013

THE late afternoon sunlight slanted lazily through the half-drawn curtains of Amelia’s dining room. The table between them was modestly set, two cups, a porcelain teapot steaming gently, and a small plate of biscuits Clara had insisted on bringing along.

Amelia sat opposite Clara, her spoon clinking softly against the rim of her cup as she stirred her tea in slow circles, her eyes lowered. Clara, leaning back comfortably in her chair, studied her friend with a knowing gaze.

“So…” Clara began, finally breaking the silence that had been stretching between them, “you have been avoiding me, Amelia. Don’t bother denying it. If I didn’t push today, you would probably have postponed again.”

Amelia sighed, shoulders sagging as though the weight of the words pressed her down.

“It is not like I’m avoiding you,” she murmured, finally lifting her gaze. “Adrian and I only just settled things yesterday. I have been… angry at him.”

Clara’s brow arched, though her lips curved in the faintest smile. She reached for the teapot, pouring steaming amber liquid into her cup with practiced ease.

“I knew it,” she said, handing Amelia the teapot. “I could hear it in your voice the last time we spoke. Girl, you need some time for yourself. Stop fussing around a man. Especially a busy man.”

Amelia rolled her eyes and took a careful sip.

“This isn’t just fussing. This was something Hazel wanted, Clara. A dinner on his birthday. Adrian promised, and he didn’t show up.” Her voice carried a sharp edge.

Clara blew gently on her tea, then sipped, unbothered.

“At least you know what keeps him away… work, and sometimes the boys,” she said evenly. “Unlike Leonard…” her words trailed with a little laugh, as if the mere mention of her own husband’s name was explanation enough.

Amelia shook her head. 

“That is not enough reason, Clara. Not enough reason to miss the dinner his own daughter had insisted on his birthday. I don’t care if it is work or the boys, Hazel deserved better.”

The table fell quiet for a moment. The only sounds were the faint ticking of the wall clock and the distant giggle of neighborhood children playing outside.

Clara leaned in, resting her chin in her palm.

“Marriage is a battlefield, Amelia. You fight, you patch up, you forgive, and then you do it all over again.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Amelia muttered.

“It is.” Clara chuckled dryly. “Especially when you are trying to run a house. You know how it goes, cleaning up after everyone, chasing after the kids, squeezing in your own work, then after the day’s chaos, you are expected to look like some goddess at night, waiting for your husband.”

Amelia’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

“You sound like you are speaking from a very personal place.”

Clara scoffed. 

“Of course I am. It is even more tedious for me, considering how many children I have got to cater for. By the time Leonard strolls in, I’m already half-asleep. But he still expects the smiles, the attention, the intimacy… as if I have been lying in silk sheets all day doing nothing.”

“That is exactly how I feel,” Amelia admitted, her voice softening. “Running this house, making sure Hazel is pretty much fine, keeping up with my own projects… Sometimes I wonder if Adrian even sees the effort. Or if it is all invisible to him because he is too busy chasing deadlines.”

Clara reached across the table, brushing her fingers against Amelia’s hand. 

“He sees it. Men don’t always say it, but they notice. And trust me, when you stop doing all those little things, that is when they panic.”

Amelia let out a faint laugh. 

“Maybe I should try that. Stop doing everything for a while. Let him see what happens.”

Clara grinned, shaking her head. 

“You wouldn’t last a day. You are too stubborn to sit back and watch your house collapse.”

Both women laughed lightly, the tension dissolving between them. For the first time that afternoon, Amelia felt a little lighter, as though the steam rising from her tea was carrying away the heaviness from her chest.

Still, she thought of Adrian, his absence, his promises, his failed promises… and the laughter faded into a sigh.

“Clara,” she whispered, almost to herself, “I just want him to show up. For once, I want him to show up without me or Hazel begging for it, even when it is inconvenient for him.”

Clara didn’t rush to fill the silence this time. She simply nodded, her expression softening. 

“And one day, he will. But until then, Amelia, you have got to keep showing up for yourself.”

“Mmm. Indeed,” Amelia mouthed.

Clara suddenly stiffened in her chair. Her hand flew to her waistline, and her face contorted into a grimace of pain. Amelia froze mid-sip, eyes widening as she watched her friend squirm.

“Clara? Hey, Clara, what is wrong?” Amelia leaned forward, her voice laced with panic.

Clara didn’t respond immediately. She clenched her jaw, pressing her palm harder against her stomach, her breaths shallow. The seconds dragged until finally, the sharp pain eased. She sat back, still pale, her hand trembling slightly as it rested against the table.

Amelia’s voice broke the silence, sharp and worried.

“What on earth was that?”

Clara licked her dry lips, avoiding Amelia’s gaze for a moment. Then she sighed.

“The doctor said it was… infection.”

“Infection?” Amelia’s brows shot up. “I thought you already went to the hospital to get it treated.”

Clara gave a short, bitter laugh. 

“Yes, I did. But this is another one.”

Amelia’s hand flew to her mouth, horror flashing across her face. 

“Another one? Oh God!” She leaned closer, her eyes fixed on Clara, who was still wriggling uncomfortably in her seat. “This is bad, Clara. Really bad. You have to talk to Leonard. He needs to cool it, this… this is getting out of hand!”

Clara finally turned her eyes to her, and in them was a mixture of anger and exhaustion.

“And you think I haven’t? You think I don’t talk to Leonard?” She let out a humorless chuckle. “Well, that man says it is my fault.”

Amelia blinked rapidly. 

“What? How could it be your fault?”

Clara straightened in her seat, her expression tightening. 

“Yes. According to him, it is because I don’t dry my underwear under the sun. That is his excuse. Then he gives me money… money for new undies, money to go treat myself. As if that makes it better.”

Amelia’s face softened with sadness, her eyes clouding. 

“Oh no, Clara. This is bad.” She shook her head, her voice dropping. “Well, Adrian knows better than to try that rubbish with me. He knows, Clara. He knows.”

Clara pressed her lips into a thin line, clutching her stomach again as a sigh escaped her.

“The day he brings me any sort of infection nonsense,” Amelia continued, her voice firm now, “that marks the end. He would stop touching me, that is final.”

Clara gave a weak laugh. 

“Well, the day I open my mouth to say that? Leonard would file for divorce without thinking twice. And within a week or two, he would be married again, probably to some silly girl too excited about his wealth to care.”

Amelia stared at her, speechless, shocked by her bluntness.

“I’m serious,” Clara added, her tone flat, defeated.

Amelia leaned closer, lowering her voice. 

“Come on, girl. You have to talk to your husband. You two need to take your sexual health seriously. This isn’t something to gamble with. And if he refuses, then you… you stop letting him touch you.”

Clara said nothing. Her hand, still trembling slightly, reached for her teacup. She lifted it and took a slow sip, her silence louder than any reply.

The room grew heavy for a moment, filled only with the sound of their soft breathing and the faint tick of the wall clock.

Finally, Amelia decided to break the tension, her voice shifting.

“So,” she said gently, “how is school going for your little ones? I heard there is a cultural day coming up.”

Clara gave a small nod, grateful for the change of subject. 

“Yes, there is. And you know my children, they want to do everything. I have already bought the right fabrics, but I still have to sew them into something decent before the deadline. Sometimes I feel like the school intentionally looks for ways to drain us.”

Amelia chuckled. 

“Tell me about it. Hazel has been on my neck too. She has been talking about the drama presentation they are rehearsing. Every evening it is ‘Mommy, I need this, I need that.’ Honestly, sometimes I think I’m the one going back to school.”

Clara managed a small smile. 

“At least Hazel is dedicated. My boys? If I don’t stand over their heads, they will forget homework completely.”

The women laughed lightly, the earlier darkness of their conversation fading, replaced by the familiar rhythm of two mothers sharing their everyday struggles. Their voices rose and fell in the living room, spilling warmth into the corners of the house, a fragile comfort after the heaviness that had just passed.