15April2025
Dear Diary,
I pulled Rosie close, resting my arm over her shoulders, and whispered, Dont worry, love. I tried to sound as gentle as a summer breeze. We still have time. One day well be parents, and our child will look just like us. I promiselisten, I promise.
She nodded, her forehead pressed against my back. I wanted to believe my own words, to let them settle like warm tea in a cold kitchen. Yet a heaviness settled inside me, as if a thick fog had moved in, making every breath shallow. Three years of marriagethree years of hope, endless doctor visits, blood tests, scansnothing but silence in return.
I know, Rosie whispered back, though even she seemed unsure of the words.
I kissed the top of her head, feeling a brief flicker of warmth, but the mask I wore was starting to slip. Behind the smile was disappointment and a simmering anger I could no longer hide.
At first I kept my promises. I was there, supportive, caring. I brought daisies for no reason, cooked a full English breakfast on lazy Saturdays, and held her close when she wept into her pillow after another negative test. I tried to be kind, patient, loving.
Gradually things shifted, almost imperceptibly. Work began to stretch longer; business trips to Manchester and Birmingham became the norm. I stopped greeting her with a morning hug, turned away when she tried to curl up next to me on the couch, and our conversations shrank to curt, formal exchangessingleword answers and eyes that glanced elsewhere.
She told herself it was temporary, that I was simply exhausted from the endless waiting, that things would improve if we just held on a little longer. And so we did, for a year and a half.
One evening, as she cleared the plates after dinner, I said, Rosie, we need to talk. Her hand froze around the plate, the tone in my voice too grave, too official. She turned slowly toward me.
What about? she asked, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears.
Im filing for divorce.
Four words. Four tiny stones that shattered her world. The plate slipped from her fingers and smashed against the tiles. She stared at me, eyes wide, trying to process the blow.
What?
Sorry, I said, looking away. I cant do this any longer. Im tired of hoping, tired of waiting. This isnt the life I imagined. I want children, a proper family. But were not a couple any more; were just two people sharing a roof. Its time to stop pretending everythings fine.
Rosie sank onto a chair, her legs giving way, a hollow void echoing in her mind.
I dont blame you, she whispered. It just happened. I cant keep pretending Im content. Im sorry.
I turned and walked out of the kitchen. She heard me gathering my things in the bedroom, the soft click of the lock, and then silence settled over the flat.
Days blurred into a single grey smear. Rosie kept going to work, cooking for herself, tidying the flatexactly as she always had. Inside, though, there was a gaping emptiness, a cold mist of loneliness that clung to her like damp wool.
She blamed herself for the collapse, for not giving me the life I wanted. The only bright spot in that darkness was Megan, a university mate whod stood by her through exams, cheap takeaways, and whispered dreams of the future. When I left, Megan showed up with scones and tea, sitting beside Rosie, hugging her, listening without judgment.
Everything will be alright, Rosie, Megan said, smoothing Rosies back. Youre strong; youll get through this.
Rosie nodded, though she didnt truly believe it. Yet Megans presence was a small fire in the chill, a reminder that she wasnt completely alone.
They met weeklyat a local café or someones cosy living room. Megan talked about her job, her husband, her plans. Rosie listened, forcing a smile, while inside her heart tightened with each tale of a happy marriage and a stable homeeverything Rosie had lost.
Soon, however, Megans replies grew sparse. She cancelled plans at the last minute, her smile seemed forced, her eyes darted away. She claimed urgent work, hurried off, leaving Rosie feeling like a ghost in a room once filled with laughter.
It wasnt just Megan. The whole friend group fell silent. The group chat fizzed out; no one pinged Rosie first, no invitations arrived. She felt invisible, as if everyone had collectively decided to ignore her.
Rosie tried to shrug it offmaybe they were busy, each with their own lives. Still, a cold knot of anxiety settled deep in her chest.
Then Megans birthday came around. Rosie remembered the date perfectly; theyd always celebrated together since universitycake, prosecco, presents, giggling until dawn. This year, no text, no call, nothing. Rosie waited all day, hoping Megan would simply have forgotten to reply. The phone stayed mute.
In the evening, desperation won. Rosie bought a scarf Megan had mentioned wanting, wrapped it nicely, and drove to Megans flat to handdeliver itjust to show she still cared.
From the stairwell, muffled music and voices drifted up; the party was in full swing. Rosie paused, gathering courage, then knocked. The sounds inside didnt stop. After a minute, the door swung open.
Megan stood in a glittering dress, a glass of champagne in hand, her smile freezing the moment she saw Rosie. She looked startled, as if caught off guard.
Rosie, Megan breathed, what are you doing here?
I came to wish you a happy birthday, Rosie said, forcing a smile, holding out the wrapped gift. Happy birthday.
Megan didnt take the present. She stood blocking the doorway, eyes darting away, as if trying to hide something.
Why wasnt I invited? Rosie blurted, the dam finally breaking. We always celebrated together. What happened, Megan? Why am I being ignored?
Megans gaze flicked to the hallway, where muffled laughter rose. She hesitated, then, with a sigh, turned back to Rosie.
We got to know Davy during our marriage, she began, referring to me. He was my best friends husband, we talked a lot. After the divorce, we kept in touch. Hes a good bloke, fun to be around.
So you chose his side, Rosie snapped, the chill deepening. Weve been friends since university, Megan. How could you?
Its not that simple, Megan said, crossing her arms. Hes easier to be with. He doesnt dwell on problems, doesnt constantly whine. Honestly, we were all tired of the heaviness you brought. It was easier for everyone if we moved on.
Megans tone was flat, as if she were talking about the weather. She hurried on, Davys life is settled now. Hes engaged, his fiancée is expecting. Everythings perfect for him, and we didnt want to cause drama by showing up together.
Rosie stared, her world cracking further. The man she had shared a flat with for years was now happily engaged, about to be a father, while she stood alone, a relic of a past that no longer mattered.
I understand, Rosie said quietly, handing over the scarf. Happy birthday.
Megan took the box without looking at her.
You could have said this to my face years ago, Rosie continued, meeting Megans eyes. Instead you hid behind excuses only when the truth finally surfaced. I thought we were honest with each other, but I was wrong.
Megan fell silent, her gaze dropping to the floor, clutching the gift.
Take care, enjoy the party, Rosie added, turning toward the stairwell. All the best to you both.
Her footsteps echoed down the stairs, each step a heavy thud. She clung to the rail, legs trembling, breath ragged, sprinting toward the cold night outside.
The chilly air hit her lungs as she burst onto the deserted street, and finally the tears shed been holding back explodedhot, fierce, streaming down her cheeks. She walked aimlessly, sobbing for the pain, the betrayal, the loneliness.
In less than a year shed lost a husband, felt abandoned by friends, watched the people she trusted slip away. The old saying a friend in need is a friend indeed came to mind, only to reveal that perhaps she never truly had any.
She wiped her eyes and made her way home, to a flat where no one waited. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a tiny spark whispered that this darkness wouldnt last forever, and that perhaps, in time, what ends can also become a blessing.
Lesson learned: holding onto whats broken only drags you down; letting go, however painful, clears the path for something new.
