**Everyone Stumbles, Not Everyone Rights Themselves**
“Charlotte, where will you find such a man? You can always divorce later. A married woman always has her pick. All the responsibility falls on the husband, while the other man has his hands freeno obligations, just enjoy the foolish mistress. But if you end up alone, no one will look twice at you. Especially with William growing up. He needs his real father, not some stranger. Theres no sense in what youre doing.” I truly meant to talk some sense into my childhood friend.
Yet I knew I was speaking to the wind. Charlotte had already made up her mind.
Life often forces us to choose. There are always two pathsthe right one and any other. But who opens the right doors and closes the wrong ones? Sometimes, even the soundest advice falls on deaf ears. We learn from our own mistakes. The wisdom of generations means nothing to us. Later, we weep, gnash our teeth, and wallow in despair.
I have two dear friendsCharlotte and Emily. Weve known each other since childhood. Charlotte was the girl from down the street, Emily my schoolmate. We know everything about each other, as only the closest friends can.
The three of us are so different that I keep my friendships with Charlotte and Emily separate. Once, I tried to bring them together, but alas… My friends were like oil and water.
“How can you stand that overdressed doll? What could you possibly talk about? All she cares about is clothes and married men,” Charlotte whispered after meeting Emily.
“Your friends neckline plunges past her navel. A shameless girl, from the look of her. Her eyes are always hunting for a man with a fat wallet. And that smileutterly false. Everythings for show. Not to mention the dreadful plastic surgery.” Charlotte scoffed, scrutinising Emily.
Their first meeting was their last. The evening was ruined. I never tried again.
Over the years, we had our share of quarrels, misunderstandings, reconciliations, and months of sulking silenceso much passed between us.
Now, were all forty. Charlotte has a son, Emily a daughter.
Charlotte divorced her husband, James, long ago. It all began so romantically.
They met in a café. At the time, James was married with a daughter. Charlotte, undeniably striking and unconventional, always turned heads. She was bold, unforgettablea graduate of art school who sewed her own daringly revealing clothes. She dreamed of her own business, a stable family, a loving husband.
And for a time, she had it alluntil it vanished like snow in the sun. Worse, she had a hand in its undoing. Charlotte never waited for green lightsshe dashed through yellows.
James, smitten, left his wife without hesitation. They married in a grand ceremony. Then came the drudgery of daily life. James adored Charlotte. Eighteen years her senior, he treated her like a cherished daughter, calling her “Mouse.” *”Mouse, fancy Paris? Done! A new car? No trouble at all! The finest sewing machine? Here you go! A touch-up from a surgeon? My treat!”*
Every whim was granted as if by magic. Of course, James was no saint (saints dont walk this earth). He had his grievanceswhy was dinner never ready, the flat a mess, his shirts wrinkled? But Charlotte would kiss him deeply, and hed fall silent, frying his own eggs, running the hoover, heating the iron…
She was his third wife. Perhaps thats why he feared losing her, overlooking her domestic failings.
Then William was born. James doted on his son, but Charlotte never warmed to motherhood. She slipped away more often, leaving the boy with James or his mother. With her looks, temptation was never far. As her closest friend, I knew of her affairs. James suspected but stayed quietperhaps she needed more love, he reasoned.
After eight years, the cracks showed. Marriages often falternot all survive the strain.
By then, Charlotte had built a successful business. She stood on her own two feet and decided she no longer needed James. She left, taking William, rented a flat, and settled in. She told me:
“I despise James. Hes hopeless in bed. I hope some woman snatches him up so hell leave us alone.”
Well, as they say, a woman will twist like a snake to get her way.
William became the battleground. He loved both parents equally. But Charlotte was always working, while life with James was calmerand there, a doting grandmother too. William chose his father.
Charlotte knew she was torn between her son and her business, yet refused to change. James called endlessly, pleading, manipulating through the boy. Charlotte was unmoved:
“The bridges are burned. Full stop.”
Young, beautiful, and nearly free, she soon took up with a colleaguea married man with two children. That didnt deter her:
“His wife shouldve kept a closer eye on him. Ill borrow him and return him. Hell survive.”
They jetted off to Germany, Greece… It was whirlwind romance.
True to her word, she “borrowed” him for half a year before sending him back. James still called, begging her to reconsider. It weighed on her. Then she met Danielher age, unmarried. Love bloomed. He moved in. Things seemed fineuntil she realised Daniel liked his drink. Work never stuck either.
“Lottie, why not let me help with your business?”
The scales fell from her eyes.
“Victoria, I think Ive taken in a drunken wastrel.”
“Kick him out, Charlotte! Hes latched onto you like a tick.”
Then an old schoolmate called:
“Lottie, I hope you dont mindJames and I are getting married. Ive never been happier!”
“May you walk the same road forever,” Charlotte replied coolly.
And so, she was alone. William, now nineteen, refuses to speak to her. Once, he answered her call:
“Dads new wife raised me. Focus on your business, Mum. Dont call.”
Yet Emily had the sense to weather her own storm.
She met Edward on holiday by the sea. Hed come with a friend, though he had a wife. I never understood spouses who let each other wander into temptation aloneinviting scandal, or worse.
Soon, Emily announced her wedding. The holiday fling became a grand affaircelebrated in two cities, as Edward was from out of town. She moved in with him. We saw less of each other, but spoke often, so I knew every twist in her tale.
Edward worshipped her. He built a fine house, furnished it impeccably, bought two cars. Their daughter, Grace, was born. He anticipated Emilys every desiredesigner clothes, lavish cosmetics.
She earned a second degree, though she never needed to work. Edward provided everything, proud to do so. Emily focused on herself and Grace, visiting her hometown rarely.
At first, she missed it all. But time passed. She made new friends, grew to love her life.
Then, after seven years, she wanted a divorce. Love had faded, she said. Her parents, Edwards mother, Edward himselfall bewildered. Emily stayed with her parents, refusing to return. She planned to move back for good:
“Victoria, youll laughIm bored sick of Edward. My hearts gone cold. His bouquets of roses only irritate me. Those thorns prick my hands.”
“Spare me. Spoilt rotten, thats your trouble. Roses irritate her! Watch outsomeone will snatch him before you blink.”
Emily was always radiant, meticulous, drenched in French perfume. Edward, mad with jealousy, tried to win her back. But she was resolute.
The rift lasted two years. Then, at last, a thaw. They reunited. Edward still worked tirelessly to give his family everything. The Maldives, Venice, ItalyEmily saw them all with Edward and Grace.
Once, she confessed to me:
“I nearly lost the dearest man in my life…”
