— Why on earth did you tell me all this? — Irene asked quietly, her voice unfamiliar, strained.
— I don’t even know myself, — Jane replied just as hollowly.
She seemed about to say more but stopped cold under Irene’s gaze—sharp, guarded, piercing. The kind of look you give someone you no longer trust.
That Friday, like every week after work, Irene and Jane had gone to their usual café. It was a ritual years in the making: a glass of wine, warm chatter, laughter, the occasional tear. Just two women, worn out by life, families, the daily grind. Here, at their usual table by the window, they could be themselves.
But that evening, everything went wrong.
Irene suddenly shot up, lit with excitement, tossing out a hasty, “Sorry, just a sec!” before dashing outside. Jane, brow arched in surprise, watched her go.
Through the glass, she saw Irene hugging another woman—slender, polished, with a gentle smile. Jane froze.
A second passed. Then another. The woman’s face flickered in her memory, and icy dread clawed at Jane’s chest.
She knew her.
When Irene returned, everything had shifted. Jane forced a stiff smile.
— Who was that?
— Oh, that’s Veronica. My cousin. Why?
— Just… thought I recognised her.
— You know each other? Want me to introduce you properly? She’s lovely!
— No! — Jane burst out, too loud, too sharp. Heads turned. — Sorry… just don’t bother.
Irene frowned.
— What’s going on?
Jane dropped her gaze, fingers twisting under the table.
— Irene… Veronica was married. His name was David, wasn’t it?
— Yeah. And?
— He was with me. I’m the one who wrecked their marriage.
Everything Irene knew about Veronica’s divorce had come from her cousin’s lips. The affair. The betrayal. The quiet, crushing divorce. Pain swallowed whole, never spoken of.
And now—this confession. From Jane. Her friend. The woman she’d trusted.
Jane spoke like she was untying a knot that had choked her for years.
— Veronica and I grew up together. Same streets, same school, same uni. Then she met David. At first, I was happy for her. But then… I lost my head. His smile, his voice… he held me once at their wedding, just dancing. And my heart dropped. I don’t know how it happened. I just knew—I wanted him. Being Veronica’s friend wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted to be her rival.
First it was glances. Then touches. Late-night walks home. Then… one night, when Veronica was in hospital, I went over to help. I left as his mistress.
He came to me. I thought—this is a new life. Turned out, it was hell.
David compared. Criticised. Said how perfect Veronica was, how I fell short. On their anniversary, he’d drink and sob. Always sob.
I lived a lie. Until I realised—he never loved me. I was just a place to hide. Never to stay.
Irene listened, lips pressed tight, hands shaking. Years of friendship with Jane. Late-night talks, advice, comfort. All with the woman who’d shattered her family. Gutted her cousin’s soul.
— Did you know she was my cousin? — Irene asked, voice low.
Jane shook her head.
— No. Not until tonight. And listen… whatever you say now, I’ll take it. I deserve it. I knew that years ago.
Irene stood.
— Then we’re done. Goodbye, Jane. Good luck.
Jane went home. Clothes strewn, wine on the table, dirty plates. David had been there. And not alone.
In the bedroom—a girl. Young, sleeping.
Jane turned on her heel and walked silently to the kitchen. David appeared soon after, swaying in her dressing gown, drunk.
— Go on. Scream, cry, beg. Won’t change a thing. I’m leaving. For good.
— Pack your things. And get out.
He hadn’t expected that. He’d waited for a scene. For tears. For her to break.
But she didn’t cry. Those tears had dried long ago. Now there was just a hollow ache.
Irene told Veronica everything. Her cousin listened silently. At the end, she only said:
— Jane died to me years ago. So did David. I forgave them. But I’ll never let them back in. Forgiveness is easy. Trust? Impossible.
