Between Two Fires
Id always believed the best way to endure betrayal was to drown it in tearsright then and there, so that later, alone, thered be nothing left to cry over. Even better was to weep on the shoulder of someone who truly understood.
For nearly an hour, that shoulder had belonged to Thomas. My husbandsnow ex-husbandsbest friend.
“Emily, please dont cry,” Thomas murmured, his voice quiet and weary. His hand moved in slow circles over my back, and the tenderness only made me sob harder.
“Why did he do this to me?” I choked out, swiping my palm across my wet cheeks. “What did I do wrong? Am I not pretty enough? Be honest!”
“Youre the loveliest woman in the world. Daniels just a fool.”
He said it so earnestly that, for a moment, I believed himeven stopped crying. Then I showed him the screenshots. The ones Id found on Daniels phone. A woman named Charlotte had written, “When are you going to dump that bore?” And the man whod sworn eternal love to me at the altar had replied, “Shed fall apart without me. I pity her.”
Pity. That single word erased everythingour past, every whispered “I love you,” every plan wed made. Our marriage had been built on pity.
I buried my face in my hands. How humiliating.
Thomas stayed silent. Unlike Daniel, whod fill any quiet with meaningless chatter, he knew when to hold his tongue. He was the only person in this city I could call in such a state. I knew he wouldnt pity me. Wouldnt coddle me. Wouldnt lecture me. That was exactly what I needed.
Hed arrived within twenty minutes. Listened without interruption to my hysterics, wordlessly handed me a glass of water, and let me soak his jacket with my tears. Then he simply sat beside me, his silence stronger than any words.
“He pities me, can you believe it?” I hiccupped for the hundredth time.
Again, Thomas said nothing. Just clenched his fists and stared out the window. And in that restraint, I felt more understanding than a thousand pretty speeches could offer.
***
Id met Daniel in my hometown of York, at an exhibition of local artists. Id ducked in to escape the rain and saw himarguing fiercely with a friend in front of a grim, sprawling abstract painting.
“This isnt art, its a cry for attention!” hed fumed. “Theres no emotion, no thoughtjust shock value!”
Some impulse made me interject: “But isnt shock an emotion too? Art doesnt have to be beautiful. It has to be honest.”
Daniel turned, and his grey eyessharp with irritation moments beforesoftened with interest. “So you believe art should be truth, no matter how bitter?”
We talked for hours. He was a whirlwind of ideas, jokes, and an insatiable zest for life. It was that passion that won me over. Hed argue until hoarse about 1970s cinema, then drag me to the rooftop of an old building to watch raindrops fracture the light in puddles below. With him, boredom was impossible. He made me feel alive, fascinating, adored. He saw not me, but some dazzling version of meand Id strained to become her.
When, after two months of reckless romance, he asked me to move to Leeds and marry him, I said yes without hesitation. Foolishly, Id followed him like a moth to flame, blinded by his brilliance.
I remember when he introduced me to his best friend.
“Meet Thomasmy brother, my guardian angel. And this is Emily, the love of my life!” Daniel beamed like a boy.
Thomas shook my hand, his gaze awkward? Wary? I hadnt understood then. Hed seemed quiet, seriousnothing like my boisterous Daniel. But later, we found common ground: we both adored Terry Pratchetts worlds and agreed the best coffee came from hidden little shops, not chains.
In Leeds, I realized Thomas was a quiet harbor. Daniel was a stormexhilarating, but exhausting. Thomas knew how to listen. For hours, hed let me ramble about books or fret over the move, never interrupting, never showing off. Just nodding, sometimes asking a question so perceptive it proved he truly heard me.
With him, I felt safe. Something Id never felt with my husband, whoas time provedloved only himself.
***
I cant say I hadnt suspected the infidelity before that text. Id ignored the signs: sudden “work meetings,” his phone always face-down, missing hours, unfamiliar perfume. It was obvious. But Daniel twisted every lie so skillfully that Id believed him. Id wanted to. Because he loved me, didnt he? The man whod enchanted me at that gallery couldnt be a liar.
Increasingly, I found myself more comfortable with Thomas. He didnt shower me with compliments, but he listenedreally listenedas if my words mattered. Once, at a picnic, I mentioned wanting to paint a series based on Yorkshire folklore. Daniel yawned: “Sounds like a dull documentary.”
Thomas leaned forward. “Which legend would you start with?”
We talked for half an hour while Daniel played games on his phone. A traitorous thought surfaced: *This is who Id want to share my days with.*
Six months later, I glimpsed flirty messages from another woman. Daniel laughed it off: an old school friend, harmless banter. “He couldnt lie so convincingly,” Id told myself, ignoring the truth again.
Then came the night I found the texts with Charlotte. The pain, the shamebut it wasnt the cheating that wounded most. Hed stayed with me out of pity!
Thomas, of course, had known about Daniels exploits all along. Theyd been friends since childhood. For Daniel, loveor rather, being lovedwas as natural as breathing. Thomas, reserved in affection, didnt judge until Daniel married me.
I hadnt known Thomas had confronted himthat theyd even fought over me. Daniel never mentioned it, only sneered once, “Thomas fancies you, poor sod.” Id dismissed it. *No, hes just a friend. Too decent for that.*
Now I sat on Thomass sofa, my life in ruins, and he was the only one left.
“Daniel wont change,” Thomas said quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. His voice was firm. “Hes not cruel. Just a child who wants every toy but cherishes none.”
“But Im not a toy.”
“Of course not. Youre an entire universe,” he stumbled, ducking his head.
The decision came easily.
“I should go home. To York.”
Thomas sighed. Something flickered in his eyespain? Hesitation?
“Yes. Its for the best,” he finally said. “Time to heal.”
“Will you drive me?”
He couldve refusedwork, obligations. But he simply nodded. “Pack your things. Ill help.”
***
Six months in York passed like a long, foggy day. Daniel agreed to the divorce instantly, almost relieved. I tried to mend, to thaw my frozen heart. My parents pitied me, which only ached more.
Thomas called daily. First just checking in. Then our talks grew long and deep again, like before. We spoke of everythingexcept one man. One day, I realized I awaited his voice more than Id ever awaited Daniels.
Then, peering out the window, I saw his car. He hadnt warned me.
My heart lurched. I rushed outside. “Thomas? Whats wrong?”
He stepped out, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Nothings wrong. Everythings finally right.”
He moved closer, holding my gaze.
“Emily, Im no poet. Cant paint pretty pictures with words or put on a show. But Ive loved you all this time. Silently. Because you were my best friends wife, and to speak wouldve been a betrayal. But now Now Im free to say it. I ask for nothing. Just needed you to know.”
He looked so vulnerable. As lost as Id been that night hed comforted me. And in his eyes, I saw what Id craved for yearsnot pity, but respect. And love, real and vast.
Memories flashed: our conversations, his quiet support, the way he valued my thoughts. Hed seen not “Daniels wife,” but meflawed, alive Emily.
I looked at this steady, silent man whod always been there and knew my heart had chosen long ago.
“Thomas, lets try?”
Hope lit his face. “You mean it? Youll marry me?”
Time stilled. The pain faded, leaving only the sense of a long road that had led me hereto the man who loved not for show, but for truth. Silently. Faithfully.
“Yes,” I breathed, tears streamingbut these were different. “Yes, Thomas. Of course, yes!”
Wordlessly, he pulled a small box from his pocket. Inside lay a worn key.
“To my flat. *Our* flat, if youll have it. I I didnt plan this. Just carried it for luck.”
He held me, and his embrace was the surest thing in the world.
