**Everyone Stumbles, Not Everyone Gets Back Up**
“Charlotte, where on earth will you find a man like that? You can always get divorced later. A married woman always has an edge. All the responsibility falls on the husband, while the other man has free reinno obligations, just a silly little mistress to enjoy. But if you end up alone, no one will look twice at you. Especially with Oliver to raise. He needs his real father, not some stranger. Theres no logic in what youre doing,” I said, genuinely trying to talk sense into my childhood friend.
But I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Charlotte had already made up her mind.
Life often forces us to choose. There are always two pathsthe right one and any other. But who knows which doors to open and which to close? Sometimes, people refuse to listen to reason, no matter how sound the advice. We learn from our own mistakes. The wisdom of generations means nothing. Then we weep, regret, and wallow in misery.
I have two friends: Charlotte and Emily. Weve known each other since we were kidsCharlotte from the neighbourhood, Emily from school. We know everything about each other, as only close friends can.
The three of us couldnt be more different, so I keep my friendships with them separate. Once, I tried to bring them together, but alas… My friends are like oil and water.
“How can you even talk to that overdressed doll? What do you possibly have in common? All she cares about is clothes and married men,” Charlotte muttered after meeting Emily.
“Your friends neckline plunges to her navel. A proper tart, if you ask me. Her eyes are always hunting for a man with a fat wallet. That smile of hers is as fake as her plastic surgery,” Charlotte sniffed, giving Emily a thorough once-over.
Their first meeting was their last. The girls night out ended in disaster. I didnt bother trying again.
Over the years, weve had our share of rows, misunderstandings, reconciliations, months of sulking silenceyou name it.
Now were all forty. Charlotte has a son; Emily has a daughter.
Charlotte divorced her husband, James, years ago. It had all started so romantically.
Theyd met in a café. At the time, James was married with a daughter. Charlotte, undeniably striking and unconventional, always turned heads. Shed graduated from art school, made her own clothesoften daringly revealingand dreamed of her own business, a solid marriage, a loving husband.
And shed had all of it. Then, like snow in the sun, it vanished. Worse, Charlotte had a hand in its destruction. She was the type to dash through a yellow light rather than wait for green.
James, smitten, divorced his wife in no time. They had a lavish wedding. Then came the mundane reality of married life. James worshipped Charlotte. Eighteen years her senior, he treated her like a beloved daughter, calling her “Mouse.” *Mouse, want a trip to Paris? Done. A new car? No problem. The latest sewing machine? Here you go. Lip fillers? My treat!*
Every whim was granted as if by magic. Of course, James wasnt a saint (saints dont walk the earth). He had his complaintswhy was dinner never ready, the flat a mess, his shirts unironed? Charlotte would silence him with a passionate kiss, and off hed go, frying eggs, vacuuming, heating the iron.
Charlotte was Jamess third wife, so he was terrified of losing her, forgiving every domestic shortcoming.
Then Oliver was born. James adored his son; Charlotte? Not so much. She slipped away more often, leaving the boy with James or his mother. With her looks, temptation was never far. As her closest friend, I knew about all her flings. James suspected but stayed silent. *Shes so much youngermaybe she just needs more love,* the wronged husband reasoned.
After eight years, the marriage hit a rough patchno surprise there. But not every couple navigates it unscathed.
By then, Charlotte had a thriving business. She was financially secure. So she decided she didnt need James anymore. She left, taking Oliver, renting a flat, starting fresh.
“I despise James. Hes useless in bed. I hope some woman snaps him up so hell leave us alone,” she told me.
Well, as they say, a woman bent on her way will have it, come what may.
Oliver became the battleground. He loved both parents equally, but Charlotte was always working, so life with Jamesand his doting motherwas calmer. Soon, Oliver moved in with his dad.
Charlotte was torn between her son and her relentless career, but she wouldnt change a thing. James called endlessly, begging her to return, even using Oliver as leverage. Charlotte stood firm.
“Bridges burned. Full stop.”
Young, beautiful, and (relatively) free, Charlotte soon found a new mana workplace fling. Never mind that he was married with two kids.
“His wife shouldve kept a closer eye on him. Ill borrow him and give him back. No harm done.”
They jetted off to Germany, Greeceall very whirlwind and romantic.
True to her word, she “borrowed” him for six months before returning him to his family. James still called, pleading. Annoyed, Charlotte met Dennisher age, unmarried. Love blossomed. He moved in.
At first, fine. Then came the truth: Dennis liked a drink. And work? Not so much.
“Charlie, how about I help with your business?”
The scales fell from her eyes.
“Victoria, I think Ive adopted a drunk gold-digger.”
“Kick him out, Charlotte! Hes latched onto you like a leech,” I urged.
Then an old classmate called.
“Charlie, hope you dont mindJames and I are getting married. Ive never been happier!”
“Hope you walk the same path forever!” Charlotte replied coolly.
Now shes alone. Olivers nineteen. He ignores her calls. Once, he answered:
“Dads new wife raised me. Focus on your business, Mum. Dont call.”
Meanwhile, Emily had the sense to weather her own storm.
Shed met William on holiday. Hed tagged along with a frienddespite having a wife. (Honestly, why do spouses let each other holiday alone in temptations way? Begging for a row or divorce?)
Before long, Emily announced her wedding. The holiday romance became a splashy affaircelebrated in two cities since William was from out of town. She moved in with him. We saw less of each other but spoke often, so I kept up with her marital ups and downs.
William adored Emily. He built them a grand house, kitted it out, bought two cars. Their daughter, Sophie, arrived. William anticipated Emilys every whimdesigner clothes, shoes, cosmetics.
Emily got another degree but didnt need to work. William provided. Her life was self-care and motherhood. She visited her hometown rarely, missing it at first, but soon settled into her new life.
Youd think shed be content. Not quite.
Seven years in, Emily wanted a divorce. *The loves gone. Dead and buried.* Her parents, William, his motherall baffled.
Emily and Sophie began staying with her parents, refusing to return.
“Victoria, you wont believe itWilliam bores me to tears! I feel nothing. And his jealousy! Those roses he showers me with? All thorns and irritation.”
“Right. Spoilt rotten. Roses bother her, of all things. Careful, Emilysomeonell snatch him up before you blink.”
Emily was stunning, polished, knew her worth. A pleasure to beholdmeticulous, drenched in French perfume. Naturally, William was wildly jealous. He begged her back, but Emily was resolute.
The crisis dragged on two years. Then, a thaw. They reunited. William still worked tirelessly to spoil his family.
Maldives, Venice, ItalyEmily, William, and Sophie travelled in style.
When we met, Emily admitted,
“I nearly lost the best thing that ever happened to me…”
