Dont worry, love, I said, pulling Imogen close and resting my arm over her shoulders. Weve still got plenty of time ahead of us. One day well be parents, and the baby will look a lot like you and me. Youll see it, I promise.
Imogen nodded, her face pressed against my shoulder. I wanted to believe her words, to cling to that hope. Yet a cold, heavy weight had settled deep inside me, making each breath feel shallow. Three years of marriage. Three years of trying, hoping, being let down. Three years of endless doctor visits, tests, scansnothing to show for it.
I know, Imogen whispered, though even she seemed unsure.
I kissed the top of her head. A faint warmth flickered in her smile, but I could tell she thought I was just wearing a mask, hiding my own disappointment and anger.
At first I kept my promises. I was there, supportive, caring. I brought flowers for no reason, made a proper breakfast on Sundays, and held her close at night when she wept into her pillow after another negative test. I was kind, patient, loving.
Gradually, though, things shiftedso subtly I didnt notice at first. I began staying late at the office, then the trips for work grew longer and more frequent. I stopped giving her a hug in the mornings. When she tried to curl up beside me on the sofa in the evenings, I pulled away. Our conversations grew brief, formal, reduced to oneword answers and a distant gaze.
Imogen tried to ignore it, convincing herself it was only temporary. She told herself I was just worn out by the constant tension, the waiting, the disappointments. That things would settle if we simply held on a little longer.
And so a year and a half slipped by.
One thing, Imogen, I said one evening as she was washing the dishes after dinner, we need to talk.
She froze, a plate still in her hands, my tone too serious, too businesslike. She turned slowly toward me.
What about? she asked, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears.
Im filing for divorce.
Four words. Four simple words, and Imogens world collapsed. The plate slipped from her grasp, shattering on the kitchen tiles. She didnt move, staring at me with wide eyes, trying to process what shed just heard.
What? she stammered.
Sorry, I said, looking away. I cant go on. Im exhaustedtired of waiting, tired of hoping. This isnt the life I imagined. I want children, a proper family. But were not a couple any more; were just two people under the same roof. Its time we stopped pretending everythings fine.
Imogen sank slowly onto a chair, her legs giving way. A hollow emptiness spread through her mind.
I dont blame you, I continued, but its just how things turned out. I cant keep faking contentment. Im sorry.
I turned and left the kitchen. She heard me gathering my things in the bedroom, then the soft click of the lock, and silence settled over the flat.
Time blurred into one grey blur. Imogen kept going to work, cooked for herself, tidied the flatexactly as before. Inside, however, a yawning void gnawed at her. Loneliness wrapped around her like a cold fog you cant shake off.
She blamed herself for everything: for not holding the marriage together, for not giving me the life I wanted.
The one bright spot in that darkness was Rose, a friend from university. Wed shared exams, secrets, dreams of the future. Rose was there when I left, bringing scones and tea, sitting beside Imogen, offering a hug, listening without judgment. She never lectured, never offered adviceshe simply was present.
Everything will be alright, Imogen, Rose would say, smoothing Imogens back. Youll get through this. Youre strong.
Imogen nodded, though she didnt truly believe it. Still, Roses presence warmed her, a reminder that she wasnt entirely alone.
They met every weekeither at a corner café in Camden or at someones flat. Rose talked about her job, her husband, her plans. Imogen listened, trying to feel joy for her friend while her own heart tightened with pain. Roses life seemed perfect: a loving husband, stability, the family Imogen had lost.
But slowly Imogen noticed odd changes. Rose began answering messages less often, cancelling meetups at the last minute. Her smile looked strained, her eyes darted away. Shed rush out, citing urgent commitments.
It wasnt just Rose. Their whole circle drifted apart. The group chat went quiet; no one messaged Imogen first. Invitations stopped. It felt as if shed become invisible, deliberately ignored by everyone.
Imogen tried to tell herself they were simply busy, that everyone had their own lives. Yet a chill of unease settled in her chest and wouldnt leave.
Then Roses birthday arriveda date Imogen remembered clearly. Theyd always celebrated it together since university: cake, champagne, presents, laughter till dawn. A tradition that had lasted years.
This year, however, there was no invitation, no call, no text. Imogen waited until the last moment, hoping Rose had simply forgotten to let her know. The phone stayed silent all day.
That evening Imogen could no longer hold back. She bought a scarf Rose had mentioned wanting, wrapped it in pretty paper, and drove to Roses flat just to wish her a happy birthday, just to show she still cared.
From the stairwell she heard muffled music and voices. The party was in full swing.
She paused, gathering courage, then knocked. The music continued. After a minute the door swung open.
Rose stood there in a gorgeous dress, a glass of prosecco in hand. Her smile froze the instant she saw Imogen, eyes widening, clearly caught off guard.
Imogen, Rose breathed. What are you doing here?
I came to wish you a happy birthday, Imogen said, handing over the gift, forcing a smile even as her throat tightened. Happy birthday.
Rose didnt take the present. She stood, blocking the doorway, looking at Imogen as if shed just seen something unpleasant she wanted to get away from.
Thanks, but Rose stammered.
Why wasnt I invited? Imogen snapped, unable to hold back any longer. We always celebrated together. Whats changed, Rose? Why am I being ignored?
Rose looked away, ran a hand through her hair. Laughter drifted from behind her. Imogen glimpsed into the flat and froze.
There, at the centre of the room, stood Danielher exhusbandhugging a blonde woman, smiling. He leaned in and kissed her, a lingering, tender kiss.
Imogens breath caught. The world swirled. Daniel was at Roses birthday, with another woman, and she hadnt been invited.
Rose grabbed Imogens hand, pulling her toward the stairwell, closing the door behind them.
Imogen, listen Rose began.
Explain whats happening? Why is he here? Why didnt you invite me? Imogen demanded, voice shaking.
Rose exhaled heavily, leaning against the wall. Her eyes flickered with discomfort and irritation. She glanced aside.
We got to know each other during your marriage, Rose said slowly. You know he was my best friends husband. We talked a lot, and after the divorce we just kept in touch. Hes a great bloke, fun to be around. We didnt want to cut him off completely.
So you chose his side, Imogen finished, feeling a cold sear inside. You chose him, Rose? Weve been friends since university. How could you?
Imogen, it isnt that simple, Rose replied, crossing her arms. Hes easier to be with. He doesnt dwell on the past, doesnt complain. Honestly, nobody wanted to hear your endless grievances any more. It was wearing us all out. We were tired of the heaviness, tired of you.
Imogen stared at Rose, barely recognizing her. The tone was as flat as a weather report.
Besides, Rose added, eager to finish, Daniels doing fine now. Hes in a new relationship, theyre planning a wedding, shes expecting a baby. Everythings perfect for him. If wed all shown up together, it would have been awkward for everyone. We just wanted to avoid drama.
Imogen nodded slowly, mechanically. Inside, something finally snapped. Daniel would soon be a father, with a new life, a new familyexactly the life hed always wanted but never got with her.
And she, Imogen, seemed to matter to no one any longer.
I understand, she said quietly, handing Rose the wrapped scarf. Here, take it. Happy birthday.
Rose took the box without looking at her.
For years of friendship you could have said this to my face, Imogen continued, meeting Roses gaze. Instead you hide behind excuses only when the truth surfaces. I thought we were honest with each other. I guess I was wrong.
Rose stayed silent, eyes fixed on the floor, clutching the gift.
Happy birthday, Imogen finished, turning toward the stairs. I wish you all the happiness. Enjoy your night. From me
Her footsteps echoed down the staircase. She leaned on the banister, legs wobbling, breath ragged, desperate to reach the street.
Cold air hit her lungs as she stepped out onto the deserted pavement. Tears shed been holding back erupted, hot and fierce, streaming down her cheeks. She walked the empty street, not caring which way she went, weeping for the pain, the betrayal, the loneliness.
In less than a year shed lost her husband and, as it turned out, every friend she once counted on. Those she thought would stand by her in a crisis had vanished. An old adage resurfaced in her mind: you discover true friends in trouble. It seemed she had none leftperhaps she never truly had any.
She dabbed at her eyes and headed home, to a place where no one awaited her. Yet a faint thought lingered in her heart that this wasnt forever, and that everything that happens does so for a reason.
