My wife went off to find herself, and I lost myself with her best friend…
“James, you have to really *feel* this! Here, the boundaries between matter and spirit just dissolve!”
I sat perched on the edge of our sofa, hunched over my old Dell, staring at my wifes tanned, glowing face. Behind her, the worn stones of some ancient temple shimmered golden in the sunset. Emily, my wife, positively radiatedwhether from excitement, sunlight, or some newfound peace. Or perhaps just from being far away.
“Yes, Em, that sounds interesting,” I replied, the words landing flat. “Meanwhile, here in Manchester, its raining. Ten degrees, if were lucky.”
A muffled laugh drifted from the kitchen. Charlotte was by the stove, warming the kettle, casting a sideways glance at the screen. Shed shown up half an hour earlier with a bag of homemade pasties and that calm, understanding smile of hers.
“James, youre being sarcastic again,” Emily chided, brushing back a bleached strand of hair. “Im serious. Yesterday, I was meditating at Bayham Abbeyyou know, where they filmed *Lara Croft*. The teacher said Im opening my third eye.”
“Congratulations,” I rubbed my forehead. “Let me know when you return to using both of the first two.”
Charlotte snorted quietly, turning away. I caught her eyea pang of guilt hit me. Not for the sarcasm, but because Charlotte seemed to just get me, in a way Emily hadnt for ages. With Charlotte I could just be myself; with Emily, I had to play the part of the enthralled listener.
“James, why are you like this?” Emilys voice had that wounded edge. “Im here finding myself. You always said you supported that.”
I did say that. Three months earlier, when shed announced she was quitting her job and heading off on a journey of enlightenment through Asia. I nodded, held her, kissed the top of her head. I thought it would blow over in a few weeks. But two months passed, and every day she flooded me with photos of stupas and monks and temples, and WhatsApps about chakras, energies, and karmic threads.
And I remained here. Alone in our two-bed flat in Didsbury, surrounded by her forgotten things and a pile of bills.
“I support you, Em,” I exhaled. “Im just tired. Tough project at work.”
“Poor thing,” she leaned towards the camera so that her whole face filled the screen. “Are you completely alone there? Maybe Charlotte can keep you company?”
I went still. So did Charlotte, kettle in hand. Our glances met through the doorway.
“She yes, she sometimes drops by,” I replied, steadying my voice. “She brings pasties. Very kind of her.”
“Charlottes an absolute gem,” Emily beamed. “Im so glad you two have each others support. Tell her I say hello, if shes around.”
“I will.”
Charlotte poured the kettle and slipped quietly out. I listened as her steps padded into the hall. Probably leaving. Sensible of hernot much point hanging around while I chatted with my wife about higher meanings.
“Look, James, Ive got another meditation coming up in half an hour,” Emily flicked her gaze to her phone. “Let me just tell you about today, and then well chat again tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
So she launched into ithow shed met an Aussie woman at the hostel, someone whod practised Vipassana for twenty years. How theyd watched the sunrise at a ruined cathedral. Talk of energy, vibrations, everything coming together in a single moment of awareness.
I watched her lips move rapidly, eyes shininga strange joy lighting her face. And it struck me with sudden clarity: she wasnt here anymore. Shed left for a world of temples and meditation, while I was stuck here, dealing with utility bills and a leaky tap in the kitchen.
Wed met at a work event three years ago. She was a manager in the next officebright, funny, a little irresponsible. We dated for six months, I proposed on her rooftop under the stars. She cried with happiness, said I was her anchor, her great love.
When did it change? Last year, maybe? First it was yoga. Then an Ayurvedic cooking course. Then Buddhist lectures. Then the announcement that she was suffocating at the office, that she had to go find her purpose, that life was about the journey, not just the money.
I didnt protest. I never really did. Just nodded, agreed, supported. I figured it was just a phase.
But she never came back. Well, her body did, for a day or two, to collect her things and dart off againto Thailand, Nepal, now Cambodia. But her heart, her attention, her love stayed in those distant temples.
“Are you listening to me?” Emily frowned.
“Yes, of course,” I jolted up. “Energy. Fascinating.”
“James, I just feel youre closed off,” she sighed. “Maybe you should try meditating too? Ill send a linkjust ten minutes a day and youll notice a difference.”
Ten minutes a day. That would really sort me out. Seven hours at work, an hours commute, another hour cooking and cleaning. I was already noticing a differencethe vast uncomfortable gap between the life she chased out there and the one I endured here.
“Ill think about it, thanks,” I replied.
“I really have to go, honestly,” she blew a kiss at the camera. “Love you. Ill be back soon, I promise.”
“Soon when, exactly?”
“Well two months. Maybe three. I want to pop over to Vietnam; theres a monastery where they teach mindful breathing.”
Two or three months. Or half a year. Or longershe didnt know, I could tell. She was adrift in this new spiritual world, while I was left sinking in the mundane.
“Alright, Em.” I closed my eyes. “Bye now.”
“Bye, love!”
The call ended. Silence swept in. Outside, the October rain softly hissed, and a car honked nearby. I leaned back, stared at the ceiling.
Charlotte hadnt really left. I could hear her in the kitchen, pouring water, setting out pasties. Just regular, tangible life. No energies, no vibrations.
She appeared in the doorway with two cups of Yorkshire tea and a plate of pasties.
“Sorry, I didnt mean to eavesdrop,” she said gently. “But shes really gone for another two or three months?”
I shrugged.
“She’s searching for herself.”
“And you?” Charlotte placed the mugs on the coffee table and sat beside me, keeping a careful distance. “Are you searching for something?”
“I’ve already found it,” I said with bitter humour. “Myself, my wife, my job, our flat. Found it all. But apparently, that’s not enough.”
Charlotte was silent, in the way that only she could be. Not judgemental or pityingjust quietly present. Wed met a year ago, after Emily brought her to my birthday party. Charlotte was an accountant at a local firm, lived alone in a flat nearby. Introverted, reliable, a bit shy. The polar opposite of Emilys sunshine.
Somehow, after Emily flew off, Charlotte started visiting. At first weekly, then more often. Shed bring food, help with odd jobs, or simply keep me company. She didnt dish out advice or platitudes. She simply *was*here, beside me, real.
“Pastie?” She offered the plate.
I took one. Warm, filled with cabbage, homemade. Plain, but tastier than any conversation about personal energies.
“Thank you for coming over,” I said, chewing thoughtfully. “Reallywithout you, Id lose my mind here.”
“Oh, don’t go on,” Charlotte smiled. “Honestly, I like the company myself. Flats empty otherwise. No cat, no plantsjust the telly and four walls.”
“Why not?”
“Never happened,” she shrugged. “There was someone a few years back. I thought it was serious. Turned out he was married, with kids. I didnt know. When I found out, I walked away. Havent really dated anyone seriously since.”
I looked at her more steadily then. Charlotte was no stunneran ordinary face, a bit round, unremarkable hair. But there was something honest and reliable in her. No pretence at perfection, no striving for enlightenment. She just lived.
“Youre a good person, Char,” I said softly. “Pity that bloke turned out a bastard.”
“Happens,” she replied, sipping her tea. “We all have our stories.”
We sat in silence, just listening to the rain. The flat felt warm, cosy. The TV remote, a stack of bills, and a computer magazine were scattered on the table. Just a normal life, for ordinary people.
And somewhere, seven thousand miles away, in a jungle-bound temple, my wife was opening her third eye and seeking harmony with the universe.
“You know,” I turned to Charlotte, “sometimes I think I’ve lost hernot physically, but… in every way that matters. Shes gone somewhere I just cant follow.”
“Do you want to?”
“I dont know,” I ran a hand over my face. “Once upon a time, I wouldve said yes. I told myself I should support all her passions. But this isnt a hobby anymore. Its another life. One where I dont fit.”
She gently placed a hand on my shoulderjust a friends touch. But I felt something stir inside: warmth, closeness, what Id been missing.
“Sorry,” I shifted away. “Didnt mean to burden you.”
“Youre not.” She withdrew her hand but her look was soft and knowing. “Youre just tired. Tired of waiting. Tired of being alone. Tired of living in limbo.”
Exactly. Limbo. Not single, but not really married, either. Wife present, but absent. A flat, but empty.
“Would you like some more tea?” Charlotte asked, rising.
“Lets have some wine instead,” I blurted before thinking. “If you dont mind?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Not at all.”
Out came a bottle of red wed bought for our last anniversary and never opened. I poured us each a glass. We sat againthis time, our distance shrank, ever so slightly.
“What should we toast to?” Charlotte mused.
“To being here,” I said. “Not somewhere else.”
She raised her glass with a sad smile.
The wine was dry and warming. We drank in silence for a bit, until Charlotte told some silly story about her colleagues at work. For the first time all week, I laughedmaybe for the first time all month.
And then my laptop rang.
I jumped. On the screen flashed Emilys name: a video call on WhatsApp.
“Odd,” I frowned. “We just spoke.”
“Maybe she forgot something?”
I accepted the call. There she was, face now half-shadowed, likely after dark where she was. She sat in a modest room, lamplight behind her.
“Hey James, sorry to bother you again,” she chirped. “Meditation was called offtorrential rain here. I felt like we barely talked Fancy a real chat?”
“Yes, of course,” I glanced at Charlotte. She moved to get up for the kitchen.
“Wait, whos that with you?” Emily narrowed her eyes at the background.
“Charlotte,” I cleared my throat. “She dropped by with pasties. Just for a quick hello.”
“Charlie! Come herelet me see you! I miss you so much!”
Blushing, Charlotte perched on the sofa, just inside the frame.
“Hello, Em,” she said gently. “How are you?”
“Brilliant!” Emily was practically glowing. “Had a really incredible experience today. Theres this thingVipassana meditation. Ten days of total silence! No talking, no phones, just you and your mind. Im doing it next week.”
“Ten days silent?” I felt a lump in my throat. “So not a word to anyone?”
“Thats the point!” Emily beamed. “Cut off from the outside, deep dive within. Think what an experience!”
Ten days. On top of the weeks and months already apart.
“Sounds spiritual,” I managed.
Emily either ignored or missed the irony.
“It is, isnt it? Im so grateful you understand. Loads of husbands would be furiousbut you you just accept.”
Accepting. That was my specialtyher absence, her quest for self, her endless searching. Because I loved her. Or used to. Or just never learned to say no.
“Look, Em, my laptops lagging a bit,” I said. “Maybe lets catch up again tomorrow?”
“No, wait, I need to tell youjust listen, my master today said”
And she was off again. Karma, reincarnation, the illusion of suffering. All about detachment, transcending ego, universal love.
I watched the screen and felt my exhaustion gatherheavy, sticky. I was tired of listening. Tired of nodding. Tired of feigning interest.
Charlotte sat stiffly beside me, clearly feeling out of place. I quietly lowered my laptops volume. Even lower. Emilys speech faded into a meaningless stream.
“Sorry,” I whispered to Charlotte. “She can go on for hours.”
“Perhaps I should go,” she murmured.
“No,” I surprised myself by catching her hand. “Dont go. Please.”
She looked surprised but didnt pull away. We sat, holding hands, while Emilys distant monologue continued.
Was it madness? Betrayal? I didnt care any more. I was so tired of being the good husband, understanding, waiting for my wife to come down from her clouds.
Charlotte was here. Warm. Real. Close.
“James, are you listening?” Emilys voice pushed through the patter of rain.
“Yes, of course. About Kundalini energy.”
“You seem odd distant.”
“Just tired,” I let go of Charlottes hand. “Work, you know.”
“Poor love,” Emily turned nurturing. “Alright, go rest. I should try calling my guru anywaygot a chakra question.”
“Right.”
“Kiss! Love you!”
“Love you.”
The screen stayed on. She flipped to another call, not realising the webcam was still running. I watched her typing, then settling cross-legged on the bed to meditate.
I slumped back, eyes closed. Charlotte was still there beside me, silent. I could feel her, mere inches away. Thirty centimetres between usand a chasm.
Don’t. Dont even think about it. This would be wrong. A betrayal of everything that kept my life halfway decent.
But my hand reached to her shoulder, as if of its own accord. She shivered, glanced up at me with wide eyes.
“James”
“Dont say anything,” I whispered. “Please.”
And I kissed her.
It was wrong. Reckless. Base. But it was neededdesperately, after all these months of coldness and silence and pointless conversations.
Charlotte froze first, then met my kiss. Her lips were salty with tears. Was she crying? Or was I?
We kissed hungrily, fearfully, as though wed be caught. My hands found the zip on her dress; hers slipped beneath my shirt. Everything happened fast, like a dream.
On the laptop screen, Emily sat in lotus position, meditatinglost in her spiritual worlds.
Two realities. Two worlds: one glowing on-screen, distant and foreign; the other right here on the sofa, real and dark.
I shrugged off my shirt. Charlotte buried her face in my shoulder, tremblingwas it fear, shame, or desire?
“You sure?” I whispered into her hair.
“No,” she breathed. “And you?”
“Me neither.”
We both laughedanxiously, quietly. Then we kissed again, and this time nothing stopped us.
Emilys distant voice seemed to ramble on about letting go of attachments, about universal love. And I, a few feet away from that screen, betrayed her with her best friend.
Disgusting. I knew it in every fibre; I couldnt stop. My body, my nerves craved thisfor warmth, closeness, something real.
Charlotte barely made a sound, only clutching my shoulders tight enough to leave marks.
I didnt dare look at the screenafraid Id see Emilys face, afraid shed turn and catch it all live.
But she never looked. She was lost in her worlduntouchable, pure, spiritual.
I was drowning, right there on the sofa, and hated myself, and yet didnt stop.
When it was done, Charlotte rolled onto her side, under the blanket. I sat, head in hands. Emilys voice still floated from the laptop:
“and so I realised that real love isnt about possessing. Its about letting go, about acceptanceabout trust.”
Trust.
I felt my stomach twist. I leapt up and slammed the laptop shut. Silence dropped. Rain hammered at the window.
Charlotte quietly pulled her dress on.
“I I should go,” she whispered.
“Charlotte”
“No,” she raised a hand. “Dont. Dont say anything. Please.”
She gathered her things quickly, slipped her shoes on in the hall. I stood at the sitting room door, helpless. What could I possibly say?
She left quietly, closing the door behind her.
I walked back into the lounge. The blanket, now useless, lay crumpled on the floor. Two nearly-full wine glasses. Cold pasties. The laptop, shut tight.
I opened it. Missed call from Emily. WhatsApp message: James, did the internet drop? Everything okay? Kisses. Off to bed. Lets catch up tomorrow?
Tomorrow. The day after. When the ten-day silence began. Everything would stay the same. She was there, I was here. She in her dreamworld, I in shattered reality.
I stared out of the windowat the black windows of the opposite block. Somewhere lights flickeredother people, also hurting, lying, cheating. Or maybe not. Maybe they were happy.
Another pinga message. Charlotte.
Sorry.
Just that one word.
I wanted to reply, but had no words. Sorry too? For using her loneliness? For betraying my wife? For saddling us both with this burden?
I sat down, right where wed just been, wrapped myself in the blanket still warm with her scent, and cried. Quietly, hopelessly, eyes raw.
What had I done? For what? A moments intimacy? Petty revenge on my wife for leaving me? Or just because I was sick of being the good one?
Wiping my face, I glanced at the screen. Emily had messaged again: “Night sweetheart. Hugging you from afar.”
Routine. Automatic. She was probably asleep, or meditating, or chatting about vibrations with the Aussie.
And I sat, choking on shame.
I tidied the flat. Washed the glasses, put away the food, wiped the table. Straightened the blanket. Wiped away signsas if that could erase what had happened.
Then I lay in our bedmine and Emilys. Couldnt sleep. Thoughts heavy, suffocating.
What would tomorrow bring? Charlottewould she vanish from my life now, as if nothing had happened? What would I say to Emily, when she called? Keep pretending to be the loving, patient husband?
I remembered her words about trust and acceptance and wanted to both laugh and cry.
Trust? Acceptance? Id just cheated on her in our home while she was off seeking enlightenment.
But she betrayed me, tooleft me for her search, chose spiritual journeys over intimacy. Left me alone with her things and my own memories.
No, thats not an excuse. She didnt sleep with anyone. Shes just searching. But Id committed the real, physical, unpardonable sin.
It was three by the time I gave up on sleep. I made some strong coffee, sat by the computer, tried to work. Numbers, codeat least those made sense.
But my fingers wouldnt obey. Lines of code blurred. I kept drifting back to that momentto the kiss, the touch, Charlottes silent tears.
Had she wept? Was she as ashamed as I was? Or had she always wanted it? Was that why she visited, helped out, sat with me?
I hung my head in my hands. God, I didnt know. I knew nothing. Not about Emily off on her journey, nor about Charlotte. Not even about myself.
Was I a victim? A betrayer? Just a weak man who couldnt bear being lonely?
Dawn crept in, pale and uncertain. Rain faded. Somewhere, an engine startedManchester shrugged itself awake.
I got ready for work. Opened the door, and there was a note on the doormat.
I picked it upCharlottes handwriting, small and shaky.
“James. I dont know what to say. Im so ashamed. Of myself, of you, of Emily. I cant imagine ever looking her in the eye again when shes back. I wont come round anymore. Not for last night. For ruining everything. Charlotte.”
I folded the note, stuck it in my pocket. Sat through work, staring blind at the screen while colleagues questions washed over me.
At home, the flat met me with silence. I warmed up leftover soup, ate without tasting, flicked on the tellypolitics, weather, trivia.
The laptop pinged. Emily again.
Hey James! How was your day? My retreat starts tomorrowdont be alarmed if I vanish. Ten days of silence! Guess Ill be thinking of you. Love you x
I read it for ages. Then I answered: “Good luck, Em. Just focus on yourself. That matters most.”
Sent. Closed the laptop.
Ten days. Ten days without her voice. Ten days of freedom from energy talk and chakras. Ten days to thinkor get even more lost.
My phone buzzed. A message from Charlotte.
“Could I come round? Need to talk.”
My heart thudded. I typed: “Come over.”
She arrived twenty minutes later, pale with red eyes, sitting on the edge of the sofa without removing her coat.
“Sorry its late,” she whispered. “But Ive been thinking all day. Its cowardly to just run away. We need to talk.”
I sat opposite, in my armchair, keeping a safe distance.
“Go on.”
“I I dont even know what last night was,” she stared at the floor. “Im so ashamed. I betrayed Emily. She was my best friend. Was. I dont know, not anymore.”
“Charlotte”
“Let me finish,” she met my eyes, wet with tears. “I cant call it a mistake, because because I wanted it. For a while, since I started coming round. I saw how lonely you were. And I wasI was lonely, too. I wanted to be close. To be needed. To be yours.”
I was lost for words.
“But thats not an excuse,” she continued. “I knew it was wrong. That youre married. That shes my friend. Still I let it happen. And now I dont know how to keep going.”
“I dont know either,” I managed. “Charlotte I just used you. Out of loneliness, out of feeling abandoned. Its my fault. I should have stopped it.”
“We both should.” She wiped her eyes. “And now what?”
Silence. Thick, suffocating.
“Will you tell her?” she asked.
“I dont know,” I leaned back. “Should I? Maybe. But how? Hey love, while you were seeking enlightenment, I slept with your friend on our sofa?”
Charlotte winced.
“Sorry. That was crude,” I said, rubbing my face. “I just I dont know. Tell her and destroy everything? Or keep it in and live with this?”
“And if we keep quiet, then what?” She looked steadily at me. “Pretend nothing happened? I bring more pasties, we drink tea, chat rubbish? She comes back and were all smiles? Is that what you want?”
“No,” I shook my head. “Of course not. Charlotte, I I dont want you to suffer for my weakness.”
“And I cant be the person who wrecked someones marriage,” she stood. “James, I need to leave. Your life, hers. Maybe even Manchester. Theres an opening in our Liverpool office. Ill think about it.”
“Dont,” I stood too. “Charlotteyour life, your friends”
“What friends?” she let out a hollow laugh. “Emily? After what I did? I cant. Every time Id see her, Id remember. So would you. And at some point, no matter how hard we try, shell see it. Shell know.”
She was right. Some sins cant be hidden. They ooze out through glances, words, silences.
“So what do we do?” I said quietly.
Charlotte walked to the door, turned to look back at melong, heavy.
“Live, James,” she said. “Just live. You with your wife and your guilt. Me with my shame. Thats probably how it ought to be.”
“Charlotte”
“No,” she opened the door. “Look after yourself. And her. Maybe shell come back changed. Maybe itll all work out.”
“Or maybe not.”
“Then thats your choice to make. But dont let it be because of me. Last night it wasnt a beginning. It was the end. Of our friendship, of mine with Emily, of the Charlotte who thought she knew right from wrong.”
She left. This time, for good.
I stood in the middle of the front room, staring at the closed door. Then slowly, I turned to the sofa. The coffee table. The laptop.
Everything looked just the same.
But everything had changed.
I gazed out at the citys shadowed windows, thinking of Emilyseven thousand miles away, eyes closed in meditation, seeking eternal answers.
Id found my answer, right here, on this cursed sofa.
The answer was simple and terrifying: I was an ordinary man. Weak. Fallible. Lonely. Not spiritual, not enlightened. Simply a person who needed warmth and closenessand got only guilt in return.
I drew the curtains, switched off the lights, and lay in darkness. Ten days of silence. Ten days to find out if I could ever forgive myself. Or if I even deserved forgiveness.
There was no answer. Only darkness, silence, and the steady hum of Manchester churning on outside.
“Sorry,” I whispered to the emptiness. “Sorry, Charlotte.”
But I wasnt even sure who I meant: Charlotte, who had gone? Emily, who knew nothing? Or myself, for failing everyoneincluding my own conscience.
The darkness said nothing. As only darkness can.
