The Little Grey Mouse Is Happier Than You: How Olga Found Lasting Love and Quiet Happiness While Her Friends Chased Glamour and Lost It All

Emily, come on, you cant be serious, Sarah looked me up and down, eyeing my old cotton dress like it warranted a plaque in some odd little museum. You actually wear that rag? In front of your husband?

I instinctively smoothed the hem. The dress had grown soft after dozens of washes, and it was comfortable.

I like it
Like it, she says You like lots of things, Lauren chimed in, her eyes glued to her phone. Sitting at home, making stew, knitting doilies. Dont you realise your youth is slipping by? Life isnt meant to be just surviving.

Sarah nodded enthusiastically, her gold hoop earrings jingling as she moved:

We went to that new place in Soho last night, just me and Daniel. Divine! Bet you were frying up potatoes again?

I had been frying potatoes. With mushrooms, just how James liked them. He came home worn out from work, wolfed down two helpings, then nodded off on my shoulder in front of the telly. That wasnt something I shared. Why bother? The girls wouldnt understand.

Years ago, the three of us got married just months apart. I remember that year vividly: my modest ceremony at the registry office; then Sarahs grand church wedding, the band, fireworks; then Laurens stylish affair, where every guest took home a personalised favour. Even then, I caught them eyeing each other whenever I mentioned honeymoon plans at James parents cottage in Devon. Sarah snorted into her champagne and Lauren rolled her eyes so dramatically I nearly laughed.

Afterwards, little jabs became our default background. I learned to tune them out, though there was always a dull ache under my rib cage.

Sarah was the sort of woman you couldnt miss when she entered a roomboisterous laughter, wild hand gestures, endless stories about who said what, who wore what. Their flat was constantly bustling: friends, colleagues, people neither of us really knew would waltz in and out, leaving dirty glasses and wine stains on the pale carpet.

Were having about fifteen over on Saturday Sarah would announce on the phone. You should come! Daniels doing a roast.

I always politely declined. James craved peace after a work week, not crowds of strangers in the kitchen.

Fine, hide away in your little nest, Sarah snapped, her tone tinged with something resembling pity.

Daniel seemed supportive at first. He helped in the kitchen, cracked jokes with the guests, tidied up afterwards. When I did pop round occasionally, I saw himtired eyes, forced smiles, repetitive gestures. Hed pour the wine and laugh at the right places, but his gaze wandered farther each time.

Danny, whats with the long face? Sarah would pinch his cheek in front of everyone. Smile, or theyll think I dont feed you!

Hed grin. Everyone would laugh. And I would wonder how long you can wear a mask before it sticksor youre desperate to rip it off.

Ten years on, the mask cracked. Daniel left her for a colleaguea quiet accountant who, rumour had it, baked him pies and never raised her voice. Sarah found out last, after the whole office had been whispering for weeks.

Hes left me, Sarah sobbed into the phone as I listened to things crashing in the background. Ungrateful sod! I gave him my best years! And he left me!

I sat silently. What could I say? That Daniel had spent a decade falling asleep to other peoples laughter, waking up to voices that werent his own? That a home isnt meant to be a perpetual party?

Only after the split did she discover their flat was mortgaged to the hilt, debts piled up like bricks. Sarah was left alone to clear the mess, and her laughter grew thin.

Meanwhile, Lauren was busy curating her perfect life. Her Facebook page overflowed with snaps: New restaurants, fashion boutiques, weekends in Cornwall. Impeccable shots, flawless makeup, quotes about gratitude and universe happiness. Her husband, Jack, lurked in the backgroundmore a blurry prop than a partner.

Look, Lauren thrust her phone under my nose. Kates husband got her a Tiffany necklace. And mine? Hell bring some trinket again.
Maybe he just enjoys choosing himself?

Lauren fixed me with a strange look:

No thanks. I sent him a listhe can pick from that.

I didnt reply. Last night, James had given me a book Id wantedhed hunted it down at a little shop near the station and wrapped it up himself. I didnt mention this to Lauren; shed only laugh at such poverty.

For five years, Jack performed as required: working late, taking extra shifts, chasing Laurens ever-increasing expectations. Then he met a sales assistant in Waterstonesa single mum, no manicure or designer bag. She made him feel enough, simply by being herself.

The divorce was swift and sour. Lauren demanded everything, but received halfby law, not by choice. By then, the family savings were gone: spa memberships, beauty treatments, endless shopping sprees. Nothing was left.

How am I supposed to live? Lauren sobbed into her cappuccino, mascara streaking down her face. On what?

I sipped my coffee and realised, through all these years, Lauren had never once asked how I lived. How James was doing. If we were well. Her questions had always orbited herself.

Both Sarah and Lauren found themselves in similar straits: no husbands, no money, no trace of their old lives. Sarah took up a second job to handle her bills. Lauren downgraded to a smaller flat and stopped posting photos.

And I continued as I always had. Making James dinner, asking about his day, listening to his troubles at work. No demands for presents. No dramas, no comparing him to other men. I was simply there. Steady as an old brick wall; warm as the kitchen light at dusk.

James saw that. One day, he walked in carrying a folder of papers and placed it gently on the table before me.

Whats this?
Half the business. Its yours now.

I stared at the documents for ages before I dared touch them.

Why?
Because youve earned it. Because I want you safe, no matter what. Because without you, none of this would exist.

A year later, he bought a bright and airy flat with big windows and put it in my name. I wept against his shoulder, and James stroked my hair, calling me his treasurehis quiet haven.

The old friends started dropping by for tea. First rarely, then more often. They sat on the new sofa, touched the silk cushions, peered at the paintings on the walls. I caught the expressions on their faces: puzzlement, awkwardness, barely-concealed envy.

How have you managed all this? Sarah scanned the lounge.
James gave it to me.
Just like that?
Just like that.

They exchanged glances. I poured more coffee and said nothing.
On one of those visits, Sarah couldnt hold back. She slammed her cup down, splattering coffee on the saucer, and blurted:

Explain it to me. Why? Why did we lose everything and youdrab little Emilystay happy?

Silence hung over the table. Lauren gazed out the window as if she didnt care, twisting a tin ringcheap now, where thered once been diamondsaround her finger.

I could have answered. Explained about patience. About noticing the little things. How happy marriage isnt a showcase but a daily effort. About love being about listening, caring, protecting. Not demandingbut giving.

But why? For twenty years, theyd looked right through me, as if I were furniture. Twenty years of advicelive brighter, dont be so dull. Twenty years, theyd heard nothing but their own voices.

Maybe Ive just been lucky, I replied, and smiled.

After that, their visits tapered off, then stopped completely. Turns out, envy is stronger than friendship, history or reason. Easier to turn away than admit theyd got it wrong all these years.

I didnt grieve. Oddly, the empty space filled with a calm clarity, like Id taken off shoes a size too small and could finally breathe.

Another ten years drifted by. I was fifty-four and content. Grown children, a grandson, James still bringing me books in craft paper. By chance, I learned from an old neighbour that Sarah never remarried, worked two jobs, complained constantly about her health. Lauren had been through three men, each relationship collapsing for the same reasons: endless complaints, bitter rows, relentless demands.

I listened without malicejust took it in, and thought how sometimes its the dull little field mouse who finds peace. Quiet, invisible from the outside, invaluable within.

I switched off my phone and headed to make dinner. James had promised hed be back early and asked for fried potatoes with mushrooms again.

If theres something Ive learned, its this: happiness doesnt come from showing off, chasing it, or comparing yourself to others. It grows quietly in the corners of kindness and patience, waiting for those who know how to look after it.