**Diary Entry**
I cant shake this feeling. After ten years of marriage, I *know* somethings off. I can sense itlike an itch under my skin. Simon swears theres no one else, but every time hes late from work, my stomach twists.
Yesterday, I finally asked him outright. His answer was smooth, practised. *”What are you on about? Ten years, love! Who has the time for an affair?”* His smile didnt falter, his eyes didnt dart. So why dont I believe him?
Ive never been one to leave things to chance. So I checked his phoneno password, never needed one. Nothing suspicious. Just the odd chat with old schoolmates, harmless banter. Still, the doubt gnaws.
My best mate, Emily, insists Im paranoid. *”Simon adores you! Youre imagining things!”* But my gut screams otherwise. Sharing him? Unthinkable.
Once, I even turned up at his office unannouncedjust to *see*. He was furious. *”Embarrassing me in front of my colleagues!”* I apologised for days, and he forgave quickly. Too quickly?
On paper, our lifes perfect. A house in Surrey, two kids, a comfortable salary. Yet here I am, inventing disasters where there shouldnt be.
Then came the car.
When our youngest started Year 1, I got my licencepassed first try. Simon, ever the proud husband, surprised me with a little Fiesta. Perfect for zipping around town.
He never admitted it, but I knew why he bought it. His Audi was off-limits. *”You need more experience first,”* hed say.
This morning, I woke early, decided to bake a chicken and mushroom pieeveryones favourite. No flour. Bloody typical.
The Fiesta wouldnt start. Frost crusted the windows, but I refused to walk. So I took his Audi. Just a quick triphed never know.
While it warmed up, I wiped the windscreen. Reached into the glovebox for tissuesand my fingers brushed something. A phone. Not his.
I turned it on. No passcode.
The first message stole my breath.
*”Miss you, darling! Come over soonIll be waiting.”*
From a woman named *Claire*.
I scrolled. Pages and pages. Every day, Simon left work at five but didnt come home till seven. Detours to *Claires*. The words he wrote herwords hed never used with me.
Photos showed a woman in her forties. Pretty, but*why her?*
The front door clicked. Simon. Hed seen me in his car.
*”Who said you could drive this?”*
Rage blurred my vision. I buckled up, reversedhard. The Audi screeched, slamming into the fence.
I threw the keys into next doors snowbank. *”Go to her, then! Lets see how much she wants you without your house, your car!”*
He tried to follow me inside, but I locked the door. *”Stay gone!”*
The boys, half-asleep, didnt understand. Simon leftslippers, dressing gown, no coat.
Turns out, Claire had a *husband*. When Simon knocked, another mans voice called from inside: *”Hurry up, love!”*
The door shut in his face.
He ended up at his mums. Margaret took him in, tutting. *”Dont fret, darling. Thirty-fives young! Youll find someone better.”*
Now hes stuck there, jobless, paying child support.
Karmas a bitch.
And me? Im filing for divorce.
