**The “Best” Friend**
There are plenty of examples of husbands leaving their wives for their wife’s best friend. And it’s hardly surprising. Your best friend is practically family. She’s always welcome in your home, knows all the traditions, all the birthdays—your husband’s, your children’s. She’s long since memorised his likes and dislikes. Even if you’re nothing alike, something’s kept you close all these years. And that “something” is enough for your husband to one day wave goodbye and walk out.
That’s how it was in my family.
…Emily—my old schoolmate. We’d been friends for years. Never once did I see her as a threat. A mistake. She’d often say, “Your Daniel doesn’t interest me in the slightest.”
I’d laugh carelessly. “Good!”
…I married straight out of school—him at nineteen, me at seventeen. The statistics about early marriages failing never worried us. We were convinced we’d die together seventy years later. Young and foolish.
Emily visited often, watching me bask in domestic bliss. Two kids came along. Years passed. Emily remained single. Sure, she had flings, but no one ever proposed. Plenty of suitors came knocking—then vanished.
She was practically part of the family. Always turned up dressed to the nines—full makeup, manicured nails, some dress with a daring neckline. Meanwhile, there I was in a dressing gown, hauling pots and hoovering. Of course, I paled in comparison. But back then, it never crossed my mind.
Mum warned me: “Emily’s jealous of you. Keep your distance. A single best friend is like a ticking time bomb—you never know when it’ll go off.”
Naively, I’d reply, “What’s there to envy? I barely have time to look at the sky!”
Mum was right.
Later, whenever Emily visited, Daniel would grow irritated and retreat to another room. I assumed he was tired of our chats. So I saw her less. Family came first. Only later did I realise—he’d already fallen for her. Every visit tormented him. As they say, the grass is always greener.
…One summer, I took the kids to the seaside. Daniel promised to redecorate the kitchen while we were away.
When we returned, I knew he’d been gone for ages. The lemon tree in the pot had wilted—no one had watered it. The kitchen was untouched.
Hmm. Who was the snake slithering into my happy home? I mentally listed suspects.
Then I spotted it—on the windowsill, next to the dead plant, a lipstick tube. I knew exactly whose poison-red shade that was. There she was—Emily. My legs gave way. I slumped onto a chair, mind reeling. When I could move, I rushed to her flat, praying it was all a misunderstanding. Surely she’d laugh and call it a prank.
Emily opened the door but didn’t invite me in.
“Care to explain why your lipstick was in my house?” I snapped.
“Haven’t you figured it out? Daniel and I are in love. Have been for ages,” she said coolly.
I trudged home, picturing it—Emily ringing the bell while I was away. Daniel answering. Her stepping inside, confirming he was alone. Casually mentioning how stubble suited him. Brushing his cheek. Him catching her hand, kissing it. The images drove me mad.
Well… Men leave bad wives and good ones. Even vows before God don’t always hold. It’s always been this way. A man’s restless—convinced another’s wife glides like a swan while his own grows bitter as wormwood. Worse when it’s your closest, “dearest” friend.
…Years later, I ran into an old acquaintance, Lucy. She’d married late—twenty-eight. Had a son. Her husband adored the boy—more than her, even. But he was a wanderer—leaving, returning, leaving again, all for the child’s sake. Lucy endured it for years. Where she found the strength, I’ll never know. Maybe her sewing helped—she was brilliant at it, always busy with clients. We met occasionally.
Every time, I’d ask, “Still not remarried?”
She’d shrug. “No. Don’t want to.”
But this time, she grinned. “Sam’s back! Can you believe it? Dumped all his flings and crawled home after sixteen years! I took him in. Who’d want him now? And I’m no prize either. At least someone’ll fetch my glass of water one day. Family’s what matters—not all that silly romance.”
Maybe she’s right. They’ve been inseparable seven years since.
Either way, what’s done can’t be undone. A broken friendship can’t be stitched back together.
…Now I’ve a second husband and one “very married” friend. It’s enough.
Daniel and Emily split within a year. He drifted into another woman’s arms—where he remains.
Of course, we need friends—gossip, girls’ nights, all that. But be careful. Especially with the “best” ones. Think twice before gushing about your perfect marriage. Otherwise, trouble will catch up.
Emily never did start a family. Still alone…
