Dear Diary,
I always believed we were friends, yet you have taken my husband away.
You just dont get it! You wont understand! Poppys voice rose to a shout, and she slammed her sketchbook shut. To you its all childs play, nothing serious!
Poppy, thats not what I meant, I replied wearily, pressing my palms to my temples. The headache that started this morning now hammered at the back of my skull. Im simply saying that a career in design is precarious. One day you have commissions, the next you have none. Being an accountant is a reliable slice of breadalways there.
My slice of bread isnt yours! Poppy sprang from her chair, lightning flashing in her eyes. I dont want to spend my whole life crunching numbers like you. I want to create, to bring beauty into the world! Aunt Sophie gets me; shes the only one who truly believes in my talent.
Mentioning Sophie made my chest tighten. Again Sophiemy best friend, my rock in the darkest times, now seemed to be more of a role model for my daughter than I was.
Sophie lives in a different world, love. She runs a successful salon, can afford to talk about lofty ideas. You and I live from paycheck to paycheck.
Exactly! Poppy shouted, grabbing her coat and dashing for the door. I wont live like this!
The front door slammed, and a ringing silence settled over our cramped twobedroom flat. I sank into a chair, cradling my head in my hands. Each of these fights drains the last of my strength. Im fortyfive, and for the past ten years Ive carried everything alone. Since James, my husband and Poppys father, left, leaving a pile of unpaid bills and a vague sorry, weve grown apart, life has become an endless survival race. I work at the community library, take odd jobs typing up texts at night, and deny myself anything so that Poppy has everything she needs.
Throughout it all, Sophie has been there. We went to school together, sat side by side in class. Bright, confident Sophie and quiet, homebound me. When my marriage collapsed, it was Sophie who kept me from drowning in despair. She would bring groceries, coax me out for walks, listen for hours to my tears and complaints. Well get through this, love, she would say, hugging me tightly. Hell still bite his elbows when he sees what hes lost.
I believed her. I pulled myself together and kept moving forwardfor my daughters sake. Sophie became almost family, a godmother figure for Poppy, the Aunt Sophie who always understood and supported her.
I sighed and walked to the window. The city lights of London flickered outside. Somewhere out there, my angry daughter was probably roaming, maybe heading to Sophie’s cosy studio in the centre, where expensive coffee and haircare treats fill the air, soft music plays, and conversations about high art ignore the worry of paying the gas bill.
The kitchen phone buzzed. I picked it up. A text from Sophie: Poppys with me. Dont worry, Ill talk to her. Everything will be alright. A sting of irritation mixed with gratitude rose in me. Part of me was relieved that my daughter was in safe hands; another part was angry that Sophie once again assumed the role of peacemaker, as if I couldnt handle my own child.
I brewed a cheap bag of tea and sat at the table, my eyes landing on an old framed photograph of the three of usJames, Poppy in my arms, and I, smiling and youthful. How long ago that was. James sometimes I feel I cant even picture his face clearly any more. Tall, darkhaired, with laugh lines around his eyes. He loved jazz, strong coffee, and travel books. He left abruptly, without fights or long talks. One evening he packed a bag, said he needed time alone to sort himself out, and a week later called to say he wouldnt be coming back.
Sophies voice floated back in my memory, rubbing my hand and saying, Hes a fool, love, just a fool. Youll meet someone else. But I never did. My whole life revolved around my daughter.
The next few days passed in a tense hush. Poppy returned from school, ate dinner, and shut herself in her room. I was too afraid to start a conversation, fearing another argument. On Saturday morning Sophie called.
Hey, Charlotte! Ive got an emergencyan inspection from the health office and my cleaner called in sick. Could you pop over and help tidy up? Ill owe you one, and maybe you and Poppy can make up while youre here.
I hesitated, feeling guilty and obligated, but the thought of finally talking to Poppy on neutral ground tipped the balance.
Alright, Ill be there in an hour.
Sophies salon, Cleopatra, greeted me with glossy mirrors and the scent of floral perfume. Sophie, ever impeccable in a sleek trouser suit, met me at the entrance.
Charlotte, my lifesaver! she kissed my cheek. Change into something comfortable; the work is simpledust, mop the main hall. Ill handle the paperwork. Poppy will be here soon.
I nodded, slipped into an old tshirt in the backroom, and got to work. I wasnt jealous of Sophies success; shed earned everything through hard work. Yet, standing amid the polished beauty of her salon, I felt my own instability more sharply.
Just as I finished mopping, Poppy stormed in, eyes flashing at the sight of me with a mop.
We need to talk, I said quietly.
About what? About giving up my dreams and going to some boring college? she snapped.
No. About us.
Sophie emerged from her office, two phones in handhers and a clients left charging.
Ladies, dont argue! she beamed with that disarming smile. Charlotte, dont be angry with her; shes just a kid with big ambitions. Poppy, mum only wants the best for you. Lets have a cup of teamy special blend with a dash of cinnamon.
She placed the phones on the reception desk and slipped back to the backroom. I exhaled, feeling the situation slipping away again. Poppy buried herself in her phone. I glanced at the two devices; Sophies screen lit up with a short message from a contact signed simply J.
Missing your coffee. And you. <3 My heart lurched. J. James? It couldnt be. Sophie had mentioned a new romancea complicated, divorced but fascinating gentleman. Could it be James? Millions of men share that initial. I brushed the thought aside. The conversation never happened. We drank tea while Sophie chattered about the latest hair trends, Poppy nodded, and I sat there, sensing an invisible wall rising between me and the people I loved. That message kept replaying in my mind. Later, I dug out an old notebook and found Jamess number, a relic I hadnt dialed in years. For what? Hi, its me. How are you? Foolish. I set the phone down. A few days later Sophie invited Poppy and me to the cinema. We sat in the dim hall, a romantic comedy playing, while I quietly observed Sophie. She kept checking her phone, typing quickly, smiling at something. I caught a glimpse of the same J. After the film we went to a café. Charlotte, Im so happy! Sophie exclaimed, stirring sugar into her cup. I think Im really in love. Hes reliable, smartlike a rock. Were happy for you, Aunt Sophie, Poppy said. Who is he? Do we know him? No, hes not from our circle. We met by chance. Hes just returned to town after years up north. The northJames had taken a rotational job in Sheffield after our divorce. Id heard that from mutual friends. Coincidence? Too many coincidences. A chill ran down my spine. Whats his name? I asked, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible. James, Sophie replied, then quickly changed the subject. By the way, Poppy, theres an advert for a renowned art school offering preparatory courses. You should apply. I can fund it. My mind was already racing. James. The woman who had comforted me after my marriage fell apart was now seeing my exhusband. The picture Id drawn of Sophie as a benevolent fairy began to warp into something grotesque. It seemed she was pushing Poppys dreams, possibly to reclaim something shed lost. Mum, whats wrong? Poppys voice pulled me out of my stupor. You look pale. Nothing, I muttered, a headache thudding. Lets go home. At home I locked myself in the bathroom, turning the shower on so Poppy couldnt hear my sobs. The tears were bitter, searing. It wasnt just betrayal by James; it was the betrayal of a friendship Id trusted, the crumbling of a bond I thought unbreakable, the realization of my own naivety. I needed to act, but how? A scandal? An accusation? That would be too easy, too humiliating. I decided to wait for solid proof. A week later Sophies birthday came, celebrated at a countryside restaurant, and she invited Poppy and me. You must come, Charlotte! Ill introduce you to my James. Youll love him! I felt my breath tighten. The day passed in a haze. I chose an outfit, did my hair, applied makeup, and stared at my reflectiona face that seemed foreign, eyes glittering with feverish light. Poppy, oblivious, twirled around me, excited for the party. The restaurant was elegantlive music, white tablecloths, welldressed guests. Sophie, radiant in a silver dress, flitted from guest to guest. Spotting us, she rushed over. Finally! Come in, my dears! Charlotte, you look stunning! Heres James! James approached, older now, a touch of silver at his temples, but unmistakably the same man. He froze when he saw me. A flood of emotions crossed his facesurprise, shame, something else. Charlotte? he murmured. Good afternoon, I replied coldly, meeting his gaze. Sophie looked bewildered, shuffling between us. You you know each other? More than you think, I said, a thin smile curving. Hes my exhusband. Poppys father. Silence fell. The music seemed to stop. All eyes were on the three of us. Sophie's complexion turned pale. Poppys stare darted between her mother, James, and her beloved Aunt Sophie, confusion written across her face. Mum, is this true? she whispered. Yes, love. Hes your father. I stepped toward Sophie, who clutched Jamess arm as if terrified he might vanish. Happy birthday, friend, I said softly, yet clearly. I thought we were friends. Turns out you comforted me while stealing what I lost. Was it easy, betraying me like this? Being with my husband behind my back while giving me advice on how to survive the betrayal? Sophie stammered, I didnt know how to say it It just happened We met six months ago, he never told me What? Hes my exhusbands? You knew! I snapped. You knew everything. I turned to James. Youre nothing but a coward. You ran from one woman and clung to another. Nothing changes. I grabbed Poppys hand. Her eyes were wide, brimming with tears. Lets leave, love. We dont belong here. We walked out of the hall, guests watching in amazement. At the doors I looked back. Sophie stood alone, bewildered, while James stared at the floor, avoiding our gaze. The drive home was silent. In the flat, Poppy burst into tears. Mum, how could Aunt Sophie I believed in her! And Dad? I held her, smoothing her hair. Shh, sweetheart, shh. People sometimes do terrible things, even those we love. The important thing is that we still have each other. That night we sat in the kitchen for hours. I told her everything about my life with James, my friendship with Sophie, leaving nothing hidden. Poppy listened, her childish hurt giving way to grownup understanding. The next day Sophie stopped calling. I ignored the flood of apologetic messages she sent, deleting them without reading. A few days later James showed up at our door. Charlotte, we need to talk, he said, eyes downcast. Theres nothing to discuss, I cut him off. Leave. But Poppyshes my daughter! You only remembered that now? Ten years you didnt care. Leave, James, and never come back. I slammed the door behind him, leaning against it, my heart poundingnot from pain, but from relief. It felt as if a massive stone Id carried for years finally dropped. Life moved on. It was hard. The void left by Sophies absence was hard to fill. Sometimes, late at night, my hand reached for the phone to call her, to gossip, to share news, but I stopped myself. That friendship was gone. My relationship with Poppy changed; we grew closer than ever. She matured overnight, stopped demanding the impossible, started helping around the house, and even found a small side job drawing portraits online. One evening she placed a bundle of cash on the table. Here, Mum. Its for the prep course. I earned it myself. I looked at her serious, grownup face, tears welling up. Youre my pride, I whispered. No, Mum, youre my pride, she replied, hugging me tightly. Youre the strongest. I held my daughter, realizing I hadnt lost everything. Id lost a friend and some naïve dreams, but Id gained something far greatermy childs love and respect. That was the most important thing. A new life lies ahead, difficult but honest, and together well manage it, just the two of us.
