April 12
Im writing this because the day feels too heavy to keep inside. David wrapped his arms around my shoulders this morning, his voice soft as he tried to reassure me. Dont worry, love, he whispered, we still have plenty of time ahead. Well become parents one day, and the baby will look just like us. I promise.
I nodded, burying my face in his shirt, desperate to cling to those words. Yet a cold, heavy knot had already settled in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Three years of marriagethree years of hope, of endless appointments, blood tests, scansnone of it yielding the result we both wanted.
I know, I whispered back, though deep down I wasnt sure I believed it myself.
David kissed the top of my head; the warmth of his smile briefly lifted me. But now it feels as if hes merely wearing a mask, hiding his own disappointment and anger.
At first David kept his promises. He was there, supportive, caring. He brought flowers for no reason, cooked a proper breakfast on Sundays, held me close at night when I broke down after yet another negative result. He was kind, patient, loving.
Then things began to shift, almost imperceptibly. He started staying later at the office, then had more frequent business trips. The morning hugs faded. He withdrew whenever I tried to snuggle on the sofa. Our conversations grew short, formalsinglesentence replies and a distant stare replacing the lively exchange we once had.
I told myself it was temporary, that the endless tension and waiting would pass, that everything would fall back into place if I just waited a little longer.
And so a year and a half slipped by.
One evening, after Id cleared the dishes, David said, Olivia, we need to talk. His tone was too serious, too official. I turned slowly, plate still in my hand, and heard his words:
Im filing for divorce.
Four stark words, and my world shattered. The plate slipped, smashing against the tiled floor. I stared at him, eyes wide, trying to process what I had just heard.
What? I managed.
Im sorry, he said, looking away. I cant do this any longer. Im tired of waiting, tired of hoping. This isnt the life I wanted. I want children, a real family. But were no longer a couple; were just two people under the same roof pretending everythings fine.
I sank onto a chair, legs trembling, a hollow void filling my mind.
I dont blame you, he continued, but I cant keep pretending Im happy. Im sorry. He turned and left the kitchen. I heard him gathering his things in the bedroom, the soft click of the lock, and then silence.
Time blurred into one grey smear. I kept going to work, cooking my own meals, tidying the flatdoing the same chores Id always doneyet inside there was only a yawning emptiness. Loneliness wrapped around me like a chilling fog I couldnt shake.
I blamed myself for everything: for not keeping the marriage together, for not giving David what he wanted.
The only bright spot in that darkness was my old university friend, Emily. Wed studied together, shared secrets, dreamed about the future. She was there the night David left, bearing scones and tea, sitting beside me, hugging me, listening without offering advice or judgments. Simply being there was enough.
Everything will be alright, Olivia, Emily said, rubbing my back. Youre strong, youll get through this. I nodded, though I didnt truly believe her, but her presence warmed me, reminded me I wasnt completely alone.
We met weekly, usually at a café or at someones flat. Emily talked about work, her husband, her plans; I tried to be happy for her, even as my heart ached. She seemed to have everything a loving husband, stabilityeverything I had lost.
Gradually, though, I noticed changes. Emily answered my messages less often, found excuses to cancel at the last minute. Her smile became strained, her eyes darted away. She rushed away, citing urgent matters.
It wasnt just Emily. Our whole friend circle drifted apart. The group chat fell silent; nobody initiated a message to me. Invitations stopped arriving. It felt as if Id become invisible, collectively ignored.
I told myself they were simply busy, that everyone has their own life, but a chill of anxiety settled in my chest and wouldnt leave.
Then Emilys birthday arrived. We had always celebrated it together since universitycake, champagne, presents, laughter until dawn. This year, however, there was no call, no message, no invitation. I waited all day, hoping shed have forgotten to tell me, but my phone stayed mute.
In the evening I could no longer hold back. I bought a scarf shed mentioned wanting, wrapped it nicely, and drove to her flat just to say happy birthday, just to show I still cared.
From the hallway I heard muffled music and voicesher party was in full swing. I paused, gathering courage, then knocked. The sounds didnt stop. After a minute the door swung open.
Emily stood there in a gorgeous dress, a glass in hand, her smile freezing the moment she saw me. She looked shocked, caught off guard.
Olivia, she breathed, what are you doing here?
I came to wish you a happy birthday, I said, thrusting the wrapped gift forward, trying to smile despite the knot in my throat. Happy birthday.
She didnt take the present. She stepped aside, blocking the doorway, her gaze fixed on me as if I were an unwelcome intruder.
Why didnt you invite me? I blurted, the words spilling out. We always celebrated together. What happened, Emily? Why have you all been ignoring me?
Emily looked away, ran a hand through her hair. Laughter drifted from inside, and my eyes inadvertently snapped toward the living room.
There, at the centre of the room, David stood with a lighthaired woman, laughing, his arm around her waist. He leaned in and kissed hera long, tender kiss.
I couldnt breathe. The world swam. David was at Emilys birthday, with someone else, and I hadnt even been invited.
Emily grabbed my hand, pulled me toward the stairs, closing the door behind us.
Olivia, listen she began, then sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. David and I became friends during our marriage. He was my best friends husband, we talked a lot, and after the divorce I didnt want to cut ties completely. Hes a good bloke, interesting to be with.
So you chose his side, I finished, my voice cold. After all those years, Emily, how could you?
It isnt that simple, she replied, crossing her arms. Hes he doesnt dwell on problems, he doesnt complain. Honestly, no one wanted to hear the endless grief any more. We were all exhausted by the heaviness. We thought it would be easier for everyone if we just moved on.
Emilys tone was flat, as if she were describing the weather.
And now, she added hurriedly, David is happy again. Hes in a new relationship, theyre planning a wedding, the woman is expecting. Everything is perfect for him. If wed all been there together, it would have been awkward. We just wanted to avoid drama.
I stared at her, barely recognizing the girl Id known for years. Her words felt like a distant report.
I understand, I murmured, handing her the scarf. Happy birthday.
She took the box without looking at me.
For years of friendship you could have said this to my face, I said, meeting her eyes. Not only when the truth finally surfaces. I thought we were honest with each other, but apparently I was wrong.
Emily remained silent, staring at the floor, clutching the gift.
Enjoy your night, I added, turning toward the stairs. All the best to you both.
My footsteps echoed down the stairwell, each step heavy. My legs shook, my breath came in ragged bursts. I clutched the railing, desperate just to reach the street.
Cold night air hit my lungs as I stepped out of the building. Tears I had held back for months erupted, hot and fierce, streaming down my cheeks. I walked down the deserted lane, not caring where I was going, just letting the pain pour outpain, betrayal, loneliness.
In less than a year Id lost my husband and, it seemed, all the friends Id once counted on. The old saying about true friends being revealed in hardship resurfaced in my mind; I now realised I had none left. Perhaps I never truly had any.
I wiped my eyes and trudged home, to a place where no one waited for me. Yet somewhere deep inside a faint thought lingered: this isnt forever, and maybe, just maybe, whats meant to happen will happen for a reason.
