“He married you, but he loves me,” said her friend, avoiding eye contact.
“Emily, do you want coffee?” asked Charlotte, flicking on the kettle and pulling two mugs from the cupboard.
“Please. Make it strongmy head’s pounding,” Emily rubbed her temples and sank into a kitchen chair.
Charlotte silently spooned coffee into the mugs before turning to her friend. Theyd been close for over a decade, since university, and Charlotte could always read Emilys moods. Today, she looked exhausteddark circles under her eyes, her hair hastily tied back.
“Late night again?” Charlotte asked carefully.
Emily nodded, tracing the pattern on the plastic tablecloth.
“Up till half one finishing reports. Deadline tomorrow, and the numbers wouldnt add up. I got home, and Oliver was already asleep. Woke up, and hed left for work. Its been like this all week.”
Charlotte set a steaming cup in front of her and sat down. A strange flicker passed through her eyes, but Emily didnt notice.
“How are things between you two? Since the wedding?” Charlotte stirred sugar into her coffee.
“Fine, I suppose,” Emily shrugged. “Still adjusting. You know how it isfirst years the hardest. Mum says its just growing pains.”
“Growing pains,” Charlotte repeated, bitterness edging her voice.
Emily finally looked up, studying her friend.
“Charlotte, whats wrong? Youre not yourself today.”
“Im fine,” Charlotte waved a hand. “Just tired. Works mad, and weve started redecorating. Heads spinning.”
But Emily wasnt fooled. They knew each other too well. That lookthe same as when Charlotte confessed her crush on their philosophy lecturer back in uni. The same tension in her voice.
“Charlotte, tell me. Were best friends.”
Charlotte stood, walked to the window, and stared into the garden before turning sharply.
“Emily, theres something I have to say. I dont know how youll take it.”
“What?” Emilys pulse quickened.
“Its about Oliver.”
“Oliver?” Emily slowly set her cup down. “What about him?”
Charlotte stepped closer but kept her eyes lowered.
“Weve been seeing each other. For six months.”
Emily froze. The words didnt sink in at first.
“What do you mean, *seeing each other*?”
“Exactly that. After work. On weekends when you visit your parents. Emily, Im sorryI never meant It just happened.”
“*Just happened?*” Emilys voice was quiet but sharp. “An affair *just happened*?”
“Dont call it that. We just understand each other. We have so much in common. We talk, go for walks, see the theatre”
“The theatre,” Emily echoed. “And do you sleep together *just for understanding* too?”
Charlotte flushed but stayed silent. That was answer enough.
Emily stood, legs trembling, pride keeping her from collapsing back into the chair.
“How long?” she asked, surprised at how steady her voice sounded.
“Six months. It started before your wedding, but we tried to stop. Thought wed forget each other. Then after the wedding he called me.”
“After the wedding *he called you*,” Emily said slowly. “So during our honeymoon, he was thinking of you?”
Charlottes head dropped lower.
“Emily, I know this hurts. But he married youand loves me. And I love him. We never wanted to hurt you, but”
“He married you, but loves me,” Emily repeated, the words a death sentence.
The kitchen fell silent, just the ticking clock and hum of the fridge. Emily stood motionless; Charlotte still couldnt meet her gaze.
“Why tell me now?” Emily finally asked. “You couldve kept lying.”
“I couldnt anymore. Oliver wanted to tell you, but I thought it should come from me. Were friends”
“Friends,” Emily scoffed bitterly. “Ten years of friendship, and this is how it ends.”
“Emily, love isnt a choice. It just happens. We didnt plan”
“*Didnt plan*?” Emilys voice cracked. “You didnt *plan* to stand at my wedding, grinning? Didnt *plan* to ask how married life was? Didnt *plan* to tell me to be patient with my *husband*?”
“I wanted you two to work, I really did. But I cant help how I feel. I love him.”
“Does he love you?”
Charlotte lifted her head, and the look in her eyes shattered Emily completely.
“Yes,” Charlotte whispered. “He does. He says he realized too late. After it was already set in stone.”
“Why *couldnt* he? A wedding isnt an execution. He didnt have to marry me.”
“He didnt want to upset you. Thought hed grow to love you. Youre kind, goodeveryone said you were perfect together.”
“Perfect together,” Emily sank back into the chair, her legs giving way. “So he married me out of *pity*?”
“Not pity. Respect. He values you, cares about you”
“But doesnt love me.”
“No. Im sorry.”
Emily covered her face. Her thoughts blurred. Six months of marriage, and all this time, her husband had been with her best friend. The late nights, the excusesit all made sense now.
“Where did you meet?” she asked, still hiding behind her hands.
“My flat. Sometimes a café across town.”
“Your flat,” Emily repeated. “This kitchen, where were sitting now?”
Silence. More damning than words.
Emily stood, grabbing her bag.
“Where are you going?” Charlotte panicked.
“Home. To talk to my husband.”
“Emily, wait. Lets talk this through. There must be a way”
“What way?” Emily turned at the door. “Shall we all live together? Or should I *graciously* hand him over and settle for being the *understanding friend*?”
“I dont know. I just dont want to lose you. You matter to me.”
“*Mattered*. Before you slept with my husband.”
“Emily!”
But Emily was already gone, Charlottes calls unanswered.
On the bus home, Emily stared blankly out the window. Passengers came and went; the conductor announced stops. None of it registered. Just those words on repeat: *He married you, but loves me*.
The flat was silent. Oliver wouldnt be home for two hours. Emily sat on their bed, replaying the last six months. His distance. The lack of real intimacy. Shed blamed stress, adjusting to married life.
Now she remembered other things. How Charlotte asked about their plans. How often Oliver worked late. How Charlotte stopped inviting her over.
Emily stood, studying herself in the mirror. Ordinary. Not ugly, not a beauty. Kind. The wife men claimed to want. But not *him*.
The key in the lock made her jump. Oliver was early.
“Em? You home?” he called from the hall.
“Here,” she answered, surprised at her own steadiness.
Oliver kissed her cheek, like always. An ordinary thirty-year-old man. Her worlduntil today.
“How was work?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket.
“Fine. Yours?”
“Same old. Exhausted.”
He disappeared into the shower. A normal evening. If you didnt know the truth.
Over dinner, Oliver talked about work, complained about his boss, made weekend plans. Emily listened, wondering who this performance was for.
“Oliver,” she said when he paused.
“Yeah?”
“Charlotte told me something today.”
He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. Then slowly set it down.
“What?” His voice was cautious.
“That youre seeing each other.”
Oliver closed his eyes, exhaled heavily.
“She told you herself?”
“Half an hour ago. In her kitchen. At the same table where youve probably had dinner.”
“Em…”
“Dont explain. Just tell meis it true?”
“Yes,” he met her eyes. “I was going to tell you. Ive been trying for days.”
“For *days*. But youve been together six months.”
“Since before the wedding. We tried to stop, but”
“But true love won out,” Emily finished.
Oliver stood, walking to the window.
“I never meant for this to happen. But I love her.”
“And me?”
A long pause. Then:
“I dont. I thought I would, in time. Youre good, and I respect you, but… You cant force love.”
“Why marry me?”
“You wanted it. Everyone said it was time. I thoughtwhy not? Youre safe. Reliable.”
“Safe and reliable,” Emily echoed. “Like a savings account.”
“Dont say that. I never meant to hurt you.”
“And how exactly *didnt* you? Six months of lies. Six months of pretending. You think that doesnt hurt?”
Oliver turned, and she saw shame in his eyes.
“It does. I know it does. And its been hell for me too. Lying every day, pretending to be happy.”
“*Hell*. Right. So what now?”
“I dont know. Divorce, I suppose.”
“Suppose,” Emily agreed. “And marry Charlotte?”
“If shell have me.”
“She will. She loves you. And you love her. Simple.”
Emily stood, clearing the table. Her hands shook, but she kept going.
“Em,” Oliver said.
“What?”
“Im sorry. I know its vile. But I couldnt help it.”
“You *could*,” she said without turning. “You couldve not married me. Couldve told the truth. Couldve not lied for six months.”
“I was trying not to hurt you.”
“And instead, you gutted me.”
Oliver had no answer to that.
That night, they slept on opposite sides of the bed. Emily lay awake, listening to his breathing, thinking how yesterday hed been her husbandtoday, a stranger. One sentence, and her life had crumbled like a house of cards.
In the morning, Oliver left without a word. Emily called in sick, needing time to think.
She paced the flat, sorting through her feelings. Hurt, yes. Betrayal. But alsorelief. Finally, the truth. All the distance, the fakeness, explained.
Charlotte called at noon.
“Emily, can we talk?”
“About what?”
“Everything. I need to explain.”
“You did that yesterday.”
“Not properly. Please.”
Emily almost hung upbut curiosity won.
“Go on.”
“Meet me. This isnt a phone conversation.”
“Fine by me. Speak now or dont bother.”
A pause, then Charlotte rushed on:
“I never meant to fall for him. We just talked at your birthdayremember when you ran out for cake? He said he had doubts before the wedding. That he wasnt sure. And I… I liked him. Really liked him.”
“And?”
“We started meeting. Just talking. He said he could be honest with me, not upset you. And I fell for him. Hard.”
“So you stole your best friends fiancé.”
“I *didnt*. I told him not to marry you if he didnt love you. But he said he couldnt let you down.”
“How noble,” Emily said drily.
“I know its awful. But what was I supposed to do? Stop feeling?”
“You couldve walked away. Left our lives.”
“I tried. After the wedding, I ghosted him for two months. *He* reached out.”
“And you caved.”
“Yes. Because I missed him too.”
Emily listened, thinking she mightve sympathized once. Maybe even forgiven. Now, she just felt numb.
“Charlotte,” she said. “You got what you wanted. Olivers yours. Why do you need my forgiveness?”
“Because you matter. Because I dont want to lose you.”
“You already did. The second you slept with my husband.”
“Emily”
“Were done. Dont call again.”
Emily hung up, switched off her phone.
That evening, when Oliver came home, she met him with a suitcase.
“Packed your things,” she said calmly. “Divorce papers tomorrow.”
He nodded, taking it.
“Where will I stay?”
“Charlottes, I assume. Or rent somewhere.”
“Em,” he hesitated at the door. “If you need help with the paperwork”
“Ill manage.”
“Okay. Im sorry.”
“Youre forgiven,” she said, and shut the door.
Then she sat on the sofa and criedproperly, for the first time. When the tears stopped, she realized something: she felt free. For the first time in six months.
The divorce was quick, uncontested. Oliver didnt fight for the flat (her parents gift); she didnt ask for alimony. A quiet, civil end.
A month later, she heard Oliver and Charlotte were living together. It didnt hurtjust surprised her, how little she felt for people whod once meant everything.
Then, one Sunday, walking in the park, she met a man with a dog. He helped her pick up dropped groceries. They talked. Turned out, they had a lot in common. And the way he looked at herOliver never had.
“Fancy a coffee?” he asked.
“Alright,” Emily said, thinking: *Lifes just beginning.*
