**”Haven’t got a man of your own, so you’re after mine? Some friend you are. Don’t you dare set foot in my house again,” Lucy snapped, her voice sharp with anger.**
Stepping off the bus was the last thing Emma wanted. She lived in a new development where public transport didn’t reach yet. The walk from the stop was long, and the weather made it worse. At least she could stop by the shop. The promised supermarket in the next building hadn’t opened yet—typical. Now she’d pay for yesterday’s laziness; her fridge was nearly empty.
Emma stepped out, and before she’d taken two steps, a gust of wind ripped her hood back, flinging a strand of hair and a handful of icy snow into her face. The wind seemed to blow from every direction at once, determined to blind her.
She tugged her hood lower, gripping it under her chin as she hunched forward like an old woman. By the time she reached the shop, she nearly broke into a run, desperate to escape the biting cold.
Inside, the door swung shut behind her, muffling the storm. She shook out her tangled hair and grabbed a basket, weaving through the aisles. She picked only essentials—enough to fit in one bag. The rest could wait. She still had to walk home, one hand free to keep her hood in place.
Up ahead, a young woman pushed a pram while her son, bundled like an astronaut in a thick snowsuit, clung to it. One hand held the pram, the other a basket of groceries. They moved slowly, blocking the aisle. Emma veered into another row, grabbing milk before heading to the bakery.
And there they were again. Emma tried to slip past, but a stuffed toy tumbled from the pram. She picked it up.
“Wait, you dropped this!” she called.
The woman turned. Emma held out the toy—then froze. “Lucy?!” she gasped, grinning.
“Emma!” Lucy’s face lit up.
“I was just thinking, who’d brave this weather with kids?” Emma said.
“Oh, I live in this building. Ran out of milk and cereal. Tried to nip out alone, but Sophie threw a fit, and Liam couldn’t handle her. So here we are.”
Emma bit back the obvious question—*Where’s your husband?*—too personal to ask straight away. Probably still at work.
She glanced at the boy. He stared blankly at biscuit packets.
“My little helper,” Lucy said proudly.
“How old is he?”
“Six. Starting school next autumn.”
“Can we go? I want to finish my cartoon,” Liam grumbled.
“Patience,” Lucy chided. “Sorry, Em, you see how it is. Here—take my number.”
Emma fumbled for her phone.
“Call me. The kids are usually asleep by ten.”
As Lucy headed to checkout, Emma noticed the toy still in her hand. “Wait!”
Lucy murmured to Liam, who trotted over, snatched the pink bunny, and scurried back.
Emma queued, watching them leave. *Never pictured Lucy with two kids. How does she manage? I’d never brave a blizzard like that.*
*That’s why you’ve got neither husband nor kids,* her inner voice jabbed.
At home, Emma scrambled eggs—too late for a proper meal. While the kettle boiled, she admired her new kitchen. She’d bought the flat six months ago, proud to finally own something.
The living room was sparse—just a sofa, telly, and wardrobe—but the kitchen was fully kitted. For women, the kitchen was everything. Most of her time was spent there, though lately, it was just quick meals eaten in front of the telly. But one day, she’d have a family too. Maybe even turn into a homebody like Lucy. She sighed.
The cream cabinets gleamed under the pendant light. The kettle whistled, and she jumped up. After dinner, she stood by the window, watching car lights move like Christmas fairy lights in the dark. Squares of warm yellow glowed in neighbouring flats—families gathered at tables, chatting over meals. Maybe someone else was staring out, thinking the same.
Emma remembered Lucy. *She’d never have time for this. Two kids. And she swore she’d only have one—or none at all.*
*”I’m not wasting my best years on ungrateful kids who’ll leave me to grow old alone. Let others breed,”* Lucy had declared in sixth form.
Emma had argued kids were life’s purpose.
*”Then have them yourself,”* Lucy had shot back.
Emma grew up with just her mum, who’d passed a year ago. Her dad had another family now. A sibling would’ve made the loneliness bearable. People always craved what they’d never had.
Lucy had two brothers. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t wanted kids—sick of babysitting.
Funny how life flipped dreams upside down. Some script written for us couldn’t be rewritten. Emma washed up and flicked on the telly, barely watching, lost in memories of school. By half ten, she dialled Lucy.
“You’re up late—kids asleep?” she whispered.
“Yeah. Glad you called. Saved your number. So, how’s life?”
“Not much to tell. Single, new flat, proud of myself.”
“Why?”
“Spent years dreaming of moving out of that old council flat. After Mum died, I sold it and bought this. No ghosts of the past.”
“You were always driven,” Lucy said. “But I meant—why single?”
They talked until a baby’s cry crackled through the line.
“Sophie’s up. Chat soon,” Lucy said, hanging up.
Emma pictured the soft glow of a nightlight, Lucy bending over the cot, soothing her daughter. In another room, her husband—the family’s rock—watched telly. A pang of envy hit.
But then… *She went shopping in a storm with two kids. Doesn’t sound like Mr Reliable’s around much,* her inner voice mused. *Or maybe he’s working hard for them. Family’s still family. Hardship passes.*
She sighed and brushed her teeth.
Over the next fortnight, Emma resisted calling. Lucy had a family; she didn’t want to intrude. But Lucy rang, inviting her to Liam’s birthday.
“Need help setting up?” Emma offered.
“Thanks, but I’ve got my husband and Liam.” Lucy’s cheerful tone suggested all was well.
Emma arrived dressed up, bearing a Lego set and sweets.
Liam answered the door.
“Hi. You’re not supposed to open it without asking who’s there,” she teased.
He bolted inside.
“Who is it?” Lucy called.
“Emma!”
The living room held only Liam, glued to cartoons. Emma handed him the gift.
Lucy sat at the kitchen table, eyes red. No cake, no guests.
“What’s wrong? Where’s the party?”
“Thanks,” Lucy muttered.
“Where’s your husband?”
“Off with some floozy,” Lucy spat.
“You argued.”
“He came home late, drunk. Said he’s here to relax, not work. As if I do nothing all day. Try looking after two kids, huh?”
Emma softened. “Men see things differently.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have snapped. But after all the effort—Liam waiting for his dad…”
Emma rallied her. “Come on, let’s celebrate.”
They set the table, fed Liam, and Lucy put the kids down. Over wine, Lucy vented.
“I’m exhausted. Laundry, cooking, nursery runs—it never ends. And Rob’s useless. Thinks kids are my job. Like his only duty is a paycheck.”
“And that’s why I’m single,” Emma joked.
“Don’t say that! Kids are joy. I can’t imagine life without them. Ignore me—I’m just upset.”
“Funny, since you swore you’d never have any.”
“Did I?” Lucy blinked. “Well, I was young.”
The door banged open. Lucy smoothed her hair, wiping away tears.
“Guests? Kids asleep?” Rob peeked in, eyeing Emma. “Got anything stronger than tea?”
“Sit. Where were you?” Lucy began.
“You kicked me out,” Rob said, smirking at Emma.
They drank, chatting awkwardly. Rob’s lingering stares made Emma uneasy.
“I should go. Work tomorrow,” she said.
“Rob will drive you,” Lucy said breezily.
“Love, I’ve had a drink.”
“Then walk her.”
“I’m fine—”
“He needs fresh air,” Lucy insisted.
Outside, Rob grilled Emma about her job, her hobbies. She chided him.
“Lucy’s exhausted. Help her more.”
“All she talks about is kids. Work’s full of glam women—heels, perfume. Home’s just… nappies.”
“Kids grow up. She’ll have time for herself again.”
“I work my arse off to provide,” Rob shot back.
At her door, Emma thanked him. “Go apologise.”
“Invite meRob smirked and stepped closer, but Emma swiftly unlocked her door, slipped inside, and locked it behind her, leaving him standing in the cold—proving that sometimes, the strongest bonds aren’t the ones we cling to, but the ones we choose to walk away from.
