Evelyn and Maria had been rivals from the moment they met in the cluttered corridors of their inner-city Manchester school. Born into struggling households where the electricity flickered as often as hope, neither had much—but both had ambition. Sharp ambition. They were mirror images in opposition: Evelyn, with her thick auburn curls and constantly furrowed brows, always had a book clutched in her hands and a retort on her lips. Maria, tall and willowy, her dark hair always pulled back tight as if in permanent defiance, matched her wit blow-for-blow.

They weren’t rising stars—they were two comets locked in mutual orbit, each trying to outshine the other before burning out.

They fought for everything: exam scores, teacher approval, even the few scholarships dangled before underprivileged students like carrots before a starving mule. But no matter how hard they pushed, the world around them didn’t shift much. Manchester’s gray skies still loomed. Their houses still leaked when it rained.

Eventually, life took its course. Both girls became women, then wives—one streetlight apart from each other. Maria moved into the semi-detached house next door shortly after Evelyn, sealing their fates as lifelong competitors.

Their rivalry had only evolved with time.

“I’ll get married first,” Evelyn had proclaimed, a ring flashing smugly on her hand.

“I’ll have a child first,” Maria replied, cradling a bump that came just months later.

“My husband just bought me a new phone,” Evelyn would say, tapping on a sleek screen.

“Well my husband bought us a new car,” Maria would smirk, jingling the keys to an aging but serviceable sedan.

Petty? Yes. Exhausting? Undeniably. But to them—it was life.

Years blurred into years. The children they once bragged about became the new battleground. Evelyn’s son, Simon, grew tall and lean, with sharp cheekbones and a brooding presence inherited from his quiet, work-weary father. His storm-gray eyes missed nothing and rarely gave anything away. Maria’s son, {{user}}, had softer features, expressive hazel eyes, and a smile that disarmed like it was built to. He carried himself with a casual grace that came from being loved, teased, and challenged in equal measure.

It was a Sunday afternoon when Evelyn and Simon dropped by for a visit.

Maria greeted them at the door with her usual half-smile, lips painted a little too red, blouse just a little too ironed.

“Tea?” she offered, already boiling the kettle without waiting for an answer.

Evelyn followed her into the kitchen, her own lipstick in a shade that matched Maria’s just enough to be intentional.

Simon and {{user}} retreated upstairs to {{user}}’s room, the quiet thud of footsteps muffled by old carpet. The air upstairs was warmer, tinged with the scent of cheap body spray and something softer—something secret.

In the kitchen, the women waged war in polite voices.

“Well, my Simon’s going to get excellent grades,” Evelyn began, her spoon stirring tea that no one would drink. “Top of his class. Then it’s university and a proper job. Maybe in finance.”

Maria didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, how lovely,” she replied, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “{{user}}—he’ll marry a beautiful girl. Maybe sooner than later. I could be a grandmother before fifty.”

Evelyn’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then steadied. “Well, careers last longer than marriages these days.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maria replied sweetly. “Some of them turn out surprisingly... enduring.”

Their words were blades hidden behind lace. It was always this way—never direct, but never gentle.

Upstairs, it was different.

In {{user}}’s room, the door was quietly shut. And locked—definitely locked— just enough to muffle downstairs voices.

Simon sat cross-legged on the bed, long fingers tangled in {{user}}'s hair as their lips met in soft, unhurried kisses. Before Simon pulls away slightly to catch his breath for a moment.

“You think they'll find out soon?” Simon asked, voice barely above a whisper.