Edward could hardly recognise his wife these days, and for the life of him, he could not fathom what had come over her. Elizabeth had always taken pride in keeping their home tidy, preparing meals, ironing, and making sure everything was just so. Now, she seemed to have abandoned those routines altogether. Edward tentatively inquired about the matter, to which Elizabeth replied, Ive spent years looking after the three of yousurely Im allowed a bit of rest!
Suspicion crept into Edwards mind. He wondered if perhaps Elizabeth had found someone else. Unable to shake the thought, he started rifling through her things and, to his surprise, stumbled upon a worn, faded letter in her handbag.
Edward had never seen his wife act this way before. Seventeen years of marriage, and never anything like thisshe had always been kind, understanding, never prone to quarrelling or secrecy. It was precisely these qualities that had drawn him to her in the first place. Breakfast was always a proper mealporridge or eggsand after returning from work, she would set about making supper right away. Every Sunday, Elizabeth ironed fifteen shirts, one for every day for him and their two sons, though, in truth, the boys could have managed with two or three shirts a week. Instilling Edwards fastidiousness in them was no small task.
But now, for the second week in a row, breakfast had been cereal or a sandwich, with Elizabeth suggesting they prepare their own. At supper, he and the boys often discovered leftovers from the day before or, on occasion, just a quick note: Ill be home after nineboil some dumplings if youre hungry.
At first, Edward put her changed behaviour down to a conference hosted by Elizabeths university. But when the conference ended, their old rhythm didnt return.
He gently asked Elizabeth about it, and she responded, Am I not allowed a life of my own? Ive been caring for the three of you for years. Surely, I deserve a little rest!
Of course you do, Edward replied, though he wanted to ask how long a little might be. He bit his tongue.
Time wore on and still Elizabeth was out, at the cinema, the theatre, or attending one exhibition or another. More troubling, Edward found, was that new, rather daring dresses began appearing in her wardrobe, and she would sit in front of the mirror doing her lashes and lipstick instead of making breakfast. Unpleasant suspicions gnawed at him: could his wife have found another man?
Embarrassed at his own doubts but unable to help himself, Edward began watching her closely and snooping through her belongings. He scoured her phone, checked her spending on their bank statement, even searched her handbag. It was there, in an inner pocket, that he found the lettercreased and faded, obviously read many times. It was a love letter, certainly, written with a closeness only an old companion might have shared. Elizabeth, I miss you terribly; I struggle to find words to express how heavy the days are while I wait for you. I hear your voice everywhere, search for your smile in every crowd, but its never there
Reading it left him cold. The letter looked well-thumbedthis affair had likely been going on some time. That hurt most of all. He might have understood a fleeting infatuation with a visiting colleague, but something like this? Did it mean their whole life together was a sham?
Edward brooded in silence for three days, each hour sunk deeper in gloom. He thought of all the temptations he had sidestepped, all the chances he could have strayed, but no On the third day, unable to bear it any longer, he confronted her.
I know everything, he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Know what? Elizabeth replied, surprised.
Her tone was calm, perhaps a touch puzzled, but Edward could not be swayedhe had read the letter with his own eyes, and he was certain.
Youre seeing someone else, he said, not as a question but as a statement.
Elizabeth laughed. What nonsense, Edward. You cannot be serious?
He almost wished she had confessed and wept; that, somehow, would have been easier to bear.
I read his letter! Edward pressed. Who do you take me for? No one writes things like: I cant wait for the day were together again; our souls are meant to walk through this world side by side until the worlds end Honestly! He scoffed.
Suddenly, Elizabeth burst out laughing again, which only made Edward angrier.
Are you really being serious? she asked.
Are you?
He glared, breathing hard.
So, youve been going through my handbag?
Yes.
And read that letter?
Yes.
And you dont remember that it was you who wrote it?
What?! It took a moment for her words to sink in.
You wrote it to me, Edward! When you were away for work, and I was alone with Oliver. Do you remember now?
Nonsense! I would recognise my own handwriting, and I wouldnt have written anything like that!
Elizabeth sighed, fetched a wooden stool, and retrieved a box from the top shelf. She set it on the bed, rummaged inside, and handed him an envelope.
Here, take a look. You had injured your hand back then and wrote with your left.
Edward looked at the senders name and address on the envelopeindeed, it was his, and from another town, though the handwriting was completely unfamiliar. Could it really have been him? He vaguely remembered hurting his hand, something about a mishap at a building site. Was it truly from that time?
And why do you carry that letter with you? he asked gloomily.
My psychologist suggested it, Elizabeth answered calmly.
A psychologist?
Yes. You see, Edward, Im exhausted. All my life has gone into looking after you three men. Since Oliver was born, Ive barely had a life of my own. I rarely hear a thank you from any of you! Flowers are for Mothers Day and no other reason. I can hardly remember what words of love sound like, and while I may be your wife, Im not so old yet. I began to think about leaving you. But I value our family, so I went to see someone. She gives me advice, and I follow it.
Edward was taken aback. Divorce? Shed truly considered leaving him?
And do the suggestions help? he asked quietly.
Sometimes, Elizabeth smiled.
And the letters?
To remind me of the love we had.
Edward nodded and left to stand on the balcony. They never spoke of it again.
***
The next morning, when Elizabeth awoke, the house was unusually lively and filled with the sweet scent of vanilla. She wasnt sure what was going on until she entered the kitchen.
Her eldest son was making an omelette. The younger was setting plates, serving up scones. On the table was a vase brimming with her favourite flowers.
Whats all this? she exclaimed, astonished.
Good morning, Mum, said the younger boy. What would you liketea or coffee?
Elizabeth could scarcely believe her eyes or ears.
Coffee, please, she replied.
Omelette or scones?
Scones
There was no sign of Edward, but Elizabeth knew this could only be his doing. As she chewed her first bite, her husband entered and handed her a folded piece of paper.
Good morning, my dear!
Whats this? she asked.
A new letter, he smiled. To make sure it truly helps.
Elizabeth smiled in return, and from that day, things began to right themselves. No, such breakfasts did not await her every morningmiracles are few in this world. But every now and again, they happened. And from then on, when she went to the cinema, Edward was at her side, just glad to join her. Their marriage was saved.
