**Diary Entry 15th June**
Ill never forget the moment my world shattered. Emily stood in the middle of our sitting room, gripping the back of the armchair, her knuckles white. She stared at me, unblinking, as if I were a stranger. Wed been married nearly twenty yearsno children, always excuses: Not the right time, We should wait, then simply, It never happened. Wed weathered mortgages, renovations, rough patches, and rare holidays. Ours was a quiet, steady loveno fireworks, but warmth and familiarity.
I took a deep breath, my face twisting as if from a toothache. Guilt weighed me down as I forced the words out again, slowly, like explaining a difficult sum to a child.
A few years back there was someone else, I muttered, studying the carpet. A stupid mistake. We were going through a rough patch, remember? I messed up. And now shes back.
Emily stayed silent, her hands clenching tighter. I could see the storm brewing behind her eyes.
She found me, I continued, still avoiding her gaze. Told me we have a daughter. Shes three.
The room swayed around her. In that moment, our life together cracked apart.
Em, I swear, I stepped closer, reaching for her. I dont feel anything for that woman. Its you I love. Ill only help financiallychildren shouldnt suffer for adults mistakes. But I dont want them. I want *you*.
Emily sank into the chair, arms wrapped around herself. Silent tears streaked her face. I knelt beside her, hesitant, my hand hovering over her shoulder.
We can start over, I whispered, pleading like a child. It was a mistake, nothing more. Shes no threat to us. Please, darling forgive me.
It took months before she did. Her love was stronger than the hurt, the humiliation. She believed in ustwenty years couldnt crumble over one foolish slip. I was so grateful, so tender, she almost convinced herself the worst was behind us.
But time proved otherwise.
I started disappearinggifts for my daughter, nursery events I couldnt miss. Soon, I spoke of the little girl with a grin Emily hadnt seen in years. Then, more often, her mother.
Lucys doing well, Id say over supper, cutting into my roast. And little Sophieshes got my eyes, my stubborn streak.
Emily pretended not to notice how my voice softened. But the pain sharpened daily. I stayed late after work, vanished on weekends, cancelled our rare evenings out. She was fading from my life, replaced by the woman whod given me what she couldnt.
The final blow came the night of the theatrea rare date shed looked forward to for weeks. Shed bought a new navy dress, styled her hair. Hope flickered in her chest.
Then, an hour before we were due to leave, I called.
Sophies burning up, I said hurriedly. Lucys panickingthe GP wont come for hours. I *have* to go. You understand, dont you?
I didnt return till morning. Emily knewId slept under *their* roof. She couldnt pretend anymore.
All you think about is *them*! she shouted, arms flailing. Her, your daughteranyone but me! When did you last ask how *I* was? When did we last spend a weekend together? When did you last kiss me?
My excuses came, but the guilt was gone. Just weariness, irritation at having to explain.
Em, shes *my child*. I cant ignore her. I *have* to be part of her life.
Thats when she knewmy mistake was no accident. Lucy and Sophie were my life now. And she? A ghost of the past.
What happened to your promises? she asked quietly, sitting across from me. You swore they meant nothing. That you loved only me. Remember?
I rubbed my brow, silent. The quiet said everything.
I meant it then, I admitted at last. But I love my daughter. Sophies clever, funny and Lu I cut myself off, too late.
And? Emily pressed, though she already knew.
And Lucy too, I mumbled. Ive learnt what *real* family is. Its where theres a childa future.
The words hit her like ice. I loved them both. This wasnt just an affair or financial duty. I had another family. And ours was over.
Youre sleeping with her. Not a question.
I nodded. No point lying now.
And *us*? Emily stood, steel in her voice. Twenty yearswas that not family?
Em, when theres a child, its *different*, I defended. You wouldnt understand!
Oh, *now* you say that? Her pain erupted. Every time *I* wanted children, it was no money, bad timing, the flats too small. Now *Im* not enough?
I looked at her helplessly.
I was wrong then. But Ive a daughter now. Youll have to accept it. We can work something out.
Work *what* out? She laughed bitterly. Stay married? What will your precious *Lucy* say? Thoughwhy would she care? She slept with a married manshames not in her vocabulary!
Dont talk about Lucy like that, I snapped. Shes a good woman. A wonderful mother.
And Im a bad wife? Fine!
She stormed to the bedroom, hurling clothes into a suitcase. I trailed after, lost.
Em, talk to me. Dont be rash. There must be a compromise.
*Rash*? Ive endured *three years* of your double life. Watched you become a stranger. Ive been too patient, too *weak*. While you and her
Where will you *go*? I asked, desperate. The flats half yoursyou cant just leave.
Ill take my halftwenty years entitles me to that, she said coldly, clicking the suitcase shut. Then youre free. Free to lie to *her* instead.
I grabbed her wrist. She jerked away as if burned.
I never meant for this, I pleaded. I didnt *plan* to fall in love.
Nothing *just happens*, she spat, lifting the case. You chose them. Live with it.
—
A month later, the divorce finalised, Emily moved to a small two-bed flat across London. The rooms were bright, hollow. The silence deafened. She wandered, unmooredcooking for one, sleeping alone.
In the park, watching mothers with prams, she ached. Because of me, shed lost her chance for a child of her own.
But she refused to give up. Her phone was filled with tabsadoption agencies, foster homes. Somewhere, a child waited. A child shed love fiercely, honestly.
Shed have a *real* family yet.
**Lesson learned:** Love forgives mistakes, but not betrayal. And no one stays forever where theyre taken for granted.
