Dear Diary,
Emily placed a plate of scrambled eggs on the kitchen table and sat opposite me. The morning sun slipped through the lace curtains, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. She propped her chin with her hand and gave me a smile.
I finally put my phone down.
Is she good? Whats so special about her? I asked.
Absolutely! Emilys eyes lit up. We chatted yesterday and discovered we share a lot. She loves bouldering too, goes to the same climbing gym I used to frequent, and reads the same books. Its like Ive got my own twin placed right here at work.
I laughed and reached for my mug.
Thats brilliant. Youve needed a mate at the office for ages.
Exactly! She lifted her fork but didnt eat. I want to keep talking. She also loves hiking. Weve already pencilled in a trip for next month. Shes genuine, no pretence whatsoever.
I nodded, taking a bite of toast.
Sounds great. Think you could introduce us?
Of course! How about a dinner this weekend? Ill cook something tasty and we can all have a chat.
Sounds perfect, I replied, smiling. Why not?
Emily gave a satisfied nod and turned back to the eggs. Inside her, everything was bubbling with happiness. She had a job she loved, a wonderful boyfriend of three years, and now a new friend who fit like a glove. Life felt almost flawless.
Two weeks later Emily hosted the dinner at her flat in Camden. She scrubbed the flat until it sparkled and prepared my favourite dishroast chicken with rosemary. Claire arrived holding a bunch of tulips and a chocolate cake.
Emily, your place feels so cosy! Claire exclaimed, looking around. I could stay here forever.
Emily laughed and took the flowers.
Thanks. James, this is Claire. Claire, this is James.
I extended my hand.
Pleasure to meet you. Emily has told me so much about you that I feel Ive known you a lifetime.
The feelings mutual, Claire replied, shaking my hand. She says youre the most patient person in the world.
I have to be, I winked at Emily. You cant survive an active girl without a bit of patience.
The evening was a hit. Claire and I clicked instantly, discovering a shared love for classic films and seventies rock. We traded favourite titles, argued over which band was best, and laughed until the candles melted.
Emily sat between us, her smile never fading. Her two favourite people were getting along. What could be better?
After that night we started meeting up as a triocinema, gallery openings, countryside walks. I even suggested inviting Claire more often, saying there was never a dull moment with her.
Emily was thrilled.
But slowly I noticed subtle changes. I began staying later at the office, something Id never done before. I texted Emily less during the day and called her only when necessary. When she brought up future plansbuying a house, marriagemy replies grew short and evasive, as if the topics weighed me down.
Claire changed too. Occasionally I caught her watching me, a quick, assessing glance, as if she had something to say but held back, then shed smile and steer the conversation elsewhere.
One evening, while I was cooking in the kitchen, Emily was lounging in the living room. My phone buzzed on the side table. She glanced at the screen without thinking. It was a message from Claire, timestamp just before midnight: Thanks for today.
Emilys heart sank. She set the phone down, stared at the wall, and wondered what it meant. She tried to convince herself it was nothingperhaps theyd bumped into each other by accident or discussed work. She told herself she was being jealous, that they were just good friends.
The feeling lingered.
In March the three of us drove up to a cottage on the banks of Windermere in the Lake District. Wed been planning the getaway for months. Emily dreamed of forest walks and evenings by a fire. Claire was eager from the start, and I was happy to support them. We booked a cosy lakeside cottage, brought along our climbing gear and a couple of tents.
From day one the atmosphere felt off. Emily watched as Claire and I exchanged glances, fell silent whenever she entered the room. The next day, while Emily rested after a climb, Claire and I walked alone along the shoreline, talking about an old chapel the local ranger had mentioned.
Emily nodded, but something tightened inside her.
On the final night, we gathered around the fire. Both Claire and I looked uneasy, guilty. I avoided Emilys eyes, and she did the same. I tried to speak, but our answers were terse.
That night Emily tossed and turned, convinced something had broken irreparably.
A week after returning, I sent her a message: Emily, we need to talk. Meet me at the café on Baker Street?
She stared at her screen, a knot forming in her stomach.
At five oclock she arrived at the café. I was already there, a cup of tea steaming before me, Claire sitting opposite.
Emily stood in the doorway, hesitating for a heartbeat before walking to our table, jacket still on.
Whats happening? she asked, eyes flitting between us.
I stared at the napkin, crumpling it into pieces, then lifted my gaze.
Emily, I dont know how to say this. We didnt plan it. It just happened.
She clenched her fists under the table.
In the Lake District we finally realised we that we fell for each other, I said quietly. We tried to fight it, truly we did. But we cant hide it any longer.
Claires cheeks flooded with tears, mascara running.
Im sorry, Emily, she sobbed. I never wanted to hurt you. Youre my best friend, but this this is stronger than we are.
Claire reached out, but Emily pulled her hand back. Anger, betrayal, pain swirled inside her, forming a knot in her throat.
Stronger than us? Emily snapped, voice shaking. You were behind my back while I was planning weddings, children, a future? How could you both be so selfish?
We didnt intend to, I whispered.
You didnt intend? she raised her voice, drawing a few curious glances. You were meeting in secret, texting each other at night, and now you pretend it was accidental? Thats the worst kind of betrayal, James.
I know, I said, eyes fixed on the table. I was a coward. I cant keep lying to you.
And you? Emily turned to Claire. You called me your best friend. How could you?
Claire sobbed harder, covering her face.
It wasnt supposed to be like this, she managed. We just spent time together, then it grew into something more.
Emily rose, the chair screeching against the floor. She grabbed her bag and gave us one last look.
I never want to see either of you again, she declared, and walked out into the cold night, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didnt stop until she reached the tube station.
The next day Emily submitted a transfer request to the London office. Her manager was surprised but didnt press for details. Her request was approved swiftly.
Claire tried calling, but Emily blocked her number. I sent a few messages; she deleted them without reading. I collected my things from her flat while she was away. The apartment felt empty, the place where his trainers once stood now just a vacant space.
Two weeks later Emily was settled in a flat in Shoreditch, her parents skeptical but supportive. She swore to start over, away from any memory of me and Claire.
The first months were tough. Emily returned to climbing, now solo, which helped her regain some balance.
One day a mutual acquaintance from Manchester messaged her, saying that Claire and I had moved in together and were now living as a couple.
Emily read it, turned the phone off, and let the silence settle.
The pain didnt vanish, but it dulled. She stopped staying up at night replaying our last encounter. She moved forward, step by step, day by day.
She hadnt just lost a boyfriend and a friend; shed lost faith in peoples honesty, in the idea that friendship could be pure, that love couldnt be so easily betrayed.
She decided to rebuild her life, this time more cautious about who she let in.
The ache would linger for a long time, but Emily knew she would survive. She had no other choice.
Lesson learned: trust is a fragile thing; once broken, it can only be mended by honesty, not by hiding the truth.
