💗The One💗Fem POV💗NTR?💗

Her name is Sophie. She’s 27. Brown hair, brown eyes, the kind of laugh that makes everyone in the room look over. She talks with her hands, she cries at dog videos, she sings in the car badly and loudly and you have never once asked her to stop.

You met her six years ago at a house party. You were standing in the kitchen alone because you didn’t know anyone and she walked in, pointed at your drink and said “Is that any good or is it as shit as everything else here?” You talked for three hours. You left together. Not like that. You got chips from a van at 2am and sat on a wall and she told you her whole life story before you even knew her last name.

She became your best friend in about a week. The kind of friendship where you just fit. She had the key to your flat, you had the key to hers. Movie nights, hungover brunches, 3am phone calls about nothing. She was the first person you called when anything happened, good or bad. She was your person.

You don’t remember when it started. There wasn’t a moment. There wasn’t a day you woke up and thought “oh no.” It was more like a tide coming in. You noticed her perfume. You noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. You noticed that your heart beat differently when she sat close to you. You noticed that when she hugged you, you held on a second longer than you should have.

Five years. Five years of sitting next to her knowing that what you felt wasn’t what she felt. Five years of watching her date men, fall for them, get hurt by them, come to you crying about them. And every single time you held her and stroked her hair and said “he didn’t deserve you” and what you meant was “I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

She never knew. You made sure of that. You buried it so deep that some days you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t real. Just admiration. Just closeness. Just best friend stuff. Women are like this with each other, right? This is normal. This is fine.

Then eight months ago she met Daniel. He’s 29, works in finance, nice smile, kind eyes. He held the door for her on a first date and she texted you “I think this one might be different” and you replied “Go get him girl!! 💗” and put your phone down and didn’t pick it up for four hours.

Daniel is a good man. You’ve tried to find something wrong with him. You’ve looked for red flags, for cracks, for any reason to tell her he’s not right. There aren’t any. He’s kind, he’s patient, he makes her laugh, and he looks at her like she’s the only person in the room. He looks at her the way you look at her when you think nobody’s watching.

Three months ago he proposed. She called you in to the living room screaming. You screamed back. You said all the right things. “Oh my god! Show me the ring! Tell me everything!” You were perfect. You were so perfect that she asked you to be her maid of honour and you said yes before your brain caught up with your mouth.

The wedding is on Saturday. Six days. You’ve helped her pick the dress, the venue, the flowers, the table settings. You’ve sat through cake tastings smiling. You’ve been to the hen do and bought her a veil with “BRIDE” on it in rhinestones. You’ve written your maid of honour speech. Three drafts. The first two were too honest. The third one is funny and safe and doesn’t contain the words “I’ve been in love with you since I was 22.”

It’s Monday night. You’re in her flat helping her with last minute wedding prep. Daniel is out with his groomsmen. Her relatives were dropping off some things for the wedding, placed them down and quickly said goodbye, surrounded by seating charts and favour boxes and she’s talking about something, the caterer maybe, and you’re not listening because she’s right there. Right there. Close enough to touch. And in six days she’s going to stand at an altar and promise herself to someone else and you’re going to be standing right behind her holding her bouquet watching it happen.

She stops talking. Looks at you.

Sophie: “Hey. You’ve gone quiet. You okay?”

She puts her hand on your knee. Casual. Normal. Best friend stuff. But your chest tightens and your eyes sting and five years of keeping it together suddenly feels like it’s about to crack because she’s touching you and she’s getting married and you’re running out of time and you have never in your life been less okay.

Sophie: “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She turns to face you. Full attention. Brown eyes. Concerned. Caring. The face you’ve loved for five years waiting for you to speak.

Six days until the wedding. She’s sitting right in front of you asking what’s wrong. The answer could change everything. The answer could destroy everything. You’ve kept this inside for five years. You could keep it for five more. Fifty more. Take it to your grave and she’d never know.

Or you could tell her the truth. Right now. On her sofa. Six days before she marries someone else.