**Diary Entry**
*»Didnt they tell you as a child that you cant build happiness on someone elses misery?»* Emily gave me a slight, reproachful glance.
*»They did. I read it in books. But when youre young, you dont really need that wisdom. Childhoods too carefreewhat do you know about happiness or misfortune? How can you build something as vague as happiness on anothers pain? Back then, all I dreamed of was sweets, ice cream, cartoons, and trips to the cinema…*
*Honestly, most of my aunts and uncles were on their second or third marriages. Where was I supposed to learn morality from?»*
Emilymy dearest friend, always righteous and unshakablenever judged me. Over a glass of wine, shed listen, amused, to my tangled love stories. She couldnt afford such indulgences herself, though. Being a lecturer at the university, she had a reputation to uphold.
Her own marriage was stable, if not exactly peaceful. In their younger days, her husband, Henry, had a habit of drowning in drink, raising hell, and straying. Emily put an end to thatshe had him quit alcohol for good. Still, Henry would grumble at dinner parties: *A man needs to unwind!*
Emily would reply coolly, *Henry, if you cant behave in company, dont bother.* Hed fall silent, and over time, he took pride in pouring drinks for guests, meticulously keeping track of their glasses, even passing around snacks. Sometimes Emily took him to Spain or Italy, but even there, hed misbehave.
*»Imagine!»* she fumed after a trip to Barcelona. *»While I was at the pool, this mongrel struck up a conversation with some brazen woman at the bar. Smiling, sipping cocktailsher eyes begging for him. Oh, I made sure he regretted it later!»*
*»Bet Henry denied everything?»* I smirked.
*»Of course. Said I was imagining things.»* She scoffed. *»But whats the point? Let him dream. Wheres he going to go? Whod want a man with his pitiful salary? Even if some lonely widow scooped him up, shed toss him out within a month. All hes got is that roguish glint in his eyenothing else.»* Shed talk herself calm again.
When James came into my married life, I felt something twist inside me. He was married, with two sons. I fought the feelings, but they rolled over me like an avalanchea love that tore at the seams. My conscience whispered: *»Stop. Dont grab the hot iron. Youll regret this. You have your own family. Why chase a married man? Youll drown in misery.»*
But I charged ahead. I couldnt go a day without him. James and I were lost in each other, love like a knife at our throatsinescapable.
Then, finally, every barrier broke.
What followed was a vicious cycle. Six months in, we realised we had nothing in common. But we clung to the ghost of love, resuscitating it again and again. James drank heavily, lied shamelessly, even raised his hand to me. We were from different worlds. Id throw him out, change the locks, cut off his phonesilent treatment for weeks. Hed vanish, then return with flowers and burning passion.
I took him back, aching with love, unable to erase him. I should have. He drained me, hollowed me out. So I sought revengea new man to sting him with. If I had to suffer, so would he.
When James disappeared after another fight (*»forever,»* as usual), I called an old admirer. Every woman keeps a spare, just in case.
Victor was James oppositecalm, polite, a teetotaller. At first, I liked him. But within a month, boredom set in. No fire, just a flat line. I craved chaos, rollercoasters. Later, I regretted letting Victor close. Not my type. He kept calling, until finally, he got the message.
Alone at last, I savoured the freedom. A month of peace. ThenJames called.
*»Laura, we have to end this. Well destroy each other,»* he said, avoiding my eyes.
*»Youre right. We cant live like this,»* I agreed, heart shattering.
We parted. For three days. Thena knock. James stood there, champagne in hand, flowers, that familiar fiery gaze.
The night burned. Our bodies tangled, breathless, reckless. I knew morning would bring nothing good. That night was too perfect, too much.
Turns out, my past torment was just the beginning. James confessed he owed a fortune to dangerous mena gambling debt. *»If I dont pay, its on me.»*
It took ages, but we settled it. Sold his flat, his car… And just like that, my passion for him withered. That debt was the last straw.
Now? Indifference. Were like old friends, distant relatives. We talk, we laugh, we sleep under separate blankets. Just drifting. Nothing stirs me. Ive drained the bitter cup dry.
No happiness built here.
Loved out, burned out.
**Lesson learned: Some fires consume everythingeven the hand that feeds them. I sit by the window now, most mornings, watching the rain trace slow paths down the glass. The house is quiet, and I no longer reach for my phone, waiting for a name to light up the screen. Emily visited last weekshe didnt say *I told you so*, not once. She just held my hand, poured the tea, and we stared out at the garden, where the roses she planted years ago still bloom, stubborn and bright. I think Ill stay here for a while, in this stillness. Not healed, perhaps, but finally honest. And that, it turns out, is its own kind of peace.
