Dear Diary,
Victoria never threw herself into Marks arms that night in search of comfort.
She waitedcold, measured, with the patience of a surgeon before a delicate operation.
Every move she made after that evening was deliberate, each gesture weighed.
She didnt crave revenge; she longed for freedom.
When Mark asked her to accompany him to the opening at the National Gallery, she realised the moment had arrived. The past had to be left behind forever.
Peter lingered on the square outside the opera house long after the limousine that had taken Victoria and the stranger vanished into the night. Lily shivered beside him, her cheeks pink with cold and embarrassment, but he could not hear her. His thoughts spun like a slowmotion collapse the performance, the glances, the applause, her dress, that mans smile. For the first time in his life he felt utterly out of control.
That night he lay awake, staring at the ceiling while the clock ticked away each second of his humiliation. At dawn he grabbed his phone and typed, We need to talk. No reply came, not that day nor the next.
On the third day he drove to the old house in Hampstead, the place they once called home. Victoria opened the door, barefaced, in a white shirt and jeans, her damp hair smelling of soap and freshness. Her expression was calm.
May I come in? I asked.
Of course, she replied, flatly. Just so you know, Im recording this.
I froze.
What what do you mean?
I mean that after years of lies a man learns to keep evidence.
I swallowed hard.
Vicky, lets not turn this into a drama. I made a mistake, certainly, but I never meant to hurt you.
You didnt make a mistake, Peter, she interrupted, her voice even, almost expressionless, yet each word cut like a razor. She settled on the sofa and placed a thin leather folder before me.
These are the divorce papers. The house remains mine, as the deed states. You may keep the car, but the shares in the company that were registered in my name stay with me.
My face went pale.
Thats illegal! You have no right!
I do, she said with quiet confidence. All the transfers went through my account. Legally Im the owner. Ive checked everything with a solicitor.
Which solicitor? I demanded.
Mark.
His name landed like a blow.
Aha, so the architect your friend. Well, I suppose youve found a replacement.
Victoria smiled slowly.
No, Peter. Not a replacement. He simply heard me. For the first time in years, someone actually listened.
She rose, moved to the window and spoke softly:
The scariest thing isnt the cheating. Its the loneliness in your own house, watching the person beside you and feeling youre no longer there.
I could not answer. My fists clenched, then relaxed.
So what happens to us? I murmured.
Were finished. Sign the papers tomorrow. After that we wont need to speak at all.
She handed me the folder and left the room. I sat alone, hearing her footsteps echo down the corridor a sound that had once been merely background to my life, now a final farewell.
A month later the divorce was final. Lily quit the office without a goodbye. My colleagues gave me that particular looka blend of curiosity and pity. My world narrowed to work, dinner, television. Silence. Every evening a repeat of the last, a hollow shell of the man I used to be.
One night, scrolling aimlessly through social media, I saw a picture. Victoria, smiling, confident, standing in the new gallery beside Mark. His hand rested calmly on her shoulder, natural, unforced. There was no pride in her eyes, only peace.
Thats when it hit me: she hadnt punished me. I had destroyed myself with my own contempt.
Six months on, Victoria sat on the terrace of her new house on the outskirts of London. In the garden their son, Daniel, played with friends. Mark stepped outside, two glasses of wine in hand.
Ready for tomorrows opening? he asked, smiling.
More than ever, she replied quietly. For the first time in years I feel alive.
He looked at her, the sunset reflected in his eyes.
You know, sometimes you have to let the old crumble so you can build something real.
She nodded.
And not be afraid to start again.
She gave a smilea deep, soulful grin that came not from her lips but from within. No anger, no pain, just calm.
Because the toughest battle in life isnt against others; its against yourself. And Victoria has won that fight.
Lesson learned: the only person you truly need to earn forgiveness from is yourself.
