Ive always thought we were friends, yet youve taken my husband away.
You simply dont get it! You wont understand! Poppys voice cracked into a shout, and she slammed her sketchbook shut. To you its all just doodles, childish fun!
Poppy, thats not what I meant, Marion said wearily, pressing her palms to her temples. The migraine that had started at sunrise now hammered at the back of her skull. Im just trying to say that a career in design is unstable. One day you have commissions, the next you have none. Being an accountant is a steady slice of bread. Always.
Your slice of bread! Not mine! Poppy leapt from her chair, lightning flashing in her eyes. I dont want to spend my life hunched over numbers like you. I want to create, to shape beauty! Aunt Sam gets me; shes the only one who believes in my talent.
The mention of Sam made Marions heart clench. There she was againher best friend, her rock in the darkest times, now becoming more of an authority figure for her daughter than her own mother ever was.
Sam lives in a different world, love. She runs a successful salon; she can afford to talk about lofty things. You and I are scraping from paycheck to paycheck.
Exactly! Poppy screamed, snatching her jacket and hurrying for the door. I wont live like that!
The front door slammed and a ringing silence settled over the tiny tworoom flat. Marion sank into a chair, cradling her head. Every argument drained her of what little strength she had left. At fortyfive, shed spent the last ten years carrying the load alone. Since Ian, her husband and Poppys father, walked out, leaving a mountain of unpaid bills and the vague apology, sorry, weve grown apart, life had turned into a relentless survival race. She worked at the district library, took odd jobs typing up manuscripts at night, and denied herself anything so that Poppy might have what she needed.
All the while Sam was there. Theyd been schoolmates, sharing a bench. Bright, selfconfident Sam and quiet, homebound Marion. When the divorce hit, it was Sam who pulled her out of the abyssdelivering groceries, coaxing her for walks, listening for hours to her tears and complaints. Well get through this, love, she would say, hugging Marion tightly. Hell bite the dust when he sees what hes lost.
And Marion believed her. She rose, brushed herself off, and kept movingfor her daughters sake. Sam had become almost family, a godmotherlike figure to Poppy, the Aunt Sam who would always understand and support.
Marion exhaled and walked to the window. The evening city lights twinkled. Somewhere out there, her angry daughter was probably wandering to Sams cosy studio in the city centre, where the air smelled of premium coffee and haircare products, soft music played, and they could discuss high art without worrying about the next utility bill.
The kitchen phone buzzed. Marion picked it up. A text from Sam: Poppys here. Dont worry, Ill talk to her. All will be well. A sting of irritation mixed with gratitude rose in her. Part of her was relieved that her daughter was in a safe place; another part bristled that Sam was once again the peacemaker, as if Marion couldnt handle her own child.
She poured herself a cheap tea bag, sat at the table, and stared at an old framed photograph: the three of themher, Ian, and a tiny Poppy cradled in her arms. Happy, young. How long ago that was. Ian sometimes she could barely picture his face: tall, darkhaired, laugh lines around the eyes. He loved jazz, strong coffee, travel books. He left abruptly, no arguments, no long talksjust one evening he packed a bag, said he needed time alone, and a week later called to say he wasnt coming back.
A memory of Sams voice floated back: Hes a fool, Marion, just a fool. Youll find someone else. Yet Marion never did. Her whole life had revolved around Poppy.
The next few days passed in a tense hush. Poppy returned from school, ate, and retreated to her room. Marion feared starting a conversation, dreading another fight. On Saturday morning Sam called.
Marion, love, Ive got an emergency. The health inspectors here and my cleaners sick. Could you pop over and help tidy up? Ill owe you. And maybe patch things up with Poppyshes coming over.
Marion hesitated, feeling guilty and indebted, but the thought of finally talking to her daughter on neutral ground tipped the balance.
Alright, Ill be there in an hour.
Sams salon, Cleopatra, dazzled with mirrored walls and floral perfume. Sam, immaculate in a sleek trouserssuit, greeted her at the entrance.
My saviour! she kissed Marion on the cheek. Change into the work shirt; the job is simple: dust, mop the main hall. Ill handle the paperwork. Poppy will be here soon.
Marion changed into an old tshirt in the backroom and set to work. She didnt begrudge Sams success; Sam had always been driven, earning everything she had. Yet surrounded by beauty and abundance, Marion felt her own instability keenly.
She was just finishing the floors when Poppy appeared, eyes narrowed at the sight of a mop in her mothers hands.
We need to talk, Marion whispered.
About what? That I should give up my dream and go to some boring college?
No. About us.
Sam stepped out, two phones in her handsher own and a clients left charging.
Girls, dont fight! she smiled disarmingly. Marion, dont be angry; shes just a kid with big ambitions. Poppy, your mum only wants the best for you. Lets have a coffee. Ill brew your favourite, with a dash of cinnamon.
She set the phones on the admin desk and disappeared into the staff room. Marion sighed. Once again, nothing would work. Poppy buried herself in her phone. Marion glanced at the two devices on the desk; Sams screen lit up with a short message from a contact simply signed I. Missing your coffee and you. A tiny red heart blinked beside it.
Marions heart skipped. I. Ian? No, absurd. Sam had mentioned a new romance, a complicated, divorced but fascinating man. Could it be Ian? The name was common enough. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the foolish thought.
The conversation with Poppy never happened that day. They sipped coffee while Sam chattered about the latest hair trends, Poppy nodded, and Marion sat in silence, feeling an invisible wall rise between her and the people she loved. That message lingered.
Later at home she dug out an old notebook, found Ians numbernever dialled in years. Just in case, she thought, hand hovering over the phone. What would she say? Hi, its me. How are you? Silly. She set the phone down.
A few days later Sam invited them to the cinema. They sat in a dimly lit hall watching a romantic comedy while Marion quietly observed Sam, who kept glancing at her phone, typing swiftly. Once, Marion caught a familiar initial I. in the recipient line.
After the film they went to a café.
Marion, Im thrilled! Sam said, stirring sugar into her cup. I think Ive truly fallen. Hes reliable, smart, makes me feel safe, like behind a stone wall.
Were happy for you, Aunt Sam, Poppy replied. Who is he? Do we know him?
Hes not from our circle, just met recently. Hes back in town after years up north.
The north Ian had worked on rotation in the oil fields of Yorkshire after their split. Marion remembered the gossip. Coincidence? Too many. A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Whats his name? she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Ian, Sam answered, then quickly changed the subject: Oh, Poppy, theres an advert for a renowned art school taking prep students. Maybe youd like to apply? I could fund it.
Marion stopped listening. Ian. So it was true. Her best friend, the woman whod soothed her after the divorce, was now seeing her exhusband. The picture that had once been a vague sketch now formed harsh, ugly lines. Sam was pushing Poppys impossible dreams, positioning herself as a kind fairy while quietly reclaiming what she thought shed lost.
Mum, whats wrong? Poppys voice snapped her out of the stupor. You look pale.
Nothing, Marion replied hoarsely. Just a headache. Lets go home.
At home she locked herself in the bathroom, turned the tap on, and let the water drown her sobs. The tears were bitter, searing. It wasnt just about Ian. He had long been dead to her. It was about betrayal by someone she trusted, about the naivety that let her keep believing a friend could be both supporter and adversary.
She needed to act, but how? A scandal? An accusation? That would be too easy, too humiliating. She decided to wait for undeniable proof.
A week later Sams birthday came. She arranged a party at a countryside restaurant and, of course, invited Marion and Poppy.
Do come, Marion! she chirped on the phone. Ill introduce you to my Ian. Youll love him!
Marion felt her breath catch.
Fine, well be there, she replied.
The whole day she drifted in a fog, picking a dress, doing her hair, applying makeup. In the mirror she barely recognised herself a face with feverish bright eyes. Poppy, oblivious, twirled nearby, excited for the celebration.
The restaurant was elegant: live music, white tablecloths, welldressed guests. Sam, radiant in a silver dress, flitted from guest to guest. Spotting them, she hurried over.
Finally! Come in, loves! Marion, you look stunning! Im about to introduce you Ian!
Ian entered, older, a touch of grey at the temples, but unmistakably the same man. He froze when he saw Marion, a mix of shock, fear, and shame flashing across his features.
Marion? he murmured.
Good afternoon, she said coolly, meeting his gaze.
Sam looked between them, bewildered.
You you know each other?
More than that, Marion replied with a faint smile. Hes my exhusband. Poppys father.
The room fell silent. The music seemed to stop. All eyes were on the three of them. Sams face turned as white as a sheet. Poppy darted her gaze among her mother, Ian, and her beloved Aunt Sam, bewilderment written all over her.
Mum, is this true? she whispered.
Yes, darling. Hes your dad.
Marion stepped toward Sam, who clutched Ians arm as if afraid hed vanish.
Happy birthday, Sam, Marion said softly but firmly. I thought we were friends. Turns out you not only comforted me in my darkest hour but also helped snatch away what I thought was mine. Was it easy for you? Courting my husband behind my back, giving me advice on betrayal while committing a far greater one?
Marion, I I didnt know how to say it, Sam stammered. It happened by accident we met half a year ago, he never mentioned
Hes your friends husband? Marion finished for her. I cant believe you knew. You knew everything.
She turned to Ian.
And you youre not even worth my words. Youve always been a coward, running from one woman to another. Nothing changes.
She took Poppys hand. The girls eyes widened, brimming with tears.
Lets get out of here, love. We dont belong here.
They walked out of the hall under the bewildered stare of the guests. At the doorway Marion looked back. Sam stood alone, stunned, while Ian bowed his head, avoiding their gaze.
The drive home was silent. In the flat Poppy broke down.
Mum, how could this happen? Aunt Sam I trusted her! And dad
Marion held her, smoothing her hair.
Shh, sweetheart, shh. People sometimes do terrible things, even those we love. The important thing is we have each other.
That night they sat at the kitchen table for hours. Marion spoke openly about her life with Ian, her friendship with Sam, saying everything without omission. Poppy listened, her youthful resentment morphing into mature understanding.
The next day Sam cut off contact. Marion ignored the flood of apologetic messages, deleting them without reading. A few days later Ian appeared at their door.
Marion, we need to talk, he said, eyes downcast.
We have nothing to discuss, she snapped. Leave.
But Poppy Im her father!
You only remembered that now? Ten years it didnt matter to you. Go, Ian. Dont ever appear again.
She slammed the door shut, leaning against it, heart hammeringnot from pain, but from relief. It felt as if a massive weight shed carried for years had finally dropped.
Life moved on, though it was hard. The void left by Sams absence was hard to fill. Occasionally, late at night, her hand drifted to the phone, tempted to call a friend, to gossip, but she stopped herself. That friendship was gone.
The bond with Poppy changed; they grew closer than ever. Poppy matured overnight, stopped demanding the impossible, began helping around the house, and even found a side gig painting portraits online.
One evening she placed a bundle of cash on the kitchen table.
Here, Mum. Its for the prep courses. I earned it myself.
Marion looked at her daughters serious, adult face, tears welling.
Youre my pride, she whispered.
No, Mum, youre my pride, Poppy replied, hugging her tightly. Youre the strongest woman I know.
Marion held her daughter, realizing she hadnt lost everything. Shed lost a friend and some naive hopes, but shed gained something far more valuable her childs respect and love. That was what mattered most. The future would be new, difficult, but honest. Together, mother and daughter would face it, side by side.
