Dear Diary,
I packed my things and, as my husband put it, took his poundnotes and walked out. Thats how it ended yesterday. I still cant shake the feeling that everything was already decided.
Your affairs dont concern me, Victor, I told him, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. Just collect whatever cash you have and get on with your lifewhether you head back to your ex or stay where you are now.
What do you mean get on with your life? And what about Chris? he snapped, his eyes narrowing.
Youve just remembered Chris now? I said, a bitter laugh escaping. You should have thought of him earlier, when you were gallivanting about instead of helping with the children. Its not the time to bring up the past now.
The front door opened and my brotherinlaw, Mark, stepped in, his smile thin. Hey, Laura, why the long face? he asked, as if he could brush away the gloom.
Simon had arrived on a short holiday just two days ago. From the far end of the flat I could hear the kids shrieks, a sign that hed already turned the house upside downin a good way, I hoped.
Hi, Aunt Laura! shouted Emma, Simons eightyearold daughter, darting into the hallway to see who had arrived.
The wailing didnt stop.
Its just Paul and Mike fighting over their toys, said Emma, a fiveyearold with a solemn air, folding her tiny hands over her chest. Did you bring anything tasty?
I did, but Grandma will hand it over later. First soup, then sweetsremember the rule? I replied, trying to sound light.
Of course, Ill forget you lot if I dont, Emma giggled and retreated to her room. The shouting finally eased as the twins settled on who would play with which toy, leaving the house a little quieter.
Whats really bothering you? Simon asked, having watched the whole exchange from the kitchen doorway.
I dont know, Laura sighed, dropping my handbag onto the kitchen table and slipping off my shoes. I think Victor is cheating on me. He says Im paranoid and need therapy, but
Youre coming into the kitchen, then. Tell me everything, I said, gesturing to the small space.
Victor was already on the kettle when I entered, and his younger sister, Julia, perched at the table, ready to listen.
There wasnt much to recount. Victor and I had met five years ago. In his previous marriage he couldnt have children, and after they split he and his ex, Valerie, remained friends, as people put it. That friendship, however, has been tightening its grip on me.
Hes texting her right before bed, you know? I lie there, the baby asleep next door, and hes glued to his phone, I complained. When we meet, he dashes off to greet her. Lately hes staying late at work, saying the workload is crushing. I tell him I need another pair of hands with the child, and he just mutters about reports.
And now hes accusing me of slacking because the childs at nursery all day while I just sit at home? he shot back.
What about home? You work too, just remotely, I retorted. Remote work is supposed to mean youre not commuting, not that you do nothing and still get paid.
He brushed past my grievances, as if my eighthour grind while not moving a mile was invisible. Have you tried checking his phone? See who hes chatting withex, anyone else?
Thats insane! Thats crossing a line, I flinched. What if Im just imagining things? Do you see how that would look?
Honestly, what does a conversation with an ex look like when theres nothing left between you? Julias voice came from behind me. She placed a phone on the table, the screen glowing with an open chat.
Whats this? I asked, squinting.
Its a thread with Valeries father, Tom. Read it, she said, a hint of triumph in her tone.
I scrolled through three brief messages spanning a month: plans for picking Emma up, a few shopping ideas, and a birthday greeting. Nothing romantic, just logistics.
Ah, but theres also a Mothers Day card tucked in there, and my own birthday wish for Tom, Julia added, feigning outrage. Remember, Tom and I split amicably. We share a daughter, and hes involved in her upbringing, not just paying child support.
If I had been chatting with Tom instead of Victor before bed, I might already have divorce papers in the mail, she joked. Youd have caught him, right?
What if theres nothing? What will people think of me? Will it ruin my marriage? Am I just being paranoid? I whispered, feeling the weight of every possible outcome.
Victors voice cut in, a sigh, hand pressed to his cheek. Here we go again.
Julia thought for a moment, then offered a plan. Why not ask his boss whats keeping him so busy? Not confrontational, just a pityfilled requestexplain that you barely see him because of his overtime, that you had to take Chris to the dentist, that you cant get a dental appointment because he disappears after work. See how he reacts.
If his workload is truly massive, maybe hell let you go home a bit earlier. If not, a different picture will emerge.
I liked the idea. I knew Victors manager, Mr. Whitmore, from town. He was a regular at the local pub and often greeted me with a friendly Hows Laura? I decided to strike up a chat.
Just the usual, Mr. Whitmore, I said, smiling. Victors staying late, so Ive been left to juggle the house and the kids on my own. Ive even had to take Chris to the dentist on my own.
Whos keeping him late? he asked, genuinely puzzled. Victor says hes pulling extra shifts, but Ive seen him leave before five most days.
Im not sure, I replied. He even asks me to call him if he doesnt show up. I need to know if his work is truly that demanding.
I dialed Victors number, trying to sound casual. What time do you think youll be home tonight?
Maybe Ill leave early and take Chris to the park while you tidy up, he suggested.
Sorry, love, Ive got a big deadline tomorrow. Im buried under work, and the boss has me on the edge of my seat, he replied, irritation seeping through. I cant spare any extra time. If you keep nagging, I might even lose my job.
You threatened to fire me? I blurted.
Your problems dont matter to me. Ill sort it out tomorrow, he snapped, hanging up.
Later that night Victor finally trudged home, looking exhausted. He slipped into the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and sighed. Listen, theres something I need to tell you.
Im not listening to your excuses, Victor, I snapped. Pack your £££ and get out, whether its to your exs flat or anywhere else.
What do you mean get out? And what about Chris? he demanded.
You just thought of Chris now? I replied, the bitterness thick in my throat. You should have thought of him when you were neglecting the kids, not now when youre trying to justify your absence.
I
Ive gathered my things and left in peace, but I stopped, unable to finish.
After lunch, my motherinlaw called. Not to mend things, but to share the news that Valerie was pregnant. The same Valerie Victor had once claimed to be just a friend. The news hit me like a cold splash of water.
Im glad it turned out this way, my mother said, oblivious to my silence. Valerie was always a good girl, and you you and your reckless son I hung up, the line crackling with static.
It struck me how indifferent I had become to Victor, his ex, their unborn childeverything outside me and my son. They were merely pages I could turn over, as if they never existed. Yet those pages refused to stay closed, resurfacing three years later when Chris started school, reminding me that some stories never truly end.
