I met Nicola* and Mike* at Bristol University freshers' week 30 years ago, and we became so tight that when they got married, Mike joked that I should be his best man as well as Nicola's bridesmaid.
Six months after I'd married at 28, my husband was killed in a motorcycle accident. I was wiped out by grief, so Mike sorted my finances while Nicola made me eat and sat up with me on sleepless nights. A few years later, I met and married Ben* and had two children. We went on joint family holidays with Nicola, Mike and their three kids.
But everything changed one day last year, when I was at a conference in a country hotel. During the coffee break, I glanced out of the window and noticed Mike on the golf course. I was about to knock when a small, red-haired woman beside him put her arm around him – and I was stunned as he squeezed her bottom.
For the rest of the day I couldn't concentrate and later went to find him. A noticeboard in the lobby listed the names and room numbers of everyone at the golf event. Mike wasn't on it, but I recognised the name of a woman from my local residents' association and realised she was the redhead.
I tried to rationalise things, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. After dinner (and two glasses of wine), I knocked on her door. She answered and I saw Mike on the bed in his boxer shorts. Furious, I pushed past her and shouted at him that if he didn't finish it, I'd tell Nicola. 'It's nothing to do with you,' he said, grabbing my arm and walking me out of the room.