**Diary Entry**
“Mum, if Vicky asks, just tell her I’m at yours.”
“Why? Has something happened?”
“Nothings happened. I just… have things to sort out.”
Helen was taken aback. Her free hand crumpled the edge of the tableclothshe didnt fully grasp the request yet, but her gut twisted with unease. Jack had never used her as cover before. Well, maybe back in school when hed tried skipping lessonsbut even then, it never worked.
“What sort of ‘things’ shouldnt Vicky know about?” Helens voice sharpened. “Youre asking me to lie, Jack, and not even telling me why. Thats not right.”
Jack huffed irritably. He hated being lectured.
“Mum, dont start. Ill handle it myself. Thanks.”
“Hold on,” Helen frowned. “You havent got yourself a mistress, have you?”
“Mum! Im a grown man. Stay out of my bed,” he snapped.
Her chest tightened. He hadnt denied it. No joke, no deflectionjust evasion.
“Jack,” she pressed firmly, “you cant say ‘A’ without saying ‘B.'”
“For Gods sake… Fine, suppose theres another girl. So what? Happy now? I told youIll sort it. Just stay out of it, alright?”
Helen pressed a hand to her heart. The room seemed to dim.
“You shouldve kept it to yourself, then,” she shot back. “But noyou dragged me into it. Making me complicit!”
“Mum, complicit in what? We dont even have kids. No one owes anyone anything. I just need to figure out my feelings.”
“No one owes? What about the vows you made at the registry office?” Her eyes widenedin her day, that meant something.
“Oh, next youll bring up the church wedding. Its tradition, everyone does it. Doesnt mean a thing.”
“Then why drag that girl down the aisle if its ‘nothing’ and youre still ‘figuring things out’?”
“Its just how its done. Wanted to make her happy. Look, dont make a scene. Ill call you later.”
The line went dead.
Helen lowered the phone, staring blankly at the wall. It felt like shed been betrayedor worse. The little boy whod once spent hours drawing pictures for “Mummy” now casually shattered hearts. Two, if you counted hers.
Vickys face flashed in her mind. Cheerful, kind-hearted, always bustling in with some treata roast chicken, a slice of pie. Shed ask if Helen needed help, patiently taught her how to use her phone, even spent a whole day shielding her from scammers.
Helen liked her. Vicky was homely, always saying family came first. She didnt call her “Mum” or share deep confessions , but their bond was warm. And after the wedding, Jack called moreasking about her day, her health. That was Vickys doing; she loved bringing people together.
Now he wanted Helen to lie to the woman trying to build a family with him. What was she meant to do?
Her friend Margarets story came to mind. Three years ago, Margaret had sobbed on her shoulder.
“Helen, can you believe it? I told his wife. What else could I do? Poor girlI wouldnt want to live a lie. Thought itd be better coming from me… But she turned on me. Said Id never let go of my son, that I wanted to split them up. Even when she saw Id told the truth, nothing changed. My son cut me offcalled me a traitor.”
Margaret ended up alone. Her truthunwanted.
Helen kept quiet. For three months, the secret weighed like a stone in her coat pocketheavy, unseen. Jack kept his distance until recently, avoiding the reckoning. Shed tried talking sense into him, hoping hed ended the affair, but
“Mum, I saidmind your own business!” hed barked. No remorse.
Meanwhile, Vicky remained the samedriving her to appointments, checking in, bringing groceries. Every kindness felt like a splinter driving deeper. The silence grew unbearable.
One afternoon, over tea, Vicky broached the future.
“Helen, Ive been thinking… Should Jack and I try for a baby? Weve been married a while now. Youd help me, wouldnt you? With your experience…”
Helen nearly dropped her cup. The air left her lungs. What would happen to Vickyand a childif Jack left? The thought of her sobbing, holding a baby… No. She couldnt bear it.
Setting the cup down, she gripped the table to steady her hands.
“Vicky, I need to tell you something,” she began gently. “Try not to… well. Youre like a daughter to me. I cant pretend anymore.”
Vickys brows lifted, but she stayed quiet.
“You shouldnt have children,” Helen continued. “Jacks been seeing someone. Or was. I found out three months ago. I stayed silentafraid youd misunderstand. But I cant anymore.”
Vicky sat motionless. Only her fingers, whitening around the cup, betrayed her. The smile vanished.
“Thank you,” she finally said, exhaling. “I hope youre wrong. But if not… Better now than later.”
They barely spoke after that. Vicky left, her slice of cake unfinished. Helen prayed shed only walked out of the housenot her life.
Five years have passed.
Jack barely calls now. When he does, its formal, icy. He never speaks of his personal life, but as far as Helen knowsno wife, no children. At least, none he claims.
Yet she doesnt regret it. Her bedside table holds two photos. One: Vicky in her wedding dress, her new husband, and Helen as guest of honour. Vicky never gushed publicly, but once confessed:
“If not for you, Id be miserable. You led me to Ian.”
The other: outside a church. Helen cradles a chubby-cheeked babyhis christening day.
“Little Tommys got three grandmas,” Vicky always says when they gather.
No falseness in her voice.
Helen gazes at the photos, heart aching. She never got grandchildren of her own. Tommys a darling boy, and shed happily dote on himbut she doesnt intrude. Even if Vicky says her doors always open. Even if Ians family treats her kindly.
Whenever Tommy runs to her, arms outstretched, Helen knows: she may have lost her son. She may have no blood grandchildren. But she did right. By conscience. She wouldnt want to live a lieor let another woman live one either.
