**Diary Entry A Turn of Fate**
Sunday morning, the luxury of lingering in bed. No one to make breakfast, no plans for the day. After a lazy stretch, I dragged myself up, showered, and sipped coffee. What next? How to kill time? My friends are busyhusbands, kids, lives of their own. Visit Mum? Shed just restart her old tune about my “colossal mistake.”
A gloom settled over me. Deep down, I knew divorcing Kevin had been foolish, but whats the use crying over spilt milk? Truth be told, he wasnt a complete disaster. Didnt drink, didnt cheat, ate whatever I shoved in front of himnot that he noticed. His world revolved around his computer.
He worked nights, slept till noon. Dragging him anywhere was a battle. At parties, hed sulk; at the cinema, hed snore; outdoors, hed itch to get back to his screen. By the time he crawled into bed, I was up for work. And when we *did* share the sheets, he raced through it like a hundred-metre dash. Three years married, no baby, though the doctors said we were fine.
The absence of a child wasnt the only reason I left. I just grew tired of talking to the back of his headhis most frequent view of me. Might as well have adopted a cat. At least a cat wouldve purred when I spoke.
Mum, of course, was livid. “A million women would kill for a husband like that! What more do you want?” Even my friends didnt get it. Their husbands kept normal hours, slept beside them, fathered children effortlessly. They bickered, made up, scolded their men for one too many pints, then nursed their hangovers with a fry-up.
Kevin and I met in secondary school. Eleven years of knowing each other, and hed always been the bookish typeglasses, awkward, obsessed with computers. Id giggled with the girls at the gangly nerd. His tech jargon might as well have been Martian.
Years later, we bumped into each other. Glasses swapped for contacts, confidence instead of shyness. He was fascinating to listen toand I *was* a good listener. Three weeks in, he blurted, “Why are we acting like teenagers? Lets just get married.”
I laughed. “Alright, then.”
Mum was sceptical. “Do you even love him?”
Love? We hadnt mentioned it. But if he proposed, surely that meant something? Our marriage felt more like friendshipexcept friends dont share a bed.
She hated him. Yet when I left, she raged: “Have you lost your mind? He doesnt drink, doesnt stray, brings home a wage! Wherell you find better?”
Kevin was baffled when I asked for the divorce. No fight, just packed his bags and moved back to his mums. She called, screeching insults. I hung up. The divorce was quickno kids, no fuss. His precious computer? Gladly surrendered.
At first, relief. Then autumn crept in, and loneliness with it. I missed him. Or maybe just having *someone* there.
Mum kept trying to set me up. I refused.
Plenty of women divorce and move on. Maybe Id meet someone better. But how, when I barely left the house?
A mate signed me up to a dating app, made me pose for photos. “Smile *sexily*.” As if I knew what that looked like. At the time, Id hoped it might make Kevin jealous.
Curiosity got the better of me. Hundreds of men, all eager. Handsome, average, young, oldertake your pick. The womens profiles boasted homemaking skills to rival Mary Berry. Flats, careers, lives just waiting for love.
What did *I* have? No hobbies, no talents. Then I rememberedKevin liked how I listened. Men love an audience. So I wrote: *”Good listener.”*
Messages flooded in. All these fit blokeswhy were *they* single? One stood out: stubble, piercing gaze. An hour of banter later, he suggested meeting.
“Seems rushed,” I replied.
“Why waste time?” said Daniel. (Probably not his real name.)
Fair point. We agreed on a café nearby.
I nearly panicked over outfits, then thought: *Let him see me as I am.* Jeans, a fitted jumpermy figures still decent, no kids to ruin it. A swipe of mascara, hair down. Not bad.
He was waiting outside. Same as his photo. The café was quiet. Coffee ordered, cake declined.
Daniel studied me openly. I shivered.
“Disappointed?” I asked.
“No. Just thought youd be older.”
“Prefer pensioners, do you?” I quipped.
He laugheda proper, warm sound. Most men either snigger or guffaw. *Hes alright*, I decided, dropping my gaze before he caught me staring.
His life story was ordinary, but the more he spoke, the more I liked him. Confident, not arrogant. Mine took three sentences: job, divorced.
“The interesting bits are still to come,” I teased.
Another laugh. Definitely liked him.
“More coffee?” he asked. “Or my hotel?”
“*What?*”
“Were adults. Sooner or later, wed end up in bed. Why wait?”
*Testing me*, I realised.
“Fine. Lets go.”
In the room, he sat on the bed. I stayed standing, coat on.
“Keeping the jumper on too?” he smirked.
“Im not sure Im ready to”
“Then why come?” No anger, just curiosity.
“Dunno. Thought you were joking.”
“Got it. Ill take you home.” He stood. Close now. Awkward.
“Youve already paid for the room,” I mumbled.
“Staying, then?”
*Hes playing with me.* Part of me wanted him. But this wasnt mesome reckless fling.
“Its our first meeting! What if Ive got something? Or you?”
He laughed. Goosebumps rose at his nearness.
“Another time,” I whispered, hating how feeble I sounded.
He drove me back, didnt ask for my number. *Arrogant git. And I acted like a schoolgirl.*
Three days of silence. Then I cracked and messaged: “You upset?”
“Not at all. Write when youre ready.”
A week of wrestling with myself, then: *”Im ready.”*
“Ill pick you up in an hour.”
Panic. Dressing in a daze. At the hotel, I tugged off my jumper before he could stop me.
“Sure?” he asked, freeing my head from the fabric.
“No. Its been three years since Im embarrassed”
“Shhh.” He pulled me close. His heartbeat steady against my ear. Then his lips
*If he asks if I enjoyed it, Im leaving*, I thought afterward, tangled in sheets.
“Fancy a drink?”
“Youre driving.”
“Stay the night. No ones waiting, right?”
Silence.
“Get dressed, then.”
Baffled, I obeyed.
“Were going to dinner. Need food. And wine.”
That night was bliss. Kevin faded from memory.
We met a few more times. Then
I was pregnant. Thrilled. Terrified. With Kevin, no protection, no baby. With Daniel? Careless once. *Turns out I can.*
Now what? I called him.
“Coming over,” he said.
I scrambled for dinner ingredients. Empty fridge. *Why bother? Hell say he doesnt want it. Single mum, no child support*
“Youre serious?” he asked, stepping inside.
“Yes. But I dont expect anything. Ill manage. I didnt even think I could”
“Dont be daft. Were registering our marriage tomorrow.”
Just like that, I was a wife again. At night, he kissed my still-flat stomach. Pure happiness. Who knows how long itll last? But for now, were together.
“Why me?” I asked once. “That sites full of stunning women.”
“Because youre *you*. You didnt ask for a thing. The others? Lip fillers, fake lashes, demanding designer gifts. Lets pick baby names instead.”
“But we dont know if its a boy or girl.”
“Well choose both. A boy first, then a girl”
No matter how many times we swear off love, we always hope. Hope for that one person wholl make it all worth it.
