A Fairy Tale, Or Not
This morning I woke with the curious sense that today would bring something momentous. Sunlight fell bright and warm through the windows, the birds in the garden were at their noisiest, and Richard, as he headed out to the office, kissed my cheek and said, Youre simply the best, you know? Everything was as usual. Flawless.
Flawlessan adjective Id used as my measuring stick for life for as long as I can remember. The flawless husband: a successful businessman, attentive and kind. The flawless children: our son at university, our daughter doing brilliantly at sixth formboth bright, no trouble at all. The flawless flat in central London, a lovely country cottage in Sussex, a gleaming new car on the drive. And of course, flawless me: well-groomed, fit, looking thirty-five at forty-five.
My friends were positively green with envy: Lizzie, how lucky you are! Youre living a storybook life. I always smiled modestly, thinking, yes, perhaps I am. Yet luck had very little to do with it. I always simply knew how everything was supposed to be: how to dress, how to speak to people, how best to manage the household, back my husband, raise my children. I invested every ounce of myself into creating this perfect life. There was nothing left over.
Richard, my husband, was at the very centre of my universe. Wed met in our fourth year at universityhe was the handsome one, clever, from a decent background. All the girls liked him, but he picked me. Me, Lizzie. I couldnt believe my luck at the time.
We married a year later. His business came next, then my own careerrising to Head of Finance at a big companythen the children. Everything unfolding like a well-rehearsed piece of music.
Sometimes, though, I could sense something odd. Rich would sit staring out the window, lost in thought, oblivious to anything I said. Hed go on business trips and call home less often than seemed normal. Sometimes hed look at me with a sorrowful expression, as though he were truly seeing someoneor somethingelse.
Whats on your mind? Id ask.
Nothing, hed say. Just tired.
Id brush it off. Who isnt tired these days? Business is stressfulits only natural.
***
That Tuesday, I nipped into Richards office to sign some documents hed asked me to deal with. His new PA was flustered when she saw me. Mr. Harper is in a meetingwould you mind waiting? she stuttered. I laughed, Dont worry, Im family.
And in I walked, without knocking.
Richard was sitting at his desk, staring at his monitor. On the screen was a photo of a woman: young, pretty, long blonde hair, sad eyes. I caught the image for just a second and felt a joltwas he really looking at someone elses photo, right there at work, right in front of his secretary?
Im here for the papers, I said, keeping my voice even.
He jumped, quickly minimised the window, but Id seen the movement, and something shifted inside me.
Yes, of course, he muttered, rummaging through his drawer. Here, its all there. Sign and leave them, Ill pick them up later.
Whos that? I asked softly. Very calmly, as only a woman sensing disaster can manage.
Sorry? His face feigned surprise, but his eyes betrayed him. Oh, just a colleague. Work stuff.
Work requires studying photos full-screen, does it? I said.
Please, Liz, he said, wincing. Youre imagining things.
I nodded, took the forms, and walked out. But the seed of doubt had taken root.
***
Of course, I couldnt simply ignore it. I didnt want to pry but my hands acted of their own accord. Later that night, while he showered, I slipped his mobile from the bedside table. Found a secret chat app, one that needed a passcode. But I knew the codeour daughters birthday. Richard never bothered changing passwords.
I miss you, shed written.
I miss you too. Not long until we meet again, hed replied.
Does she suspect anything?
No. Alls well.
I stared at those messages, reading and re-reading in disbelief. Five whole years. Five years of living two lives. While I cooked dinners, kept house, raised our children, played the part at work eventshe was with her.
Scrolling back, I found photos, sweet words, meetings arranged. Then a sentence that made my chest seize:
You know youre my one and only. Ever since university. If life were different back then, wed never have split. Lizzies a good woman, but well, you know how things go.
I read it three times.
One and only. Since university. Circumstances.
So I hadnt been the love of his lifeId simply been in the right place when the true love left.
That evening, I waited for him in the kitchen, watching the sun set over the rooftops. How do you carry on after this? What do I say to the children? What do I do with all the years turned counterfeit?
He came in and caught my expression, understanding everything instantly.
You know? he asked.
I know, I said. Who is she?
He was silent for a long time, then slumped down and covered his face.
Lizzie, Im sorry. I didnt want you to find out like this.
How did you want me to find out? my voice trembled. Or perhaps you just hoped I never would? That you could keep living here, with us, while thinking of her?
Im not thinking of her all the time, came his feeble reply.
Dont lie. I read it: Youre my only one. Since university. Tell me the truth. I want to know.
So he told me.
Her name was Victoria. Theyd met in first year, fell head-over-heels. Planned to marry. Her parents disapprovedRichard didnt come from money, or the right setso they whisked her away, practically under lock and key, found her a “suitable” partner. Victoria wrote tearful letters but did as she was told.
He waited two years. Then he met me. Pretty, clever, stable. Why not? Life must go on.
We married. The children came along. Business took off. (He later told me, he started it as a statement to her family, proof he could make something of himself.) And yet, Victoria lingered in his memory.
Five years ago, we bumped into each other, he said hoarsely. She was divorced, living on her own, no children. Everything flared up again. I couldnt help it.
And what about me, Rich? Nearly twenty years, were you just fighting yourself every day?
I respect you, he began. Youve been a wonderful wife, a brilliant mother, kept our home together. You gave me everything.
Everything except love, I cut in. You never wanted love from me. You needed a woman for the perfect life. All the while, love was left back at university.
He was silentbecause the truth had already been spoken.
***
I didnt hesitate. If I was going to leave, then it would be quick and dignified. No rows, no begging to stay, no lets fix things. I respected myself far too much to be the collateral in someone elses romantic saga.
I told the children quietly, no drama. Our son wanted a private word with Richard, but I stopped him: Dont, Tom. This is between us, not you two.
Our daughter sobbed, Mum, how will you cope on your own?
Ive got me, I said. And thats not such a small thing, believe me.
I found a flat in another part of town.
That first few months was hell. At night Id lie awake, staring at the ceiling. By day, I worked, smiled, made life move on. In the dead hours I remembered everything: all those I love yous, kisses, Christmases spent together. It dawned on meit was all a lie. A neat, comforting, warm liebut a lie.
The worst part wasnt even the betrayal itself. The worst was realising that Iclever, capable, so-called flawless mehadnt seen any of it. I didnt want to see. I preferred my perfect picture, even if it was fake.
***
A year passed, and my wounds had started to scab over, when I ran into an old mutual acquaintance.
Did you hear? she said. Richards married again. To that Victoria. Apparently, they were desperately in love back in uni, but her parents separated them like something out of a film!
I smiled, in the careful way only former perfect wives can.
Yes, so Ive heard, I replied. Very romantic indeed.
At home, I sat a long time in the kitchen, just staring at the wall, then wept. For the first time in a year.
Not out of painit had faded by then. Instead, I cried for the sheer hurt of it: realising all those years Id been the background, the scenery. A convenient stand-in for a man always longing for someone else.
Id given him children, built a home, supported his ambitions, looked after his parents, hosted his friends, brought comfort and order into his world. But in his heart, she was there. And the bitterest truth: I could do nothing about it. You cant earn love. You cant become the leading lady if you were never cast for the role.
***
Some two more years went by.
Ive learnt how to be alone, andsurprisinglyI rather enjoy it. Theres no one caring if the suppers a bit late, no sighs when I stay at work beyond six, no more faraway looks at the breakfast table. The children are grown: Toms married now, Annas studying for her masters. We see each other often, and I am more friend than just mother to them.
My friends sometimes tease, Lizzie, where are all the men? Youre still young and gorgeous. Why stay single? I just shrug, Freedom feels too good to give up yet.
But deep down, I know why. Im terrified of being someones stand-in againeveryones back-up plan. Im scared that, behind charming words, therell be that same chill. That Ill be used again, while someone else is being yearned for.
Better alone than in bad company, I say. At least I am finally the star of my own life.
One evening, sifting through old things, I found my wedding album. I sat for ages, flipping through, studying my young eyes, his smile. I truly thought it would be forever.
And now?
Now I tucked the album awaydidnt throw it out (some memories deserve to be kept), but far out of sight.
Sunlight streamed in through the window. Music drifted up from next doorthe neighbours, in the middle of a remodel. Life carried on.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror: fit, polished, clear-eyed, a gentle half-smile.
You did well, I told my reflection. You made it through.
It was true. I made it. Not by finding somebody newbut by rediscovering myself.
The woman I nearly lost, running after that perfect façade. The woman who can be alone, but never lonely. The woman who knows her own worth.
And thats worth more than anything.
Richard still rings from time to time. He asks how Im doing, wishes me a happy birthday. I reply, politely, and then thats that.
I bear him no grudge. Thats all long gone. All that remains is a steady knowledge: I was a good wife. He just wasnt the right man. It took us both too long to see it.
Victoria well, shes living in my old house now, with my old husband. Ive heard theyre happy together. That made me glad, actually. At least some stories get happy endings. Not for me, perhapsbut still.
Tonight, Ill go to yoga. Afterwards, coffee with a friend. Later, dinner with Tom and his wifetheyre taking me to that new place on the high street.
Life is full. I have filled it myself.
And sometimes, before sleep, I find myself wonderingwhat if things had gone another way? If he had truly loved me, if wed grown old, met our grandchildren together, gone to the country cottage every summer
Then I roll over and fall asleep. Theres no use thinking about what never was. What happened, happened. And I came out stronger.
Not because I triumphed over anyone elsejust because I never lost myself.
