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Childhood Companion: A Journey Through Friendship
Forgive me, Steve, but I Ive fallen for your wife, Tom said, his eyes fixed on nothing but the distance. The words seemed to burst from him against his own will.
Steve froze. A torrent of emotions flickered across his face, and his breath grew shallow.
I swear there was never anything between us, Tom rushed on, Emily has no idea at all
Silence stretched, the room holding its breath.
So when did you think I needed to hear this? Steve asked, his tone cold and level.
Were friends, right? Tom replied, still avoiding Steves gaze, I thought youd tell me what to do His voice trembled, betraying the turmoil inside.
You want advice from me? Steves bitter smile was thin. Youve slept with my wife and expect me to bless you? Brilliant!
No, you dont get it! If I wanted her, Id have taken her. You know me. But I cant. Youre like a brother to me.
A brother? Steve rose from the couch. Remember how you ran off with Daisy from Victors flat? You swore that was forever friendship too.
That was school, Steve! Emily is different.
Different? Shes my wifeand shes pregnant, if you havent noticed. So get out of our lives.
Seriously? Youd betray our friendship over a woman? Steves voice trembled with disbelief and hurt.
Its about family. You understand the difference, dont you? And you cant accuse me of betrayal.
Wasnt it you who started this? Go to the cinema with Emily, Im busy, Help her with the garden, Take her to see her parents. You shoved your own wife onto me! I liked being needed! Get it?
Leave, Steve flung the door open, his calm unnerving. And dont come back. Forget us.
Fine. You know, mate, I expected a different conversation. My conscience is clear now.
The guest slipped out, and the moment the door slammed, he dialed Emily.
We need to meet. Its important, he said.
Is something wrong? Emilys voice wavered. Come over, Steves still at work. Well wait together.
I cant. He he told me Im not allowed in your house
How? Why?
I dont know. I thought youd explain.
Im lost, Emily confessed, Alright, lets meet in the park then
They met. Emily listened without interrupting as Tom recounted how Steve had suddenly exploded, accusing him of some vague betrayal, speaking of nonexistent affairs between Tom and Emily
He didnt lie; he simply left out the crucial pieces.
Your husband thinks Im tearing your family apart, Tom finished, staring into her bewildered eyes.
But thats nonsense, she whispered.
Steves just jealous, Tom said generously. Did you ever notice?
He could see the puzzle forming in her mind: sudden questions from her husband, his distrust of friends, constant suspicion. Perfect soil for doubt.
What should I do? she asked, pain threading her voice.
Talk to him. Tell him hes wrong. That were just friends.
He wont believe you.
Then say nothing, Tom brushed her hand lightly. Stay with me tonight. Let him feel what its like to be alone
Emilys eyes flickered with fear, doubt, resentment toward Steve and something new, dangerous.
Alright, she said finally. But Im counting on your integrity
The first move was made.
All evening Tom played the understanding friend. They shared tea, recalled funny anecdotes, and he caught her gazeconfused, yet increasingly engaged.
When Emily fell asleep on the couch, he didnt wake her.
The next morning Steves hoarse voice cut through the phone.
Emily, are you there?
Yes, she replied, unmoving, Everythings fine. She just decided not to come back.
Silence hung heavy. Steves face flashed in Toms mind, a grim satisfaction blooming.
Tell her, Steve said slowly, as if choosing his words with care, the doors closed. Permanently.
He hung up.
Emily awoke to the conversation.
What happened?
Steve he doesnt want to see you anymore. He says you made your choice.
She broke down. Tom held her, murmuring empty comforts, feeling nothing. Why did she weep for a past happiness he had so easily shattered?
A week later Emily packed her things.
Im going to my mothers, she said, not looking at him, I need time alone.
Of course, he nodded, Go.
She left, throwing a final glance back.
I dont trust any of you any more
***
Tom was left alone in a vacant flat. The silence pressed, turning thoughts inside out.
His flawless plan cracked. She was supposed to oscillate between them! He had intended to torment Steve, to keep her close, to savor his humiliation. Yet she left, ruining everything.
He flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling, childhood memories flooding back.
Steve, the perpetual lucky charmalways scoring the winning goal, breezing through exams, catching every girls attention. Everything came easy to him.
Envy had been simmering for years, quiet and corrosive, until it boiled over into hatred.
Life had scattered them, and a chance encounter reignited the old, unspoken malice. Steve, now a thriving entrepreneur, with a beautiful wife and a baby on the way, wore a serene, confident smile that stirred the dormant venom.
Tom could no longer bear it. He wanted, impossibly, to strip some of Steves bliss, even if only for a moment. He never imagined it would be so simple.
A sudden ring shattered the quiet. An unknown number. A voice reported an accidentEmily had been in a car crash on her way to her mothers.
Tom sat stunned, unable to move. This was no longer a clever plot or revenge. It was a disaster.
Steve, learning of the crash, spent sleepless nights at the hospital.
When Emily, through tears and pain, finally recounted everythinghow shed been persuaded that Steves jealousy was baseless, how shed been coaxed into staying just to talk so Tom could teach him a lesson, Steve squeezed her hand, his own worry eclipsing all else. He was simply grateful she was alive.
A few days later Steve returned home to change.
In the hallway stood Tom, his childhood friend, pale, eyes darting.
How is she? Steve asked, voice hollow, meaning the loss of their unborn child.
Everythings over, Tom whispered, his face paling even more.
I didnt want this! Toms words flooded out. I was just jealousalways jealous! You had everything, and I had nothing! I watched you be happy and I couldnt stand it! I thought I thought I could teach you a lesson, break your family, make you suffer! I never expected her to go, never expected her death!
Steve listened in silence, the frantic confession washing over him, then replied:
I never expected anything good from you. But you surprised me. You finally owned up. Does it feel lighter?
Sorry, Tom croaked. I never imagined it would go this far
Think before you act, Steve snapped. They say it helps. Thats all, goodbye.
He slipped away into the stairwell.
Tom stood alone, rooted, unsure which way to turn. At last, he took a slow, uncertain step forward into the night.
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Mother-in-Law Anna Peters was sitting in her kitchen, watching the milk quietly simmering on the stove. She had forgotten to stir it three times already, each time remembering too late: the milk would froth, spill over, and she would clean the stove irritably with a cloth. In those moments she felt it keenly: it wasn’t really about the milk. Ever since her second grandchild was born, everything in the family seemed to derail. Her daughter grew tired, thinner, and quieter. Her son-in-law came home late, ate in silence, sometimes heading straight to the bedroom. Anna saw this and thought: how can you just leave a woman to cope alone? She spoke up. At first gently, then more sharply. First to her daughter, then to her son-in-law. And then she noticed something strange: after she spoke, the house didn’t feel lighter, but heavier. Her daughter defended her husband, he grew gloomier, and Anna returned home with a sinking feeling that once again, she hadn’t done things right. That day she went to see their vicar, not for advice, but because there was nowhere else to go with this feeling. “I suppose I’m just not a good person,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “I always do things wrong.” The vicar was sitting at his desk, writing. He set his pen aside. “Why do you think that?” Anna shrugged. “I tried to help. Instead, I only seem to make everyone angry.” He looked at her attentively, but without judgment. “You’re not a bad person. You’re just exhausted. And very anxious.” She sighed. That rang true. “I’m so worried for my daughter,” she said. “She’s so different since the baby. And him…” She waved a hand. “It’s like he doesn’t even notice.” “Do you notice what he does?” the vicar asked. Anna thought for a moment. She remembered how, last week, he washed the dishes late at night when he thought no one saw. How on Sunday he took the pram out for a walk, even though he looked as if he’d rather collapse into bed. “He does help… I suppose,” she replied doubtfully. “But not the way he should.” “And what way is that?” the vicar asked gently. Anna wanted to reply at once, but realised she didn’t know. She could only think: more, better, more attentively. But what, exactly, was hard to explain. “I just want things to be easier for her,” she said. “Then say that,” the vicar replied quietly. “Not to him, but to yourself.” She looked at him. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re not fighting for your daughter — you’re fighting her husband. And fighting means being tense. That exhausts everyone: you, and them.” Anna was silent for a long while. Then she asked, “So what should I do? Pretend everything’s fine?” “No,” he replied. “Just do what helps. Not words, but actions. And not against someone, but for someone.” On her way home, she thought over his words. Remembered how, when her daughter was a little girl, she would just sit beside her quietly if she cried — never lecturing. Why was it different now? The next day, she arrived unannounced. She brought soup. Her daughter was surprised; her son-in-law embarrassed. “I won’t stay long,” Anna said. “Just wanted to help.” She watched the children while her daughter slept. Left quietly, without a word about how hard things were, or what they ought to do. The next week, she came again. And again, the week after. She still noticed that her son-in-law was far from perfect. But she began to see other things: the way he gently picked up the baby, how at night he tucked a blanket around her daughter when he thought no one was looking. One day, in the kitchen, she couldn’t help herself and asked him, “Is it hard for you right now?” He looked startled, as if no one had ever asked before. “It’s hard,” he answered, after a pause. “Very.” And nothing more. But something sharp in the air between them was gone. Anna realised she’d been waiting for him to change. But it needed to start with her. She stopped discussing him with her daughter. When her daughter complained, she didn’t say “I told you so.” She just listened. Sometimes she took the children to give her daughter a break. Sometimes she called her son-in-law to ask how things were. It wasn’t easy. It was much easier to stay angry. But gradually, the house grew quieter. Not better, not perfect — just quieter. Free of endless tension. One day her daughter said, “Mum, thank you for being with us now, not against us.” Anna thought about those words for a long time. She understood something simple: reconciliation doesn’t come from someone admitting they’re wrong. It comes when someone is willing to stop fighting first. She still wanted her son-in-law to be more attentive. That wish hadn’t gone away. But alongside it lived something more important: for her family to have peace. And every time the old feeling — frustration, resentment, the urge to criticise — rose up, she asked herself: Do I want to be right, or do I want to make things easier for them? Almost always, the answer showed her what to do next.
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