April 12 London
Dear Diary,
Victor stood at the doorway, a halfsmile tugging at his lips as he gestured toward the two battered suitcases. Back, as you can see, he said, his voice oddly bright for a man whod been away for six months.
I raised an eyebrow. What brings you here now? I asked, tilting my head. The hallway was cramped, the lift creaking as it opened on our floor, and my son Sams voice echoed from the stairwell.
LETSGO I cant keep this up, Victor sighed, the weight of his words heavy. If I think Ive abandoned you, my heart shreds. It feels like it could burst at any moment, watching you suffer alone.
Do you think Im suffering? I replied, my tone flat.
He chuckled, a nervous grin spreading. At least you dont have to put on a show for me. You can tell everyone that my leaving meant nothing and that youre fine.
I could hear the panic in his voice, the desperation to be understood.
Did you change the lock? he asked, rattling a set of keys in his hand. It broke, didnt it? I didnt oil it in time, thats why.
I fell silent, unsure how to answer. The lifts ding interrupted our uneasy standoff.
Dad? Sam called, his small voice trembling.
Yes, lad, Victor crouched, wrapping his arms around me. Im coming back. Ill stay with you both. Come here, Ill give you a hug.
Sam glanced at me, then nodded, and I let Victor step inside.
Alright then, I said, lets see whats changed.
Victor entered as if he owned the place, yet he moved toward the kitchen like a guest. New shelves now held the keys by the hall, a sleek shoe cabinet stood where the old one had been, and the light fixture above the doorway glowed with a modern charm. All the interior doors had fresh paint.
When I walked past the bathroom, I flicked the light switch.
Whats that? Victor asked.
You remember how damp it always was in there? I replied. I installed a extractor so the door can stay open without the room getting soggy.
Twenty minutes laterdoes it matter? I waved my hand, trying to brush off the lingering tension. Tea or coffee?
Coffee, please, Victor said, perching on a brandnew stool.
I fetched a capsule from the pantry, popped it into the machine, and pressed start. Ill just change my coat, I said with a small smile.
Take your time, Victor replied, gesturing calmly.
The kitchen now boasted a different set of pots, a tiled backsplash instead of the old vinyl, and fresh towel hooks beside the sink. When I returned in my sports tracksonce Id only ever worn a robeVictors tone shifted, sharper than before.
So whos this? he asked, his voice edged with accusation.
What? I asked, bewildered.
What man have you brought into the house? I need to know whos raising my son! And remember, were not divorced yet!
Just have a coffee, I said, trying to keep the peace.
Look at her! Victor shouted, his face flushed. I felt sorry for you, I came back, and now youre busy with… whatever, while my husband is still alive! He barked for me to drink the coffee, his voice rising to a command.
Ill pour this coffee over your head if you dont shut up! Victor snapped, jumping to his feet. Whats happening here? I demand answers!
Six months earlier, Id told Victor my life felt over. The shock had been unbearable.
Ethel, I think our marriage has run its course, Victor had declared one evening, his eyes avoiding mine. The warmth is gone, the feelings have faded. Staying together just for Sam feels like a sacrifice I cant bear.
Divorce? I whispered, fear trembling in my voice.
Im not ready to rush, he said, softer now. Maybe Im wrong. Lets live apart for a while. I wont visit, but you can call if you need anything. Justdont keep calling. I might already have a new life.
He then mentioned alimony: Dont bother the court. Theyll only award you about £150 a month. Ill give you that amount, then pay what I earn. Were both adults; we should support ourselves. He added, Ill still pay my share for Sam, so youll manage.
His words cut deep, but I tried not to feel hurt.
Our nineyear marriage, which Id thought was happy, crumbled in an instant. I couldnt recall any warning signs. Everything had seemed fine.
Why had I felt my life was over? Because my adult existence seemed limited to just being a wife. My independent life had only begun when I finally earned my degree, and we rushed into wedding plans. Victor had always been there: ferrying me to interviews, helping with paperwork, accompanying me to prenatal appointments, even insisting on a partner birth. Hed always supported me, and when Sam was born he took care of us both, bringing home fresh furniture and doing the renovations. We didnt have a mortgage; my parents had left me an inherited flat, so the money for the new fittings was there.
In terms of roles, nothing was unusual. Victor allowed me to handle the household, and he never ran away when I asked for help. He got along well with my family, and I became close with his mother and sister. We hosted big family meals without any grudges.
When Sam grew, I returned to work, and Victors schedule changed, so I began commuting on my own. My dad gave me his car and even paid for my driving lessons. Whenever the car needed a fix, Id ask Victor to tow it to the garage, but he soon insisted I handle it myself, saying garages treat women unfairly and overcharge.
I wasnt a burden. I solved most household issues alone, calling Victor only when I truly needed him. At work I earned respect for my diligence, climbing two rungs on the career ladder over five years, and I always celebrated my successes with him.
Then, without warning, he left. I felt lost, searching for his gaze even when I knew it wasnt there. My parents noticed my slump. My mother grew anxious, and my dad, David Anderson, took charge and sat down with me.
Love, life throws curveballs, he said, his voice gentle. Its not a reason to give up. Yes, its hard to understand, but life keeps moving.
Dad, everythings falling apart! I sobbed. I have no energy, no desire to do anything.
Ethel, your mum and I will always back you, David replied, smiling warmly. Youre smart and capable. Try to think clearly.
His encouragement steadied me. I went on autopilot for a month, keeping everything as it had been under Victors roof, until something strange happenedsomething that made me smile.
If I think of it like a maths problem, I simply crossed Victor out of the equation and solved it anew. I discovered I didnt need to clean every single day; the house stayed tidy for four to seven days. Laundry became less frequent; the detergent bottle seemed endless. Cooking didnt have to happen daily; a meal every other day was enough, far less than before.
Money, though, was puzzling. Victors salary vanished from the family budget, which wed all used to allocate together. Now I relied solely on my own wages and the £150 alimony. Yet by months end, I somehow had £250 left over.
Did I miss a payment? I wondered, nervous. Did I forget something?
Everything fell into place, and the house was comfortable.
I had long wanted to replace the bedroom doors. With the extra cash, buying them wasnt a problem, but who would install them? The shop said they had fitters. Two robust young men arrived, hauled out the old doors, loaded them into the bin, and fitted the new ones, sweeping clean behind them. I imagined Victor doing the work, coaxing him into it, but hed asked me not to bother him.
Money in my pocket made shopping easy. I bought a new key shelf, a stylish hallway light, and a shoe cabinet. I thought about asking Victor to help assemble them, then remembered his request.
Will my husband be here for an hour? I muttered to myself. Why not?
A local handyman showed up, listened, nodded, and after an hour said, All set. I cleaned the bathroom and tackled the dampness. Dont worry about mold.
Its a forever problem, I waved it off. I just keep the door open.
He suggested installing a vent, noting the existing ductwork, and said it would take half an hour and a modest fee. Tomorrow after lunch work for you? he asked.
Easy, cheap, no dramajust pay and its done, his advertisement thrilled me, and plans for more home improvements began to form.
Sams school holidays were coming, so I decided to take him to his grandmas not my mothers, but Victors mothers. Despite the split, there was no tension with my motherinlaw; they got along well, and Victors sister was also there. We chatted about nothing in particular, swapping the latest TV gossip.
Three days later Victor burst in, his declaration loud: Im back!
I met his demand with a flat reply: You could demand when you were my husband, but now just have a coffee and leave.
I wont go anywhere! he shouted. Im still your husband! I came back because I felt sorry for you, so you wouldnt disappear without me!
You see, I said, smiling, you havent disappeared. But youre only a husband on paper now. Ill sort that out soon.
Victor stared at me, bewildered, unable to grasp why his noble act of returning was being rejected.
Fine, if you dont want coffee, go on, I waved, as if swatting away a fly, I still have lessons to do with Sam!
The sudden chill between my former motherinlaw and sisterinlaw made sense; who else could tell Victor that I hadnt burned up from grief when he left? Theyd sent him to save me from my own contentment.
All of this feels like a strange, surreal chapter, but Im writing it down so I can remember: I felt pity, I felt anger, and now I feel something like relief.
Tomorrow Ill finish the vent, drink my coffee in peace, and watch Sam play. The house is mine again, and Im learning to live without Victors shadow.
Until next time.
Ethel.
