22October2025
Tonight I finally managed to sit down with a notebook after a day that felt like a marathon of emotions. Im writing this for my own sake, to untangle the knots that have been tightening around my throat ever since the charity gala at the Victoria Hall.
The past few months have been a whirlwind. After quitting my job at the corporate office, I opened Bennett Bespoke in Camden, a small atelier where I design and stitch madetoorder garments. Every spare hour is spent cutting fabric, fitting clients, and dreaming of the day my name will be as recognizable as Savile Row. So when I remembered that tonight was the charity dinner my husband, Simon, had mentioned in passing, I felt a pang of guilt. Id promised him support, yet Im drowning in work.
Simon called earlier, insisting I didnt need to attend. I understand how swamped you are, love, he said. Ill go alone, but dont forget were a team. His tone was gentle, but the thought of showing up without me gnawed at my conscience. I rang the event coordinator, apologised for my absence, and told her Id be tied up with a client fitting that required me to look presentable.
Back at the studio, I slipped into a warm bath infused with citrus and pine essential oils, hoping the steam would loosen the tension in my shoulders. The scent was soothing when the phone perched on the edge of the tub rang. I rinsed my hands, dried them on a towel, and answered.
Emily, love, how are you? my daughters voice sang across the line. Shes studying architecture in Zurich, and I miss her more than words can say. Mum, Ive read about your shop onlinebrilliant work! Dad must be so proud. She laughed. Did you really send me that link? How on earth do you juggle everything, even helping Dad with his accounts?
I smiled despite the fatigue. I didnt want to brag before the launch, but the orders are already coming in. This is the dream Ive chased since I was a girlcreating something that feels truly my own. Working with Simon on the family business always felt stifling, but now I finally have my own space.
Our conversation drifted to the weather, then Emily hurried off to her lecture. Shell be back in a few months, and the thought of her returning fills me with a quiet hope.
Later, as I drove to the hall, the traffic on the North Circular was a chaotic mess, but my mind was elsewhere. The guard at the entrance, a burly man in a crisp uniform, shook his head when I handed him Simons invitation.
Sorry, madam, we cant let you in without a name on the list, he said firmly.
Ill be with my husband. He has a twoperson ticket, I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
Sirs surname, please? he asked.
Simon Baring.
He glanced at the list, exchanged a glance with his colleague, and chuckled.
Maam, Sir Simon has already entered with his wife. You cant slip past us.
I felt my stomach drop. What do you mean with his wife? Were both on the same invitation.
He shrugged. The system says hes already checked in with a partner. No room for extras.
Just then a smooth, familiar voice called from behind me: David? Is that you?
I turned, my heart leaping. It was David Clarke, a former classmate I hadnt seen since our chaotic school days. Wed been on opposite ends of the student council, his report cards always hovering around the middle, yet hed somehow become a senior manager at a tech firm.
Dave, youre here! I thought the guard had mixed us up because my husbands already in, I blurted.
He smiled, placed a reassuring hand on my arm, and said, Hell let us in. Im with you.
I realized how foolish it had been not to call Simon beforehand. Perhaps he, too, was relying on that invitation and had already slipped in with someone else. The thought of him arriving with a stranger made my skin crawl.
Inside, I scanned the room for Simon. When I finally saw him, he was standing beside a striking young woman in a glittering cocktail dress, laughing as if nothing were amiss. He turned, caught my eye, and his smile faltered.
My love, fancy seeing you here, he said, trying to sound casual.
Before I could answer, the womanan attractive twentysomething with perfectly coiffed hairleaned in and whispered something in his ear. Simons face flushed, then he turned to me, his eyes flickering between embarrassment and irritation.
Polly, would you like a drink? he asked, his tone oddly tender.
I felt the world tilt. He had just introduced this stranger as his companion at a charity event hed claimed was for us. Im not interested, I managed, keeping my voice level.
Simons expression hardened. He tried to smooth things over with the woman, calling her Lena, and then whispered to me, You shouldnt have been here. I invited a guest.
My guest is my husband, I retorted, my voice gaining strength. And hes just brought a date.
The room seemed to close in. I could hear the clink of glasses and the murmurs of other guests, all oblivious to the drama unfolding at our table.
Later, after Simon had disappeared with Lena, I found a quiet corner and let the sting of his words sink in. Youre old, Polly! Im ashamed to show you to my partners, so I got a lover, he had said earlier, his voice low enough for only a few to catch. A wife should sparkle, not look like a tired horse.
His words cut deep, not just because they were cruel, but because they reflected a world where a womans worth is measured by appearance, not effort. I thought of all the nights I stayed up late, balancing ledgers, designing dresses, and supporting his ventures. I thought of the countless times Id put his ambitions ahead of my own, only to be told I was a burden.
I realized that Simons betrayal was not just an affair; it was a revelation of a partnership built on superficial expectations. He had chosen a younger, quieter mirror of himself rather than the woman who had built a business from scratch.
The decision settled slowly, like sediment at the bottom of a glass. I would not pretend everything is fine for the sake of appearances. I would not let another twenty years of compromise dissolve my sense of self.
Tonight, after the event, I sat on a bench beneath a dim streetlamp outside the hall. The cold air was sharp, but it felt cleansing. David sat down beside me, his presence calm and unassuming. He didnt probe, he simply listened as I described what had happened. He reminded me of my younger selfdetermined, creative, and unafraid to take risks.
We laughed about old school anecdotes, and for a fleeting moment I felt the weight lift. It was as if Id been transported back to a time when worries were limited to exam results and schoolyard dramas, not marital betrayals and legal battles.
Do you ever wish you could go back to school? I asked, a melancholy smile tugging at my lips.
Every day, David replied. But I also know the value of moving forward. If you ever need anythingwhether its a suit or a sounding boardjust give me a shout.
His sincerity was a balm. He offered to drive me home, and I accepted, grateful for the uncomplicated kindness of an old friend.
The weeks that followed were a blur of meetings with solicitors, dividing assets, and confronting a reality that my marriage was officially over. Simon fought the divorce fiercely, trying to sway the judge with promises and bribes, but ultimately the court split our property evenly. The business wed built togetherthough largely my workwas deemed a joint venture, and I retained full control over the atelier.
Emily, my daughter, stood firmly by my side. She called me daily, offering help with orders, and refused to speak to Simon. The distance between us widened, but my resolve sharpened. I moved into a cosy flat above the workshop, a space where I could breathe without Simons shadow looming.
The atelier flourished. Orders surged, and I began planning a modest expansion. One afternoon, the phone rang.
David Clarke, a familiar voice announced.
Hi, Dave. Yes, were a bit swamped, but Ill make an exception for you, I replied, smiling at the thought of the old acquaintance turned ally.
Actually, he said, Im not after a suit. I just wanted to see you. How about coffee sometime?
I laughed, surprised but pleased. Sure, lets meet tomorrow.
As I close this entry, I feel a quiet confidence settling over me. The betrayal has left scars, but it has also forced me to confront who I truly am and what I deserve. I am no longer the wife who hides in the shadows of her husbands ego; I am the founder of a thriving boutique, a mother who stands proudly beside her daughter, and a woman who, for the first time in years, looks forward to the future on her own terms.
Tomorrow, over coffee, perhaps well talk about old jokes and new possibilities. For now, Ill let the nights chill remind me that even in darkness, theres a chance to feel alive.
