s assessing glances didn’t escape her, but she lacked the energy to pretend. Home, she collapsed on the sofa. Claire sat beside her.
“Rest. You’re dead on your feet. I warned you not to fuss. The smells alone are heavenly. I’ll shower. Then we’ll talk.” Grateful, Emily obeyed.
Claire emerged fresh, uncorking wine. They drank. A second glass. The dam broke—the affair, the diagnosis, the hollow fear before each hospital visit.
“Forgive me for not calling. How did you bear it?” Claire hugged her. They wept.
They slept past midnight. Emily lay awake, stirred by the rawness of shared grief—but lighter for it.
Morning: Emily left for work, keys and a note for Claire. Calls came sporadically—”Running errands, back late!” That evening, they talked endlessly. Claire’s worries poured out—her eldest at Sandhurst, desperate for deployment; the younger glued to screens, apathetic about uni.
“Twenty-six years, Em. He’s not some lad anymore…”
“Maybe I was already ill. Just didn’t know. Too tired for anything. That’s why he strayed.”
“Don’t *defend* him! Blind selfishness, leaving you like this!”
“Let it go. The hurt’s dulled.”
Claire studied her.
“What’s his job? Where?” The questions came sharp. Unsuspecting, Emily answered.
Next evening, Emily hurried home. Claire’s train left at midnight—so much left unsaid.
The flat door shut behind her.
“How are you?” Claire asked.
“Fine. Why?”
“Then put on something nice. We’re dining out.”
“What? Let’s stay in.”
“No. I’ve booked us a table.”
Emily hesitated.
“I’ll wear the blue dress. No makeup. Who’s there to impress?”
“Just wear what makes you feel *you*. Can you manage?” Claire’s voice softened.
“For you? Always.”
The restaurant lights glowed. And there—*James*. Thinner, weathered. He stood as they entered, eyes locked on Emily.
“You planned this?” Emily froze. “That’s why you asked where he worked? You *went* to him?” She turned to leave, but Claire held her.
“For my sake. Talk to him.”
Emily exhaled, approached. James pulled out a chair.
“I ordered for us. You look tired,” he said.
“Late night,” Claire cut in, nodding at the wine. “Pour, then.”
James obliged, and Emily saw the ghost of the man she’d loved—the way his hands remembered the bottle’s weight.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, filling her glass (water for him—driving).
“Would it have changed anything? Stayed out of pity, still sneaking to her? I couldn’t live like that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see. Thank God for Claire.”
Emily shot Claire an accusing look. Her friend shrugged.
“I knew I’d messed up fast. She was a kid. I’m too old for do-overs.”
“Then why not come back?”
“Would you have let me?”
Her voice barely carried. “I waited.”
“I didn’t think you’d forgive me.”
A girl passed—pale legs, platform boots, bleached hair trailing.
“Remember when we sunbathed in March? Competing for the darkest tan?” said Claire.
Emily barely glanced. “Trends change.”
“They walked out into the cool night, hands brushing, and for the first time in years, the future didn’t seem quite so lonely.
