“How could you, behind my back?”
“Hello, Marianne. How long has it been? Fifteen years? Longer?”
“Probably longer. But you haven’t changed a bit.”
“You have. You’re even more beautiful.”
Valerie searched the face of her once-best friend, struggling to believe they’d actually reunited—not just by chance, but face-to-face in a children’s dance studio, where both had brought their daughters for a free trial lesson.
“Thanks, Val,” Marianne answered with a faint smile.
She wanted to return the compliment, but the words wouldn’t come. Everything had been said—or left unsaid—fifteen years ago, that last bitter conversation she still shuddered to remember.
“Which one’s yours?” Valerie asked. “Boy or girl?”
“A daughter—Veronica. She’s ten. Yours?”
“A girl too, just turned nine. Did you have her with Ethan? Did you two ever marry?”
Marianne stared, bewildered. Did Valerie still believe she’d stolen her first love—even married him? Years had passed, yet here was Val, unchanged in her resentment.
“Let’s go downstairs for coffee. We can talk properly.”
Valerie hesitated, discomfort flickering across her face. Sitting with a woman she’d once called a rival hardly seemed appealing. But after a pause, she nodded. So much time had passed. What use was clinging to old grudges?
“Alright.”
They descended in silence, stealing glances, each wondering about the other’s life, pretending their shared past hadn’t happened. They spoke of nothing and everything. Valerie had returned to their hometown two years ago—her mother had fallen ill, needing care, and her husband had agreed to move.
“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted, “but Ian’s wonderful. Kind, patient. I’m so lucky to have him.”
Marianne smiled. So Valerie had found happiness. Maybe the old bitterness was gone?
But then—
“What about you? Did you marry Ethan? Raise his child? Are you happy?”
Marianne flinched. Why did life have to twist like this? Two girls, friends since the sandbox, bonded through school, university—then torn apart by something so stupid. She’d been sure Valerie had understood the truth eventually. But no.
“Val, do you honestly still think something happened between me and Ethan? I tried to explain back then—I thought you knew it was lies!”
Valerie pressed her lips together—that childish habit of hers, the same one she’d had when sulking as a girl.
“I never thought about you at all,” she lied. “I’ve had my own life.”
“You spent years believing I married him, yet now you claim you never spared us a thought?”
Valerie smirked bitterly, avoiding her gaze. Marianne studied her profile, searching for forgiveness, but found none.
“Look.” Marianne pulled out her phone, flipping to a photo. “This is my husband, Victor. The same awkward Vincent Sawyer you mocked for being dull.”
Valerie’s eyes widened as she scrolled—husband, children, a life so different from the one she’d imagined.
“You really married him?” she whispered. “I thought—”
“A daughter and a son. Andrew’s nearly thirteen, Veronica’s ten. I’m happy, Val. There was never anything between me and Ethan. He made it up to push you away.”
Valerie’s lips thinned again. Marianne’s patience frayed. How long must they dig up the past? Their friendship could have survived—if not for Ethan’s meddling.
They’d met at five, neighbours in the same building, squabbling over a doll until Marianne’s mother intervened. Valerie had wept, ashamed—then Marianne handed over her prized Barbie with a smile.
“Here. You play.”
From then, they were inseparable—school, university, until Ethan arrived. Handsome, charming, and Valerie fell hard.
“Mar, I’m in love!” she’d gushed.
Marianne had been thrilled—until Valerie’s jealousy festered, convinced Ethan preferred her best friend. The truth? He’d tried to seduce Marianne at a New Year’s party.
“You’re with Valerie. What’s this about?”
“We slept together a few times—does that mean anything?”
Disgusted, she’d thrown him out. The next day, Valerie arrived in tears.
“How could you? You knew I loved him!”
“What?”
“Ethan told me everything! How you offered yourself, ruined us!”
“That’s not—”
The slap burned Marianne’s cheek.
“I’m pregnant, and he left—because of you!”
Marianne had tried to explain, but Valerie vanished, moving away without another word.
Now, fifteen years later, they stood outside the dance studio, their daughters laughing inside.
“You never let me explain,” Marianne said softly.
Valerie checked her watch. “Class is ending. Let’s get the girls.”
They waited, side by side.
“Are you still angry?” Valerie asked suddenly. “About the slap?”
Marianne shook her head. “No. We were young. I just wish we’d talked sooner.”
Valerie turned, a faint smile tugging her lips.
“You know what I just realised?”
“What?”
“If not for Ethan, I’d never have met Ian. Or had my daughter. Or this life.”
Marianne smiled back as Veronica sprinted toward her. Valerie’s girl followed—a mirror image of her mother.
“What about taking the girls to Hyde Park this weekend?” Valerie asked.
Marianne agreed, surprised but willing.
Their friendship would never be the same. But the weight of fifteen years’ silence? That, at least, was gone. And that was something.
