**Diary Entry – 15th June**
*I need to make sense of everything. But how? Forgiveness is out of the question—betrayal isn’t something you just brush off. And yet, when I look back, our life wasn’t bad at all. A flat in central London, comforts, security. No real reason to complain. But still…*
***
Back in school, I was the top of the class. That’s how my parents raised me—anything less than excellence was unacceptable.
Mark, though? He scraped by with passing marks in most subjects, except maths. There, he was brilliant. Won every competition, lost in equations. Always dishevelled, fingers raking through his messy hair whenever he hit a snag. A bit hunched, thick-framed glasses giving him that bookish look. Girls didn’t interest him—only theorems and proofs.
Then one day, someone bumped into him in the hallway. His glasses shattered. In class, he squinted at the board, helpless. That’s when I noticed his face—like something out of an old portrait. Strong jaw, straight nose, soft lashes framing sharp eyes.
A nudge at my shoulder startled me.
*”Blimey, he’s actually handsome without those awful glasses,”* my friend Emily whispered.
I flushed and looked away—but minutes later, my eyes drifted back. After class, I approached him. *”You look better without them. Ever tried contacts?”*
The next day, he walked in glasses-free—and not squinting. His parents must’ve bought him lenses.
*”Better?”* he asked between lessons.
*”Much,”* I smiled.
After that, we were together. He’d ramble about maths while I listened, smitten. I helped him with essays.
When university applications rolled around, his maths wins opened doors. I’d planned to study literature back home, but I followed him to London instead.
By graduation, my parents begged me to return. I’d nearly given up hope—until he knelt awkwardly, ring in hand, like some old-fashioned film.
Mark did his PhD, started teaching. We got a cramped faculty flat—tiny kitchen, shared bathroom. I was an average student, so teaching was my only path. A year and a half later, our daughter Lily arrived, and I never went back. He earned accolades, solved some impossible theorem. I raised our child.
His papers got published internationally. Harvard invited him to lecture. A full professorship followed. We moved from the dingy flat to a proper home in Kensington.
Friends called us the perfect family. My life revolved around Mark and Lily, who grew into a beauty, marrying a promising young artist.
Then, one ordinary afternoon, the phone rang.
*”Mrs. Thornton? I thought you should know—your husband is unfaithful.”* A woman’s voice, calm. *”Don’t hang up. He had an affair with my daughter. Shattered her. Now he’s with a junior lecturer. They attend conferences together… Hello? Are you listening? I just wanted to open your eyes—”*
The line went dead, but I stood there, gripping the receiver. I’ve never believed gossip, so I went to see for myself. Waited outside his lecture hall. When the doors opened, students poured out. Mark marched past, oblivious—he never looked around. Then I pushed open his office door.
There he was, kissing a younger woman.
***
*”What now?”* I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the floral wallpaper.
The key turned in the lock. *”Lunch isn’t ready.”* The thought flickered before I crushed it. *Why bother? Let* her *cook for him.* I dragged a suitcase from the cupboard.
*”Taking all your dresses to the dry cleaner?”* Mark stood in the doorway. Amused, not surprised. I met his gaze.
*”These are* your *things. You’re leaving.”*
*”What? Why?”* Finally—genuine shock.
*”You’re really asking?”* My voice stayed steady. *”I saw you with her today. She’s pretty. You could’ve told me yourself instead of letting strangers do it.”*
*”Told you* what?*”* He shifted, uneasy.
*”About the affairs. Students, junior staff. Just admit it.”*
*”I don’t understand—”*
I sank onto the bed, hands over my face. When he touched my shoulder, I jerked away.
*”I gave up everything for you. Made sure you had no distractions, just your precious theorems. And you—you stopped seeing me.”*
He looked around the room—*his* room, bought with *his* money.
*”I’ve nowhere to go. You do. Think your mistress will let you sell this place?”* I shoved the suitcase at him. *”Go to her.”*
*”You’re wrong. I’m not leaving.”*
The words punched through me.
*”You’ll bring her* here?*”* I choked out. *”Sleep with her in our bed? Christ, I don’t even know you anymore.”*
He said nothing as I walked out. No pleading. Just silence.
I collapsed on a bench outside, numb, until a neighbour asked if I was ill. I shook my head, called a cab.
Lily’s flat was my next stop. *”Mum? What’s wrong?”*
*”I left your father. Can I stay here while I figure things out?”*
*”Left him?* Why?*”*
The story tumbled out. His mistress. The shame.
She handed me water. *”Of course you can stay, but… Victor works from home. He can’t stand disruptions—even his own mum calls first. Maybe… a hotel?”*
I stared. After all I’d sacrificed, she wouldn’t let me past the foyer. Fine. I raised her—this is what I get.
*”You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”*
She booked me a *”nice, affordable”* place.
The cab ride was a blur. *Why is this happening? Did I misjudge Lily? Should I have stayed, demanded the flat?* Returning would be humiliating.
At the hotel, reality hit at dawn. Nearly fifty. Alone.
A discarded newspaper lay on a bench: *”Jobs Wanted.”* Live-in nannies, housekeepers. *The professor’s wife, scrubbing floors.* My stomach turned. Tutoring? I’d helped Mark with English before his conferences. Maybe…
I circled ads, but my phone died. Tomorrow, while he was at work, I’d fetch my charger.
When I returned, his voice echoed from the bedroom—laughing, *happy.* Someone else was there.
I fled.
An older doctor found me in the hospital corridor. Over tea, I spilled everything. *”Resentment destroys you,”* he said. *”See a solicitor. I’ll talk to your husband.”*
Two days later, the doctor called. The mistress had bolted. Another heart attack—this one fatal.
The funeral was packed. Colleagues, students—so many kind words.
After, I left London. What’s left for me here?
It’s never too late to start again.
