C1 Advanced (CAE) - Reading Multiple Choice 3

Well-Intentioned Mistakes

Sarah traced the rim of her coffee cup with one finger, watching the ripples form and dissolve in the untouched liquid. The café's afternoon quiet was punctuated only by the hiss of the espresso machine and the muted conversations of other patrons. Through the window, she could see James approaching, his familiar gait marked by that slight hesitation in his left step – a remnant of an old rugby injury that he'd never properly rested.

He caught sight of her through the glass and raised his hand in a half-wave, an uncertain gesture that seemed to acknowledge the weight of what lay between them. Sarah didn't wave back. Instead, she straightened the sugar packets on the table, arranging them with mechanical precision as she waited for him to make his way inside.

"You're early," he said, settling into the chair opposite. His briefcase knocked against the table leg, causing her coffee to shiver in its cup. The sound seemed unnecessarily loud.

"Claire let me leave after our meeting." Sarah kept her voice neutral, though she noticed James's slight flinch at the mention of her boss's name. "Apparently, she thought I needed some personal time to process everything."

The waitress appeared at their table, and James ordered an Americano, buying himself a few moments before he had to respond. Sarah watched him arrange his space – phone faced down, keys to the left, wallet creating a small barrier between them. Same old James, always needing to control his environment.

"I didn't mean for it to come out like that," he said finally. "Claire and I were discussing the department restructure, and she mentioned some concerns..." He trailed off, perhaps noticing how Sarah's fingers had tightened around her cup.

The betrayal sat between them like a third presence at the table. What hurt most wasn't the revelation itself – the quiet unravelling of her marriage had been becoming obvious to everyone – but the casual way James had mentioned it to Claire over lunch, as if Sarah's private grief was just another piece of office intelligence to be traded.

"Do you remember," Sarah said, "when Dad left? How Mum made us promise we'd always protect each other?" She paused as the waitress returned with James's coffee. "You were twelve. You said it was us against the world."

James began to stir his coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic in a steady rhythm. "That's exactly what I was trying to do. Protect you. You've been making mistakes, Sarah. Important ones."

"That wasn't your call to make."

"Then whose was it? You weren't making it yourself." His words carried no heat, just a familiar big-brother certainty that had once been comforting but now felt suffocating.

Sarah watched a young couple at the next table sharing a piece of cake, their forks meeting in the middle, and felt a sudden, sharp pang of something that wasn't quite envy. She turned back to find James studying her with the same concerned expression he'd worn at their Sunday dinners over the past few months, the ones where she'd carefully constructed stories of work successes and planned holidays while her marriage quietly combusted.

"I needed a brother," she said softly, "not a saviour."

The afternoon light was fading now, casting long shadows across their table. James's coffee sat cooling, untouched, his hands folded around it as if for warmth. Sarah gathered her bag and scarf, leaving her own cold coffee behind.

"I'll see you at Mum's on Sunday," she said, standing. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but it was something. James nodded, understanding the precise measure of what was being offered.

Outside, the October air held the first hint of winter, and Sarah pulled her scarf tighter as she walked away from the café, leaving her brother sitting alone with two untouched cups of coffee and the weight of well-intentioned mistakes.