I thought we were friends, yet youd taken my husband away.
You just dont get it! You wont understand! Poppys voice cracked into a shout, and she slammed the sketchbook shut with such force that the pages fluttered like wounded birds. To you its all childs play, a mess of doodles!
Poppy, thats not what I meant, Megan said wearily, pressing her palms to her temples. The headache that had begun at sunrise now drummed a relentless beat at the back of her skull. Im only saying that a designers career is a fickle wind. One day there are commissions, the next theres nothing. An accountant, though, is a steady loaf of bread. Always.
Your loaf! Not mine! Poppy sprang from her chair, eyes flashing like lightning. I dont want to spend my life hunched over numbers the way you do! I want to create, to bring beauty into the world! Aunt Sophie gets me; shes the only one who believes in my talent.
The mention of Sophie made Megans chest tighten. Again Sophie. The mate who had once been her anchor in the darkest nights now seemed more a heroine to Poppy than a mother.
Sophie lives in another world, dear. She runs a successful salon, can afford to wax philosophical about lofty things. We, we scrape by from paycheck to paycheck.
Exactly! Poppy cried, snatching her coat and bolting for the door. I wont live like that!
The front door slammed, and a ringing silence hung over the cramped tworoom flat on a rainy Manchester street. Megan sank into a chair, cradling her head. Each argument drained her anew. At fortyfive, ten of those years shed carried alone. Since Ianher husband, Poppys fatherhad walked out, leaving a mountain of unpaid bills and a vague sorry, were strangers now, life had become a relentless sprint for survival. She worked at the local library, took nighttime typing gigs, denied herself everything just so Poppy would have what she needed.
All the while Sophie was there. Theyd shared a desk at school, brighteyed Sophie and quiet, homebound Megan. When the divorce came, it was Sophie who pulled Megan from the abyss, delivering groceries, coaxing her on walks, listening for hours to her sobs. Well get through, love, she would say, hugging Megan tightly. Hell bite his own elbows when he sees what hes lost.
Megan believed her. She straightened, dusted herself off, and moved onfor her daughters sake. Sophie had become almost family, a godmother to Poppy, the Aunt Sophie who would always understand.
Megan drifted to the window. The evening city glimmered with streetlights. Somewhere out there her wounded daughter roamed, perhaps in Sophies cosy studio in the city centre, where the scent of expensive coffee and hair gloss mingled with soft music, and conversations about high art never worried about the cost of the electric bill.
The kitchen phone buzzed. A message from Sophie: Poppys with me. Dont worry, Ill talk to her. All will be well. A sting of irritation mixed with relief rose in Megan. Part of her was glad Poppy was safe; another part bristled that Sophie was once again the peacemaker, as if Megan could not handle her own child.
She poured a cheap tea bag into a mug and sat down, eyes falling on an old framed photo: three of themMegan, Ian, and a tiny Poppy cradled in Megans arms, smiling, youthful. How long ago that had been? Ian sometimes she could barely picture his face: tall, darkhaired, laugh lines around his eyes, a lover of jazz, strong coffee, and travel books. He left one night, suitcase in hand, saying he needed time alone. A week later he called, saying he wouldnt be coming back.
Sophies voice echoed in a memory, gentle on Megans hand, Hes a fool, love, just a fool. Youll meet someone new. But Megan never did; her world revolved around Poppy.
The next days stretched in tense silence. Poppy came home from school, ate, and locked herself in her room. Megan feared starting a conversation, terrified of another fight. On Saturday morning Sophie called.
Megan, love! Ive got a crisishealthinspection folks are due, the cleaners ill. Could you swing by and help tidy up? Ill owe you, and maybe you could patch things up with Poppyshe was supposed to pop over.
Megan hesitated, feeling guilty and obligated, yet the thought of finally talking to her daughter on neutral ground tipped the scales.
Fine, Ill be there in an hour.
Sophies Cleopatra salon dazzled with mirrored walls and the perfume of blooming lilies. Sophie, immaculate in a tailored trousersuit, met her at the door.
My saviour! she kissed Megans cheek. Change into something comfortable; the frontdesk needs dusting and the main floor mopping. Ill handle the paperwork. Poppy will be here soon.
Megan slipped into an old tee in the back room and began scrubbing. She didnt envy Sophies success; the woman had earned every accolade. Yet surrounded by opulent beauty, Megan felt her own precariousness sharpen.
Just as she finished, Poppy entered, eyes narrowing at the sight of her mother with a mop.
We need to talk, Megan whispered.
About what? Me giving up my dream to go to some dull college? Poppy retorted.
No. About us.
Sophie stepped out, two phones in her handsone hers, one apparently belonging to a client, charging on the table.
Oh, girls, dont argue! she smiled that disarming smile. Megan, dont be angry, shes just a kid with big ambitions. Poppy, mum only wants the best for you. Lets have a coffee. Ill brew yours with a sprinkle of cinnamon.
She set the phones on the reception desk and vanished into the staffroom. Megan exhaled. The conversation seemed doomed again. Poppy buried herself in her own phone. Megans eyes drifted to the two devices left behind. One screen flickered to life, displaying a short message from a contact signed simply I. Miss your coffee and you. <3 Megans heart missed a beat. I. Ian? It could not be. Sophie had once mentioned a flirtatious, divorced man, but this was absurd. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. The coffeetalk never happened. Sophie chattered about the latest hair trends, Poppy nodded, and Megan sat in a quiet corner, feeling an invisible wall rise between her and the people she loved. The message haunted her. Later at home she dug out an old notebook, found Ians number she hadnt dialled in years, just in case. Her hand hovered over the phone. Hello, its me. How are you? Foolish. She put it back. A few days later Sophie invited them to the cinema. In the dim hall a romcom played while Megan watched Sophies fingers fly over her phone, typing rapidly. Once she glanced up, the familiar initial I. appeared in the recipient line. After the film they stopped at a café. Oh, Megan, Im thrilled! Sophie said, stirring sugar into her cup. I think Im truly in love. Hes reliable, clever I feel like Im behind a stone wall with him. Were happy for you, Aunt Sophie, Poppy replied. Who is he? Do we know him? No, not really, Sophie brushed it off. Hes not from our circle. We met by chance. Hes just returned to town after years up north. Megans breath caught. Ian had taken a roving job in the North of England after their split. The coincidence was too sharp. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Whats his name? she asked, voice flat. Ian, Sophie answered, then hurried away. Oh, Poppy, theres an art school with a prep course. I could fund it if you like. Megans mind raced. Ian. The name echoed like a warning. Her best friend, the woman whod soothed her after the divorce, was now entwined with her former husband. The picture that had been a vague sketch now sharpened into a grotesque silhouette. It seemed Sophie had been steering Poppy against her, nurturing impossible dreams to snatch the daughterand perhaps the manaway from Megan. Mum, whats going on? Poppys voice snapped her out of the stupor. You look pale. Nothing, Megan muttered, head throbbing. Lets go home. Back in their flat, she locked herself in the bathroom, letting the water roar while Poppys cries rang through the hallway. The tears were bitter, scorching. It wasnt just betrayal by a man; it was the sting of a friend who had become a betrayer, the crushing realization that the man she once loved was dead to her heart. She wept for the friendship that had been ripped apart, for the naïveté that had kept her blind. She needed a plan. A scandal? An accusation? Too simple, too humiliating. She waited for proof, for the final, undeniable confirmation. A week later Sophies birthday arrived. She hosted a lavish banquet at a country house and, of course, invited Megan and Poppy. Please come, Megan! she chirped on the phone. Ill introduce you to my Ian. Youll love him! Megan felt the air tighten around her throat. Well be there, she replied. The day unfolded like a fog. She chose a dress, did her hair, applied makeup, and stared into the mirror at a face that seemed foreign, eyes glittering with feverish light. Poppy, unaware, twirled beside her, buzzing with excitement for the party. The restaurant glimmered with live music, white tablecloths, and welldressed guests. Sophie, radiant in a silver gown, fluttered from table to table. Spotting Megan, she rushed over. At last! Come in, my dears! Megan, you look stunning! Ill now present Ian! Come here! Ian entered, hair peppered with grey at the temples, but unmistakably the same Ian. He froze when he saw Megan, a storm of surprise, fear, and shame crossing his features. Megan? he muttered. Good afternoon, she replied, her gaze steady. Sophies eyes darted between them, confused. You know each other? More than that, Megan said with a wry smile. Hes my exhusband. Poppys father. A hush fell over the room. The music seemed to cease. All eyes were fixed on the trio. Sophies face turned pale. Poppys expression flickered between mother, father, and her beloved Aunt Sophie, confusion painting her features. Mum, is it true? she whispered. Yes, love. Hes your dad. Megan stepped toward Sophie, who clutched Ians arm as if fearing he might vanish. Happy birthday, dear, Megan said softly, though the words cut like glass. I thought we were friends. You comforted me in my darkest hour, yet you also reached for what Id lost. Was it easy, stealing my husbands place, giving me advice while betraying me? Megan, I I didnt know how to say it, Sophie stammered. It happened by accident We met six months ago, he never told me Hes your friends husband? Megan snapped. I cant believe you. You knew everything. She turned to Ian. Youre no better than a coward. You left one, ran to another. Nothing changes. She took Poppys hand; the girls eyes were wide, brimming with tears. Lets go, love. This isnt our place. They walked out, guests watching bewildered. At the doorway Megan glanced back. Sophie stood alone, a solitary figure, while Ian kept his head bowed, avoiding their gaze. The ride home was silent. In the flat Poppy sobbed. Mum, how could Aunt Sophie? And dad? Megan hugged her, stroking her hair. Shh, darling, shh. People sometimes do terrible things, even those we love. The important thing is we have each other. That night they lingered at the kitchen table. Megan spoke openly about her life with Ian, her friendship with Sophie, laying bare every wound. Poppy listened, her childish hurt giving way to adult understanding. The next day Sophie cut off contact. Megan ignored the flood of apologetic messages, deleting them without reading. A few days later Ian appeared at their door. Megan, we need to talk, he said, eyes avoiding hers. Theres nothing to discuss, she snapped. Leave. But Poppy Im her father! You only remembered that now? Ten years didnt bother you. Go, Ian. Dont come back. Never. She slammed the door, feeling a weight lift from her chestnot pain, but relief, as if a massive stone finally dropped from her shoulders. Life moved on, uneasy but possible. The void left by Sophies betrayal was hard to fill. Sometimes, late at night, her hand drifted to the phone, tempting a call, but she steadied herself. That friendship was gone. Her relationship with Poppy changed, deepening. The girl grew up in a single night, no longer demanding the impossible. She helped around the house, took a modest side job sketching portraits for online buyers. One evening Poppy placed a bundle of cash on the table. Here, Mum. Its for the prep course. I earned it myself. Megan looked at her daughters serious, grownup face, tears welling. Youre my pride, she whispered. No, Mum, youre mine, Poppy replied, hugging her tightly. Youre the strongest. Megan held her daughter, realizing she hadnt lost everything. She had lost a friend and a dream, but she had gained something far richerher childs respect and love. The road ahead would be hard, honest, and together, mother and daughter would walk it, hand in hand.
