I've cut off my best friend... because I fear her sexy new life as a divorcee will make my husband restless

Sometimes, when a friendship ends, it’s a mutual thing. You drift slowly apart, neither one quite sure why.

But that’s not the case for me and my ‘best friend’ Lucy.

Instead, after 25 years, I made a ­conscious decision to cut her out of my life. I stopped making plans, stopped replying to her WhatsApp messages — in fact, I even stopped opening them, since the app would notify her immediately that I’d done so.

What caused me to do this? The end of her marriage. Once her divorce came through, my respectable friend reverted back to the sexy, man-hungry party girl I’d first met, so I deliberately distanced myself from her.

Now, two years on from her break-up, we exchange pleasantries twice a year at most, where once we’d meet up every other week, and swap messages, secrets and delicious gossip every day.

Divorce can rip apart more than one relationship if a woman suspects her newly single friend might be after her husband (picture posed by models)

Although there are times when I’m conflicted, on the whole I feel better for it. The reason? Without her and her exciting new single lifestyle in the mix, my own life and marriage don’t feel quite so ordinary . . . or under threat.

I know that sounds cruel, but allow me to explain.

Lucy and I had been inseparable since we were allocated neighbouring rooms in halls of residence on our first day at Manchester University; her ­bubbly confidence brought me out

of myself when I was homesick and unsettled. I was the dependable, ­sens­ible, level-headed one, while Lucy was outgoing and carefree.

After graduating, there followed several years of weekend breaks together, sipping cocktails in Paris or Rome.

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Despite her living in Guildford, Surrey, while I was in London, we remained as close as ever, and I imagined our friendship would be unbreakable.

We were one another’s bridesmaids when we married eight months apart a decade ago — she beat me up the aisle. She was the first person I told when I found out I was pregnant (after my husband) and she is godmother to my children, now seven and nine.

She doesn’t have kids (by choice), but she was understanding that, when I had mine, ­partying and foreign jaunts with her could no longer be top of my list.

Then, in 2022, when we were in our early 40s, she called me to drop the bombshell that she’d left her husband, Jack. For a while, she’d made no secret that she craved the ­carefree life she’d had in our 20s and felt her ­marriage had become mundane.

Feeling tied down — her words, not mine — she yearned to have fun and had decided to make a clean break. Yet, tellingly, she didn’t ever say that she didn’t love her husband any more. In my opinion, she didn’t work hard enough at her marriage. It was far easier for her to throw in the towel and rush off in pursuit of a life akin to the one we’d had when we were younger.

'As her best friend, I willingly provided endless emotional support following her split from her husband, consoling her during late-night phone calls'

Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t heartbroken after filing for divorce. And as her best friend, I willingly provided endless emotional support, consoling her during late-night phone calls, despite feeling she should have fought harder for her ­marriage. Secretly, I felt far more sympathetic to her poor ex.

Meanwhile, my husband, Marc, was happy to lend a practical hand, helping her move into her new home as she started the next stage of her life.

That was the moment things changed for me.

As Lucy emerged from her ­initial gloom, she hit the swipe-right dating scene, meeting up with different men every week and cajoling me to join her for regular nights out or spa days at weekends. Determined to support her, I went along with it, though it was hardly conducive to my settled family life with a busy job as a teacher and young kids. Mostly, I’d end up nursing a glass of wine alone while she worked the room, ever the temptress with her beautiful looks.

She was suddenly living a lifestyle I couldn’t relate to as a working mum who’s happy and secure in a solid marriage.

Although maybe a tiny part of me felt envious of her freedom, mostly I thought she had lost her way a bit.

However, listening to her regale me with tales of her dating escapades and exciting new social life, I worried that Marc would hear those stories — and start to scrutinise me and our marriage, concluding that both of us should be more gregarious and carefree, like Lucy.

Everyone thinks Lucy’s ­attractive, but Marc had never led me to believe that he thought so in anything other than a ­platonic way. Still, I worried he’d ­suddenly be envious of her social life, since ours was more or less non-existent.

I do have mum friends I go out with occasionally for meals or quiet kitchen suppers at each other’s houses, but it’s very sedate. When Marc and I have time together, it’s taken up by family life. We’d both admitted that sometimes we feel that we’ve become boring.

And now Marc and I were ­witnessing a — very compelling — alternative. I couldn’t help worrying that he’d think she was more exciting than me, although I knew he’d never stray — and possibly even wish there was more to our life than family ­dinners and trips to the zoo.

So after a few weeks of her being in full divorcee mode, I stopped mentioning her to Marc at all. I couldn’t take the gamble that Marc might one day say that we should be living like her, not being bogged down by marriage and kids.

Lucy’s new life also caused me to question whether I’d let myself go. While she made weekly visits to the salon for expensive blow dries and glossy manicures, I was mired in play dates, parties and soft-play centres.

Perhaps I’d plateaued a bit, and I didn’t want Marc to come to the same conclusion.

That’s why I started ignoring her messages or leaving it too late to reply. If she was pestering me to join her at a spa or for drinks in a bar, I’d wait until the day before to tell her I couldn’t make it. I also stopped engaging in her messages about the men she’d dated or had sex with.

It didn’t occur to me that maybe her bravado was driven by her possibly feeling vulnerable.

'Once her divorce came through, my respectable friend reverted back to the sexy, man-hungry party girl I’d first met, so I deliberately distanced myself from her'

Of course, I did care very much that she might feel hurt that I was distancing myself after such a close friendship. After all, it’s one of the reasons I went along with her new lifestyle for as long as I did, even though I had other priorities and was exhausted from being a working mother.

I felt guilty for deciding not to spend time with Lucy, but it wasn’t sustainable. Distancing myself took away the pressure I’d been feeling to be more like her, and my fears about the impact of her seemingly exciting new life on Marc.

Still, I did take inspiration from Lucy’s post-divorce transformation. I now indulge in more regular visits to the beauty salon and swap my mum jeans and trainers for sexier outfits occasionally.

Then, one day last summer when I hadn’t seen Lucy

for many months, having ignored or delayed responding to countless messages and invitations to go out, she called to ask what was wrong. ‘Our lives are just so different; I’m happy and settled and I can’t keep up with your ­single life,’ I told her. ‘We’ve reverted to the women we used to be when we were first friends.’

And so there was no explosive end. We both promised to keep in touch, while knowing that we’d remain at arm’s length as long as she is single and our lives are misaligned. We’ve barely had any contact at all in months.

So as you see, without being confrontational or unpleasant, I have ensured we’ve drifted apart. Sadly, I feel much happier without Lucy in my life — a sentence that once I could never have imagined leaving my lips.

Names have been changed. As told to Sadie Nicholas.