Saturday
I’m in the kitchenette, on my phone, nursing the dregs of a lukewarm tea. The hum of the salon drifts through the door.
I’m scrolling through emails—a supplier confirmation, a booking enquiry, the usual—when a text notification slides onto the screen. A name I haven’t seen in months.
Rachel.
My thumb freezes mid-scroll.
Rachel
Ainsley, I know we’re not on good terms, but Danny’s done to me what he did to you. I’m upset and confused and... I don’t know. Just thought maybe you’d understand
I read it twice. Three times.
Rachel. My ex-best friend. The woman who slept with my boyfriend—the father of my daughter—behind my back.ThatRachel is texting me for... what? Sympathy? Comfort?
And she doesn’t even apologise! Not a single “sorry for what I did”. She actually wrote “what he did to you”, like she wasn’t right there with him, doing it too.
My pulse races.
Of course Danny cheated on her. Because that’s what men like Danny do. The charming ones. The flirty ones. The ones who make you feel oh so special, when in their eyes you’re really not special at all.
For one stupid half-second, my thumb hovers over the keyboard. Old habit. Old instinct. We were best friends once. Used to share everything.
But then I catch myself.
Why should I comfort her? Why should I offer anything to the woman who helped tear my life apart and never once said sorry?
No. I have to protect myself. Prioritise my own peace.
I tap through to her contact. Press “block”.
I set the phone down and pick up my tea. It’s gone completely cold, but I drink it anyway.
Sunday
“Can we get a Ken doll?”
I blink at Lily over the pile of Barbies between us. “A Ken doll? Since when do you want a boy doll?”
“Because Barbie needs a boyfriend, Mummy.” She says it like I’m being thick. “Obviously.”
“Why does Barbieneeda?—”
“Stwuan Barbie can’t be her boyfriend,” Lily continues, steamrollering right over me. “She’s notreallya boy. I want a real boy to be Barbie’s boyfriend. Someone who gives her cuddles and kisses.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Er... right. Well, maybe. For now, let’s find Barbie a nice outfit, shall we?”
“Okay!” Lily happily dives into her drawer of tiny clothes.
I try to help, holding up a sparkly pink dress which she rejects in favour of something with more sequins. But my mind drifts.
Cuddles and kisses. Where didthatcome from?
Sunday (later)
Lily is finally asleep.
