**Diary Entry A Lesson in Betrayal**
Id planned to surprise my husband by returning home three hours earlybut when I stepped inside, I couldnt hold back my tears.
Margaret gazed out the train window, thinking of her mother. Shed spent three days nursing her, ladling soup and doling out pills. The fever had only broken yesterday.
«You should stay another day,» Mum had insisted that morning.
«Harolds alone at home, Mum. Probably starving by now.»
Now, rattling along in the carriage, she regretted not listening. Harold had called every evening, asking after Mum, complaining about the empty fridge. His voice had sounded oddtired, perhaps.
«Miss you,» hed murmured last night before bed.
Margaret had smiled then. Thirty-two years married, and he still missed her. A good man, shed always thought.
Across the aisle, a woman cracked sunflower seeds, nose buried in a paperback. On the cover, a glamorous woman embraced a suited man. Margaret glanced at her reflection in the window. Wrinkles, grey roots creeping in. When had she aged like this?
«Off to see the husband?» the woman asked.
«Yes. Heading home.»
«Im off to meet my lover,» the woman chuckled. «Husband thinks Im at my sisters.»
Margaret flushed and turned away. How could someone speak so brazenly?
Her phone buzzed.
*»Hows it going? When do you get back?»* Harold had texted.
She checked the time. Four hours still. She almost replied truthfullybut changed her mind. Let it be a surprise. Shed cook dinner, see his face light up.
*»Tomorrow morning. Miss you too,»* she sent.
Harold hearted it instantly.
Fields and cottages blurred past. Margaret unscrewed her thermosMum had insisted she take tea and sandwiches. Always fussing, even now.
«Youve lost weight, love. Bet Harold doesnt keep an eye on your meals.»
«Mum, Im fifty-seven.»
«So? Youll always be my girl.»
She chewed the ham sandwich, worrying. Mum lived alone in Margarets childhood home since Dad passed five years ago. Refused to move in with them.
«Youve your own life,» she always said. «Dont fuss over me.»
But Margaret *liked* fussing. First her parents, then Harold, then the kids. Shed taught primary school until James was born, then became a full-time homemaker.
«Why work?» Harold had said. «I earn enough. Tend the house.»
So she had. For thirty years. Cooked, cleaned, raised James and Emily. Ironed Harolds shirts, darned his socks.
Now the kids were goneJames in Manchester with his family, Emily married with a baby of her own. And Margaret? What came next?
The train slowed. She gathered her things, nodded goodbye to the seed-cracking woman. The bus home took half an hour.
She imagined Harolds shock. He expected her tomorrowshed arrive tonight. Maybe shed stop at Tesco, grab steak, new potatoes. Set the table nicely.
The cashier grinned as she loaded bags. «Special occasion?»
«Just dinner for my husband.»
The bags weighed a ton. She panted in the lift, fumbling for keys. Finally, the door swung open.
«Harold? Im home!»
Silence. Asleep, likely. Nearly ten oclock.
She set the shopping down, hung her coat. The lights were onodd. Harold never slept with them on.
Then she froze. By the shoe rack: a pair of black patent heels. Not hers.
«Harold?» she whispered.
Her pulse spiked. Maybe Emilys? But why wouldnt she have called?
Giggles drifted from the kitchen. A womans laugh. Not Emily.
Harolds voice: «Margaret wont be back till tomorrow. Weve got time.»
Margaret leaned against the wall, legs buckling. Who was *she*?
Turns out, «she» was a thirty-something blonde named Lauren. Wearing Margarets dressing gown. Sipping coffee at *her* table.
Harold paled. «M-Margaret? You said»
«Whos this?» Margaret pointed.
«Lauren. From flat fifty-two. The sink was leaking»
«At ten p.m.?»
Lauren edged toward the door. «I should go»
«Not in my robe, you wont.»
Harold babbled excuses. Theyd «just talked.» He «felt young with her.»
Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of laundry, loyalty, loveand *this*?
She left. Spent the night at her friend Janets, staring at the ceiling.
The next day, Harold begged. «Its over with Lauren, I swear!»
Margaret sighed. «You know what? Im fifty-seven. Maybe its time I lived for *me*.»
He gaped. «But were family»
«Family respects each other.»
Now, rain taps the window. Tomorrow, shell job-hunt. Visit Mum. See where life takes her.
Harold might change. Or she might learn shes fine without him.
One truth stings clearest: love shouldnt mean never valuing yourself.
And for the first time in days, she smiles.
