**A Twist of Fate**
Emily had never lived alone. First, she lived with her parents, then she married, and two years later, she and her husband had a daughter, Sophie.
Even when her husband left, she and Sophie stayed together for a while. But now, she was completely alone. She wandered their empty flat in London, unsure what to do, why she should even keep living. Her life had crumbled, leaving only lonely old age ahead.
She couldn’t understand—what had gone wrong? She and James had never fought seriously, just little squabbles. She never nagged him, let him see his mates, kept the flat spotless. There was always soup in the fridge and dinner ready on the stove.
Emily had stayed slender even after childbirth—she’d never been curvy. Pregnancy had given her fuller breasts, much to James’s delight, but they shrank back afterward. Was that really grounds for divorce? Everyone said she and James were perfect together.
Of course, she wasn’t blind. She noticed he’d changed lately. He wasn’t working late, but suddenly cared about his appearance—choosing ties carefully, getting a trendy haircut.
“Why don’t you wear dresses?” he asked one day.
“I do, on special occasions,” Emily replied, surprised. He’d never cared before.
“You look pale today. Feeling unwell?”
“That’s just my complexion. What’s with the nitpicking?” she snapped.
Once, she wore makeup to work—blush, lipstick—thinking she looked nice.
“Wash it off. It doesn’t suit you,” James said when he saw her that evening.
“My coworkers loved it,” she mumbled but obeyed.
The next day, a colleague said, “I thought you’d start dressing up every day!”
“James didn’t like it.”
“Probably because if you looked that good all the time, he’d be jealous,” the woman teased. Emily didn’t argue.
One evening, her old friend Rebecca invited her for coffee. Rebecca was glamorous, but they’d been close since school.
“How do you stay so slim without dieting? I have to watch everything or I’ll balloon,” Rebecca sighed.
“Don’t pretend. Men still turn their heads for you,” Emily laughed.
“They would for you too if you gave them a chance. You’ve got great legs—shame to hide them in trousers. A pencil skirt would suit you. And you should cut and dye your hair—maybe auburn? You look like a pensioner.”
Emily sensed this wasn’t just casual criticism.
“Bec, what’s really going on? You’ve never—”
“Never mind what I’ve said before,” Rebecca cut in. “Don’t look at me like that.” She hesitated. “Sorry. I saw James with some young thing. Couldn’t have been more than twenty. The way he looked at her…”
Emily shut her eyes. “Stop.”
“Em, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you’ve been stuck in the same rut for years. Men have eyes—your dreariness is depressing.”
“That’s not true!” Emily stormed out.
At home, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, numb.
“Mum, Dad’s here,” Sophie called, tapping the door.
Emily splashed her face and stepped out. Sophie vanished into her room, while James sat at the kitchen table, hands folded like a schoolboy.
“Sorry, didn’t make dinner. Was out with Bec,” she said.
“I’m not hungry. So you know,” he said flatly.
“Know what?” But she already did. *Rebecca hadn’t lied.*
“I love someone else. I tried to fight it, but… She’s half my age, but I can’t live without her. I’m sorry. I’ll pack and go.”
Emily didn’t stop him. Then Sophie betrayed her too. She visited James often, and Emily didn’t object—until Sophie started bringing gifts home. His new girlfriend, Diana, gave her crop tops, glittery dresses, makeup, half-used perfumes.
“Look what Diana gave me! She’s so cool! Suits me, right?” Sophie beamed.
“You shouldn’t take those,” Emily said stiffly.
“Why not?”
“Because she stole your father!”
“So what? She’s fun, and you’re… boring. No wonder Dad left.” Sophie’s voice wobbled.
It got worse. Sophie picked up slang, dyed her hair green and pink, caked on makeup. Teachers complained she talked back, skipped school.
Reasoning with her was like stopping a train mid-track. Every reprimand was met with, “Diana says…”
The name made Emily sick. She tried banning visits, but Sophie threatened to move in with James.
“Am I that bad? Is Diana better? Fine, go. Just wait—once she has a baby, you’ll be tossed out.”
“Wait, seriously? I can live with Dad?” Sophie asked coolly.
“Yes. But he calls me first.”
James rang the next day.
“Sophie says you want her to live with us.”
“*She* forced it. I can’t handle her—rude, skipping school, dressing like… And Diana’s encouraging it!”
“They get on well. You’re just bitter… She can stay with us.” He hung up.
And Sophie left. Emily spiraled—hardly eating, withering away. Sophie’s calls only twisted the knife. “Diana took me to a concert…” The hatred gnawed at her.
Sophie flunked her A-levels, killing any uni hopes. Not that she cared.
Then James called—Sophie had moved in with some bloke in a rented flat.
Emily couldn’t breathe.
“And you *let* her?”
“She’s an adult—your doing. Diana’s pregnant; I’ve got enough on my plate.”
“Now your own daughter’s disposable? This is *your* fault! Diana brainwashed her, then tossed her aside—”
Rebecca’s call was a lifeline.
“What’re you up to?”
“Planning my funeral. James left. Sophie betrayed me. Everyone’s gone. I don’t want to live.”
Rebecca arrived with whisky. Emily was drunk after one glass, sobbing into her sleeve. Rebecca interjected: “Prat.” “Twit.” “Nightmare…” Dawn peeked in when she stood.
“Enough moping. First, a makeover—hair, nails, clothes. Then we’ll find you a decent man.”
“Where?” Emily slurred.
“You’ll see.”
Post-makeover, Emily barely recognized herself—ten years younger. Rebecca dragged her to galleries, exhibits. Art baffled her, but she loved it. She kept calling Sophie, but the phone was always off.
Then Sophie rang.
“Mum, can we stay with you? Just till we find a new flat?”
Emily rejoiced. No questions. “Of course!”
She cleaned, changed Sophie’s sheets, cooked a feast. She’d even tolerate Sophie’s boyfriend, if it meant having her back.
When the bell rang, Emily smiled—until she saw Sophie on the doorstep, hollow-eyed, holding a bundle. Behind her loomed a lanky bloke with shoulder-length hair.
Her smile died. Sophie wordlessly handed over the baby, kicked off her trainers, and disappeared into her room. Emily stared at the man.
“’Ello,” he mumbled.
“Who?”
“Boy,” he said, misreading her. “Rory. Rory.”
His name was Ken. He wolfed down the food like he’d starved for weeks. Between bites, he explained: the landlord kicked them out over the baby, he’d lost his job…
Baby Rory’s wail saved Emily from screaming. She rushed to him. Sophie didn’t stir.
Now, she missed solitude. She raced from work to shops, then the stove. Sophie hovered, eager to dump Rory on her.
One night, she came home to a rowdy party. Music shook the flat, drowning Rory’s cries. It took forever to kick them out. She cleaned till midnight.
“Soph, this can’t go on. You’ve a baby, and you’re hosting drunks? Ken’s jobless—you’ve lived off me a month. The neighbors complain—”
“Kicking us out? Dad owns half this flat. It’s mine too. We’ll do what we want.”
Emily was speechless. Next day, she called Rebecca in tears.
“I’ve an idea,” Rebecca said over coffee.
“What?”
“Remember that old film where the lead helps his teacher deal with awful flatmates? Hire actors—fake tenants to scare Ken off. Make Sophie beg you to return.”
Emily hesitated. “No. Rory—”
“He’ll be fine. They’ll be actors, not real drunks.”
Emily agreed. That night, she packed.
“You’re leaving?” Sophie asked.
“Yes. A spa break. Maybe three weeks.”
“Have fun.”
Emily paused at the door. “Oh—my colleague’s relatives will stay in my roomThe plan worked—within weeks, Sophie, humbled and regretful, pleaded for Emily to return, and as the new chapter of their lives unfolded, Emily finally realized that strength wasn’t about holding on, but knowing when to let go.
