June 28, 2025 Diary
I clutched the test results in a trembling fist, the paper dampened by my sweat. The corridor of the women’s health centre in Bristol was packed, no room to move.
Victoria Harris! a nurse shouted, her voice cutting through the hum.
I rose, followed her into the consulting room. The doctor was a stout woman with weary eyes; she took the folder from my hands and flicked a quick glance over the sheets.
Have a seat, please. she said, scanning the results with a detached stare.
Everything looks normal. Have your husband get checked.
A chill ran down my spine. Victor? But hes
***
At home, my motherinlaw, Eleanor Harris, was chopping cabbage for a stew, the knife moving as if she were slicing through enemies.
So, dear, any news? she asked without looking up.
Im fine, I muttered, shrugging off my coat.
Then why Eleanor finally lifted her eyes, a flash of worry there.
Victor needs a checkup.
The knife paused midair. Eleanor sat up straight, like a taut bow.
Nonsense! My son is perfectly healthy. Those doctors dont know what theyre doing. In my day women gave birth without any tests.
I slipped into the living room. On the sofa lay two socks one navy, the other black. I absentmindedly scooped them up and tossed them into the laundry basket. Over three years of marriage those mismatched socks had become a tiny emblem of our fragmented life.
Victor came home late.
You look like youve just walked out of a funeral, he grumbled, flopping into his armchair.
Victor, we need to talk.
About what?
I handed him the papers. He skimmed them, then tossed them onto the coffee table.
And?
You need to get examined.
Why on earth? he sprang to his feet, pacing. Im a healthy man! Look at me!
He did look robust broadshouldered, dark hair thick as a hedge. Yet health isnt always obvious.
Please, Victor
Enough! he roared. If you dont want children, just say so! Why all this drama with the doctors?
From the kitchen came the scuffle of slippers. Eleanor lingered behind the doorway, her breathing so loud it seemed to echo.
I want children more than anything, I whispered.
Then why dont you have any? Have you hidden something? Maybe an abortion?
The accusation hit like a punch. I recoiled.
How could I
How am I supposed to? Three years together and zero results! And now the doctors say I he cut himself off, fists clenched.
The door burst open. Eleanor stormed in like a wrecking ball.
Victor, dont listen to her! Its all her laziness. If she worked more, she wouldnt be running to doctors all the time.
I stared at my husband. He turned toward the window.
Victor, do you really think I
I dont know what to think, he rasped through clenched teeth. All I know is a fit man never goes to the doctor.
Eleanor nodded triumphantly.
The sons right. This isnt a mans businessto be traipsing around hospitals.
Inside, something snapped, a taut string finally giving way.
Fine, I said evenly.
The next day the battle began. Eleanor found fault in every little thing: the salt shaker was misplaced, the pot wasnt rinsed, dust lingered on the dresser. I kept my mouth shut, grinding my teeth.
Maybe you shouldnt be at home at all? she snapped over dinner. Get a job instead of gallivanting to doctors.
Victor chewed his meatloaf without looking up.
I work, I reminded her.
Three days a week isnt work, its a hobby.
What does my work have to do with anything?
Exactly! My son is healthy, and you want to paint him sick! When there are no children, the woman is to blame! Its always been that way!
I rose from the table, my legs wobbling.
Whats wrong with you? Eleanor asked, surprised. Eat and then just run off?
Im tired, I whispered.
Tired? After a threedayaweek job, youre exhausted?
Victor finally looked up, a flicker of pity in his eyes, but said nothing.
That night I lay awake listening to Victors snore. It used to be soothing, a reminder that I wasnt alone. Now it grated on me. How had I missed his stubbornness?
In the morning I packed a few essentials into an old sports backpack: two dresses, some underwear, my makeup bag.
Where are you off to? Eleanor stood in the kitchen doorway, tea in hand.
To my motherinlaws.
For long?
I dont know.
Victor emerged from the bathroom, spotted the backpack.
Victoria, whats this?
What you see.
Seriously?
What else can I say? You wont get checked, and Mum thinks Im to blame for everything. Why stay?
He stepped closer, lowered his voice:
Dont be foolish. Where will you go?
To Grandma Mabels.
To that shack? Its only a few miles away!
Itll be cramped, but Im not angry.
Eleanor sniffed.
Fine, let her go. Shell learn what life was like for an old woman.
Victor shot a glare at his mother, but said nothing.
I slung the backpack over my shoulder and headed for the door.
Victoria! Victor called.
I turned. He stood in the hallway, hair still damp from his shower.
When will you be back?
When Ive seen a doctor.
The door shut behind me with a final thud.
Grandma Mabel gasped when she saw me, backpack in hand.
Victoria! Whats happened?
Ive had a row with Victor. Can I stay here?
Of course, love. Its tiny, but youll manage.
Her flat was indeed minuscule: a bed, a table, two chairs, an ancient TV. Yet it was tidy, and the air smelled of fresh vanilla from her baking.
Tell me everything, she said, putting the kettle on.
I poured out the whole saga, and she nodded, her silver hair swaying.
Oh dear Men can be so proud. Admitting somethings wrong feels like a death sentence to them.
Do I have to wait forever for him to finally go to a doctor?
No. You did the right thing by leaving. Let him think.
The first few days were calm. I set up a folding cot in the corner and helped Mabel with chores. Victor called occasionally, but I let the calls go unanswered.
Later, Grandma Mabel complained of chest pains. An ambulance rushed her to the hospital.
Dont worry, love, she whispered as the paramedics lifted her, her voice trembling. Im old, things happen.
She recovered quickly. I visited daily, bringing homecooked meals and the latest gossip.
Hows Victor? she asked one afternoon.
Hes well, he calls a couple of times and shouts into the phone.
Did you answer?
The first time, yes. The second, no. Whats the point of listening to the same rant?
Maybe he finally went to the doctor?
Unlikely.
In the hospital corridor, I almost collided with a young doctor in a white coat, blond hair, kind eyes.
Excuse me, I muttered.
No problem. Who are you looking for?
My grandmother, in Ward 7.
Ah, Mrs. Eleanor? he smiled. Shes a wonderful patient. Im Dr. Denis Clarke, cardiology.
Denis, I replied, feeling a flutter.
He chatted about her condition, his hands steady, nails neatly trimmed. I found myself watching his fingers, imagining them holding someone dear.
Thank you for your care, I said.
He lingered a little longer, then promised to stop by again. Over the next weeks I timed my visits to catch a glimpse of him.
Victoria, the doctor wants to know if youll be coming today, Mabel said one evening with a mischievous grin.
Wants to know?
Yes! He asked, Hows your granddaughter? Hes a good lad, and single.
I blushed.
Grandma, what are you on about
Youre practically free, dear. This Victor of yours
Im married.
Pfft!
A week later Dr. Clarke was transferred to another ward. On his final day he approached me in the hallway.
Ill miss you, he said simply.
Ill miss you too, I admitted.
He handed me his card.
If you ever need anything or just want to talk.
Our fingers brushed as I took it.
Thank you.
And he hesitated. Youre very beautiful, but also so sad. I hope it eases soon.
Mabel was discharged and grew stronger at home, yet I still dreaded leaving her alone. Victors calls became rare; when he did ring, he shouted that I was acting like a spoiled child. I hung up and never picked up again.
A month later an unfamiliar woman called:
Victoria? This is Deniss mother. He gave me your number
Is something wrong?
No, no! Its just his birthday tomorrow, and hed love to see you. Could you come?
I hesitated, but Mabel, overhearing, waved her hands excitedly:
Go, love! When was the last time you had fun?
His birthday turned out wonderfully. Denis was attentive without being overbearing. When we said goodbye, he said:
Id like to see you again. May I?
Yes, I whispered.
We started seeing each other slowly, gently. He never pressed for explanations, just stayed close. Occasionally I spent the night at his flat.
Then the unexpected happened: I became pregnant.
Will you marry me? Denis asked when I told him.
Of course, I laughed, tears of joy spilling over.
A year later I pushed a stroller down the park lane. Denis walked beside me, telling a joke that made our son, little Milo, giggle in his sleep.
Ahead, Victor and Eleanor Harris appeared, frozen in place as they saw me. I kept my stride, head held high, feeling the weight of everything Id endured. In Victors eyes I read pain, regret, and a dawning understanding.
Eleanor tugged Victors sleeve:
Come on, Victor.
But he stayed rooted, watching the stroller, the happy couple, and realizing too late the chance hed missed.
