**Diary Entry 18th June**
She said it so calmly, without even looking me in the eyes. *”He married you, but he loves me.”*
“Emily, do you want coffee?” I asked, flicking the kettle on and pulling two mugs from the cupboard.
“Yes, please. Strongmy heads splitting,” she muttered, rubbing her temples before sinking into the kitchen chair.
I scooped coffee into the cups in silence, then turned to her. Wed been friends for over a decade, since university, and I could always read her like a book. Now, she looked exhausteddark circles under her eyes, her hair hastily tied back.
“Late night again?” I asked gently.
She nodded, tracing the pattern on the tablecloth. “Stuck at the office till half one. Reports due tomorrow, and the figures wouldnt add up. Came home, and Daniel was already asleep. Left before I woke up. Its been like this all week.”
I slid the steaming mug toward her and sat opposite. Something flickered in my eyes, but she didnt notice.
“How are things between you two? Since the wedding?” I stirred sugar into mine.
“Fine, I suppose,” she shrugged. “Adjusting. You know the first years the hardest. Mum says its just growing pains.”
“Growing pains,” I repeated, bitterness creeping into my voice.
Emily finally looked up, frowning. “Lily, whats wrong? You seem… off.”
“Im fine,” I waved her off. “Just tired. Works mad, and weve started redecoratingits all a bit much.”
But she wasnt fooled. We knew each other too well. She recognised that lookthe same one Id had years ago when I confessed to fancying our philosophy lecturer. That glint, that tension.
“Lily, tell me,” she pressed. “Were friends.”
I stood, walked to the window, and stared into the garden. Then I turned sharply.
“Theres something I have to say. I dont know how youll take it.”
“Go on.” Her pulse quickened.
“Its about Daniel.”
“Daniel?” She set her mug down slowly. “What about him?”
I stepped closer but couldnt meet her gaze. “Weve been seeing each other. For six months.”
She froze. The words didnt sink in at first.
“Seeing each other?”
“Yes. After work. Weekends when youre visiting your parents. Emily, Im sorryI never meant for this to happen. It just… did.”
“Just *did*?” Her voice was quiet, sharp. “An affair just *happened*?”
“Dont call it that. We just… understand each other. We talk, go for walks, the theatre”
“The theatre,” she echoed. “And do you *sleep together* just for *understanding*?”
I flushed. Silence was answer enough.
Emily stood, legs trembling, but pride kept her upright. “How long?” she asked, unnervingly calm.
“Six months. It started before your wedding. We tried to stopthought we could forget each other. Then, after the ceremony… he called me.”
“After the wedding, *he* called *you*.” She spoke slowly. “So during your honeymoon, he was thinking of *me*?”
I ducked my head. “Emily, I know it hurts. But he married youand loves me. And I love him. We never meant to”
“He married me but loves you,” she repeated, like a verdict.
The kitchen was silent, just the clock ticking. She stood there while I stared at the floor.
“Why tell me now?” she asked. “You couldve kept lying.”
“I couldnt. Daniel wanted to confess, but I thought it should come from me. Were *friends*”
“Friends,” she scoffed. “Ten years of friendship, and this is where it ends.”
“Emily, listenyou dont choose love. It happens. We didnt plan”
“Didnt *plan*?” Her voice cracked. “You stood at my wedding, toasted my *happiness*asked how we were getting ontold me to *be patient* with himall while sleeping with him?”
“I *wanted* it to work for you, I swear. But I cant help how I feel. I love him.”
“Does he love you?”
I lifted my head. What she saw in my eyes shattered her completely.
“Yes,” I whispered. “He does. He says he realised too late. After it was too late to change things.”
“Too late? A wedding isnt a death sentence. He couldve *not married me*.”
“He didnt want to upset you. Thought hed grow to love you. Youre kind, goodeveryone said you were perfect together.”
“Perfect,” she sank back onto the chair. “So he married me out of *pity*?”
“Out of respect. He cares for you”
“But doesnt love me.”
“No. Im sorry.”
She covered her face. Six months of marriage, and all along, hed been with her best friend. The late nights, the excusesit all made sense now.
“Where did you meet?” she asked tonelessly.
“My flat. Sometimes cafés across town.”
“*Here*? In this kitchen?”
Silence.
She grabbed her bag.
“Where are you going?” I panicked.
“Home. To talk to my *husband*.”
“Waitlets talk this through. There must be a way”
“What way?” She turned in the doorway. “Shall we *share* him? Or should I *hand him over* and play the understanding friend?”
“I dont know. I just dont want to lose you.”
“You lost me when you slept with my husband.”
“Emily!”
But she was gone.
The bus ride home was a blur. The words looped in her head: *He married you but loves me.*
The flat was empty. Daniel wouldnt be back for hours. She sat on their bed, replaying the signshis distance, the lack of intimacy. Shed blamed stress, adjustment.
Now she remembered: Lilys questions about their plans, Daniels frequent “late nights,” Lilys sudden unavailability.
Keys in the lock. Daniel was early.
“Em, you home?” he called.
“Here.” Her voice was steady.
He kissed her cheekhabit. A normal man, unremarkable, but once her world.
Over dinner, he chatted about work, complained about his boss. She listened, realising it was all an act.
“Daniel,” she interrupted. “Lily told me something today.”
He froze. “What?”
“That youre seeing each other.”
He closed his eyes. “She told you?”
“Yes. Is it true?”
“Yes.” A heavy sigh. “I was going to tell you.”
“Six months. Our entire marriage.”
“Before the wedding too. We tried to stop, but”
“But the *great love* was too strong,” she finished.
He stood by the window. “I never meant for this. But I love her.”
“Do you love *me*?”
Pause. Then: “No. I thought I would. Youre good. Safe.”
“*Safe*,” she repeated. “Like a savings account.”
“I didnt mean to hurt you.”
“Six months of liesdid you think that *wouldnt* hurt?”
He turned, shame in his eyes. “Its been killing me too. Pretending.”
“Then what now?”
“Divorce, I suppose.”
“And marry Lily?”
“If shell have me.”
“She will.”
She cleared the table, hands shaking.
“Em,” he called.
“What?”
“Im sorry.”
“You couldve *not married me*. Couldve told the truth.”
“I was afraid to hurt you.”
“And hurt me worse.”
Silence.
That night, they slept inches apart, strangers.
The divorce was swift. No fights. He didnt touch the flat her parents had helped her buy; she asked for nothing.
A month later, she heard hed moved in with Lily. It didnt sting. Just… nothing.
Then, one Sunday in the park, a man with a dog helped her pick up dropped groceries. They talked. He looked at her in a way Daniel never had.
“Fancy a coffee?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said, smiling.
Life, she realised, was only just beginning.
**Lesson learned: Love built on lies isnt love at all. And sometimes, the end is just the start.**
