**Diary Entry**
Everyone stumbles at some point, but not everyone picks themselves back up.
“Charlotte, where on earth will you find a man like that? You can always get divorced later. A married woman always has her pickher husband carries the weight, while the other man has his hands free, no strings attached. Enjoy the fool who falls for you. But stay single, and no one will look twice. Besides, youve got Oliver to think of. He needs his real father, not some stranger. Theres no sense in any of this,” I pleaded, trying to talk some sense into my childhood friend.
But I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Charlotte had already made up her mind.
Life throws choices at us all the time. There are always two pathsthe right one and every other. But who can tell which doors to open and which to shut? Sometimes, even the soundest advice falls on deaf ears. We insist on learning the hard way. The wisdom of generations means nothing. Then we weep, regret, and wallow in misery.
Ive got two close friendsCharlotte and Emily. Weve known each other since we were knee-high. Charlottes the girl from down the street, Emily from school. We know everything about each other, the way only old friends can.
The three of us couldnt be more different, so I keep my friendships with them separate. Once, I tried to bring them togetherno luck. Theyre like oil and water.
“How can you stand that overdressed doll? What on earth do you even talk about? Just clothes and married men, Ill bet,” Charlotte muttered after meeting Emily.
“Your friends neckline plunges past her navel. A proper tart, isnt she? Eyes always hunting for a man with a fat wallet. That Emilys smile is pure fakeryall for show. And that awful plastic surgery? Couldnt miss it,” Charlotte sneered.
Their first meeting was their last. The girls’ night was a disaster. I never tried again.
Over the years, weve had our share of rowssilent treatments, shouting matches, make-upsyou name it.
Now were all in our forties. Charlotte has a son, Emily a daughter.
Charlottes long divorced from her husband, William. It started out so romantic.
They met in a café. Back then, William was married with a daughter. Charlottes striking, one of those women men turn to watch. Shes always stood outfinished art school, makes her own clothes. Some of them a bit too daring, if you ask me. She dreamed of her own business, a solid marriage, a loving husband.
And, for a while, she had it all. Then, like snow in the sun, it vanishedmostly by her own hand. Charlotte never waited for green lightsshed dash through yellows.
William didnt hesitate to leave his wife for her. They had a lavish wedding. Then came the grind. He worshipped Charlotteeighteen years older, he treated her like a princess. “Little Mouse,” he called her. “Mouse, fancy Paris? Done. A new car? No problem. The latest sewing machine? Here you go. A little lip filler? My treat.”
Every whim granted like magic. Of course, William wasnt a saint (saints dont walk this earth). He had his gripeswhy wasnt dinner ready? The flat a mess? His shirt unironed? Charlotte would kiss him fiercely, and hed drop it. Made his own eggs, hoovered, heated the iron.
Charlotte was his third wife. Maybe thats why he put up with her slack, terrified of losing her.
Then Oliver was born. William adored the boy. Charlotte? Not so much. She slipped out more often, leaving the baby with William or her mother-in-law. A woman like her? Temptation followed. I knew about her affairshard to miss. William suspected but stayed quiet. “Shes young,” hed say. “Needs more love.”
Eight years in, the cracks showed. They always do. Some couples survive. Others dont.
By then, Charlottes business was thriving. She stood on her own two feet. Decided she didnt need William. Took Oliver and left, renting a flat nearby.
“I hate him,” she told me. “Useless in bed. I hope some other woman snaps him up, so he leaves us alone.”
Well, as they say, a woman will twist like a snake to get her way.
Oliver became the battleground. He loved both parents, but Charlotte was always working. Life was calmer with William, where his doting grandmother doted on him. So he moved in with his dad.
Charlotte was torn between her son and her work but refused to change. William called nonstopbegging, manipulating, using Oliver. She wouldnt budge.
“The bridge is burned. Full stop.”
Young, beautiful, and free, Charlotte soon had a new mana colleague. Married, two kids. Didnt faze her.
“His wife should keep a closer eye on him. Ill borrow him, then give him back. No harm done.”
They jetted off to Spain, Portugalwhirlwind romance.
Six months later, she “returned” him. William still called, pleading. It wore on her. Then came Danielher age, single. Love bloomed. He moved in.
Seemed fineuntil she realised Daniel liked a drink. Or three. And couldnt hold a job.
“Liz, I think Ive adopted a drunken freeloader,” she groaned.
“Kick him out, Charlotte! Hes latched on like a tick.”
Then an old schoolmate rang.
“Charlotte, hope you dont mindWilliam and I are getting married. Ive never been happier.”
“Hope you walk the same road forever,” Charlotte said coolly.
Now shes alone. Olivers nineteen. Wont speak to her. Calls go unanswered. Once, he picked up.
“Dads wife raised me. Stick to your business, Mum. Dont call.”
Emily, though? She weathered her storm.
She met Victor on holiday. He was there with matesdespite having a wife. Why do couples let each other roam into temptation? Asking for trouble.
Next thing, Emily announced their wedding. Two receptionsone in London, one up north. She moved in with him. We saw less of her, but she kept me updated.
Victor adored her. Built her a house, bought her cars. Their daughter, Sophie, arrived. He anticipated her whimsdesigner clothes, luxury cosmetics.
Emily got another degree, but no need to work. Victor provided. All she had to do was raise Sophie and stay gorgeous.
Occasionally, she visited London, missing home. But she settled in. Had friends. Shouldve been happy.
Then, after seven years, she wanted out. “The loves gone,” she said.
Her parents, Victorstunned. Emily stayed with Sophie in London, refusing to return.
“Liz, Im bored stiff. Victor smothers me. His roses? All thorns.”
“Too comfortable, thats your problem. Watchsomeonell snatch him up.”
Emilys stunning, always polished. No wonder Victor was jealous. He begged. She stood firm.
Two years of chaos. Thenthaw. They reconciled.
Victor still works himself to the bone. Maldives, Venice, Italyall ticked off.
Once, she admitted, “I nearly lost the best thing I ever had.”
**Lesson:** We trip. Some get up. Others dont.
