**Diary Entry**
I thought surprising my husband on his business trip would be a lovely gesture. A sudden visit, his shocked smile, maybe even a cosy dinner togetherthats what I imagined. I never expected it would lead me to the truth.
I trusted Oliver completely. After seven years of marriage, I knew himhis little habits, how he likes his tea, even the way he sighs when hes tired. We had our rough patches, like any couple, but life felt stable. We lived in a quiet townhouse in Surrey, owned two cars, and had what I thought was a happy, ordinary life.
He said he had a conference in Manchester. “Three days,” he told me, packing his navy blazer and that paisley tie Id bought him last Christmas. “A few networking dinners too,” he added, tossing his polished brogues into the suitcase. I didnt question it. His trips had become more frequent since his promotion, and I assumed it was just part of the job.
Then came the ideawhy not surprise him? I booked a last-minute train ticket and arranged to stay the night. A silly, impulsive decision, but Id been feeling a distance between us. I pictured us laughing about it later, sharing a bottle of wine in his hotel room.
The hotel was elegant, all polished wood and muted tones. I approached the front desk with a smile. “Hello, Im here to surprise my husband. Could you tell me his room number?” The receptionist checked the system. “Hes already checked in. Room 412.”
My heart pounded as the lift ascended. I smoothed my dress, rehearsing how Id greet himmaybe a cheeky “Guess who?” or just a kiss. When the door opened, I froze. A woman stood there.
She was around my age, maybe younger, with chestnut hair loose around her shoulders, wearing one of those plush hotel robes. She frowned. “Yes?”
“Im looking for Oliver,” I said.
Her expression darkened. “Hes in the shower. Who are you?”
“His wife.”
She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Good one.”
“Im not joking.”
We stared at each other, the air thick with tension. Finally, she stepped back. “Youd better come in.”
“Youre not his girlfriend?” I whispered.
She shook her head. “No. Im his wife.”
No shouting, no tearsjust the slow, crushing realisation. She said theyd been married for three years. They lived in a flat in London. Shed met him at a work event, thought he was kind, dependable. That word stung.
We sat there, piecing together dates, holidays, excuses, until the bathroom door opened. He walked outand froze.
“Wh” he stammered.
Silence. Then, weakly, “Its not what it looks like.”
We both laughednot with joy, but with the hollow sound of betrayal.
I left straight away. He returned three days later, calling non-stop, but I ignored him. I stayed with my best mate, Emily, for weeks while he pleaded for a chance to explain.
Eventually, I went back to serve him the divorce papers. He looked shattered, almost a stranger. The moment he saw the folder, he knew. His other wife had already filed too.
Now he has nothingno wives, no home, no lies left to hide behind. Just himself.
**Lesson learned:** Trust is fragile. And some surprises are better left ungiven.
