**The Shadow of a False Friendship: A Fight for Family**
“I never want to see that man in our house again!” Emily spat, her voice trembling with fury. “If your friends matter more than your family, then file for divorce! Oliver sees you more than your own children do!”
When Emily married James ten years ago, she never imagined she’d be competing for his attention—not with another woman, but with his best mate, Oliver. A self-proclaimed bachelor, Oliver lived like an eternal teenager, carefree as if life were an endless comedy.
Their first meeting had gone sour from the start. “And *this* is the woman you’re choosing over me?” Oliver scoffed, eyeing Emily with disdain. “She’s a right nightmare—anyone can see she’s not your type!”
“We’ve barely even met!” Emily fired back, instinctively glancing at her reflection. “What gives you the right to judge me?”
“Because you’re the domestic sort,” Oliver sneered. “James is in for a dull life—kids, weekends at the cottage, the odd football match *if* you allow it. You’ll have him on a bloody leash!”
“Normal couples *compromise*,” Emily snapped. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I’m a free man, not some woman’s errand boy,” Oliver shot back with a laugh.
James apologized for his friend, but Oliver felt no guilt. He truly believed it was his *duty* to “save” James from marriage—lest he lose his partner in mischief.
On the eve of their wedding, Oliver sent Emily a photo from James’s stag night—her fiancé surrounded by half-dressed women. The email was masked as James’s, but the truth surfaced quickly. “I swear, nothing happened!” James insisted. “It’s just Oliver messing about. He’s never liked you since day one.”
“Lovely way to set the mood before our wedding!” Emily sighed. “What other surprises does your friend have in store?”
“Don’t take it to heart,” James pleaded. “Oliver’s used to having me all to himself. Now that I’m pulling away, he’s lashing out.”
“Was *he* the reason your first marriage ended?” Emily pressed. “You never told me much about the divorce.”
“You’re right,” James admitted. “A similar ‘joke’ with photos back then worked a treat. I should’ve told you sooner.”
“Why do you even *speak* to him?” she demanded. “That’s not friendship!”
“He’s got no one else—everyone else walked away. We’ve been mates since we were kids,” James explained.
Emily only sighed, dreading the wedding drama. Yet Oliver was unnervingly quiet—until his toast about the groom “losing his freedom.” Emily bit her tongue, and James squeezed her hand in silent thanks.
When Emily fell pregnant at thirty—battling relentless morning sickness—Oliver invaded their lives again. James doted on her, but his friend showed up unannounced. Strolling into the living room where Emily lay exhausted, he smirked. “Playing the martyr, are we? Up you get, love—I’ve brought prawns! Let’s make dinner.”
Emily, green-faced, reached for the sick bowl—too weak to sprint to the loo. Oliver clattered about in the kitchen, shouting, “If your *Emily’s* faking, why humour her? I mentioned prawns, and she’s already gagging!”
“She’s *really* ill,” James defended.
“Then why have kids?” Oliver snorted. “I’ve got none—*officially*. Might be a handful running about, but their mums won’t track *me* down. I change flats, jobs, numbers—let ‘em hunt!”
“No one *asked* you,” James cut in. “Come back another time. Emily’s poorly, I’m busy, and I won’t have her tormented by food smells.”
“Christ, you’re *whipped*!” Oliver cackled. “Next, you’ll be fetching her slippers. Bet you’ll even attend the birth like some madman.”
James shoved him out. Emily closed her eyes, savouring the victory: her husband had chosen *family*.
After Daniel was born, everything changed. James adored pushing the pram through the park, sometimes for hours. One day, he missed feeding time, and Emily called—only to hear James’s phone ringing *inside the house*.
“How could you *forget* it?” she fumed, racing to the park. Oliver’s laughter rang out ahead. She hurried closer—then froze.
Daniel was wailing in his pram—*alone*. James and Oliver’s voices drifted from behind the bushes. Furious, Emily grabbed the pram and marched home, determined to teach James a lesson. She hid it in the cupboard, fed Daniel, and changed him.
Two hours later, the door clicked open. A pale James slunk in, trailed by an uncharacteristically quiet Oliver. Emily stepped out, cold. “Where’s Daniel? It’s feeding time. Why aren’t you with him?”
“Em… bit of a situation,” Oliver stammered. “We, uh… might’ve lost him. You didn’t take him, did you?”
“*Lost him?!*” she screamed.
“We met some mates, got distracted, left the pram,” Oliver babbled. “He was crying, then… stopped.”
James spotted the pram wheel in the hallway and paled. “You left a *two-month-old* alone?!”
“From your *perspective*, maybe,” Oliver muttered.
Emily threw Oliver out and banned him. The fight with James was brutal—he didn’t grasp his fault until she forced him to imagine the worst.
Oliver stayed away for years.
When Sophie was born five years later, James suddenly wanted Oliver as her godfather. “*Never*!” Emily snapped. “A godfather should be *reliable*—Oliver’s anything but.”
“He’s changed,” James argued.
Emily didn’t believe it. Seeing Oliver’s smirk, she refused to bend. James spent three nights at his mate’s before crawling back, apologetic.
On Sophie’s fifth New Year’s Eve, Emily planned a grand party at her parents’ countryside home—ice sculptures, entertainers, games. James refused to help. “I’ll celebrate with Oliver, since he’s not invited.”
They fought. Emily was shattered. Oliver was *winning*—and James seemed tired of family life.
All evening, Oliver bombarded Emily with photos of James laughing with strangers. Nothing explicit, but James looked *happy*. Emily vowed revenge—one that would erase Oliver for good.
She hatched a plan worthy of *him*. Dating sites and forums lit up with a fake profile: “*Deadbeat dad, master of dodging child support, seeks naive woman. Charm with bad jokes, destroy your self-worth. Message here…*”—linked to Oliver’s real socials.
Within days, James showed her Oliver’s flooded inbox. Women—even exes from years ago—exposed him. Five were discussing *paternity suits*.
That evening, Oliver stormed in, panicked. “Someone’s ruined me! They know where I *live*! One turned up at my *job*—boss’s mate. I’m getting sacked for ‘cutbacks,’ but she’s spreading *horror stories*!”
“Maybe it’ll blow over,” James offered weakly.
“They want *child support*—I’ll be *broke*!” Oliver wailed. “Five court cases, maybe more! My neighbour’s already side-eyeing me!”
“I’ve an idea,” Emily cut in sweetly. “Saw a job abroad—great pay. Leave, lie low. Higher income means smaller payments, right?”
“Em, you’re a *saint*!” Oliver gushed. “They’ll *never* find me! No proof, no payments. James, *treasure* this woman!”
She “found” the fake ad. A week later, Oliver passed his medical and fled to another city.
At the train station, Emily hugged him, whispering, “Safe travels, Olly. *Classic* prank, eh? Knew you’d appreciate it.”
His face in the window was *priceless*. He *knew*.
Clueless, James hugged Emily, relieved his wife and best mate had “made peace.”
