Dear Diary,
I spent my whole life for him, and now I realise it was all for nothing.
Im leaving, he said, as though wed been married for twenty years and I was just a footnote. I clutched the lapel of Victor Hayess jacket so hard my fingers went white.
Emily, let go, he said calmly, pulling my hands away. Ive made up my mind. Stop the theatrics. You know were done.
How can you? We were just planning the summer holiday, the bathroom remodel! And now youre packing? My voice cracked into a scream.
Yesterday hed nodded absentmindedly while I talked about our break. He answered in vague murmurs, then suddenly blurted, Emily, Im going to Laura. At first I thought Id misheard, then imagined it was a joke, but Victor was dead serious.
Whos Laura? I managed to sputter.
My colleague. Weve been seeing each other for six months, he replied as if he were talking about buying a new TV, not about tearing my world apart.
I sank into the armchair, looking at the man Id shared two decades with and barely recognising him. Where had the shy, gentle, caring Victor gone? In his place stood a stranger with cold eyes.
That night I lay awake on the kitchen floor, wrapped in an old housecoat, replaying every day of our life together, searching for the moment it all went off the rails. How had I missed the chill in his demeanor? How had I not seen the newcomers shadow looming?
And then, just as the clock struck midnight, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase, ready to walk out, leaving me stunned, deafened, crushed.
Victor, please talk to me, I begged, my voice no longer a scream but a plea. Twenty years cant be tossed away in one breath. Did something happen at work? Do you need time to think?
Theres nothing to think about, Emily, he said, not even looking at me, fiddling with the zipper on his bag. I love someone else. With you its dull. Laura understands me; shes exciting.
So Im just a housewife and a washerwoman now? bitterness flooded me.
I never said that. Dont twist my words, he snapped, tightening his lips. Lets skip the drama. Ill call a solicitor; well arrange the divorce. Ill leave you the flat, dont worry.
I dont want the flat! I want the family! I want you! I raised my voice again.
Emily, stop. My cab is waiting downstairs.
He clicked the lock on his suitcase, glanced around to make sure he wasnt forgetting anything, and headed for the door.
Victor! I lunged after him. If you walk out now, dont ever come back! Hear me? Never!
He turned at the threshold, sighing, Youve always been overly dramatic, Emily. Lets keep the goodbyes brief. Ill collect the rest of my things next week.
The door slammed shut. I slumped against the wall and slid down onto the floor. The room was emptyno tears, no pain, just a deafening void and bewilderment.
Lydia Morgan, my dearest friend, burst in the moment she heard the news. She took in the scene: me, holloweyed on the sofa, photographs scattered, a shattered vase on the carpet.
Sweetheart, Lydia said, pulling me into a hug, let me brew some tea and you tell me everything, step by step.
While the kettle whistled, Lydia tidied the mess, gathered the broken pieces, draped a blanket over my shaking shoulders.
Hes gone to a younger woman, isnt he? she asked once I steadied my breath.
Im not sure, I shrugged. He called her a colleagueLaura, I think.
Typical, Lydia sighed. Grey hairs on the chinnothing but a devils whisper.
Victor still looks dashing, I protested. And she couldnt be that much younger than us.
What does it matter? Lydia retorted, frowning. The point is your husband swapped twenty years of a happy marriage for a fling with a coworker.
Maybe its my fault, I whispered, eyes reddening. Did I do something wrong? Did I miss something?
Dont blame yourself! Lydia cut in. Ive seen how you lived these yearseverything for the family, everything for him. You gave up your own career when he said a woman should stay at home. You cooked lowfat meals after the doctor warned about cholesterol. You skipped a trip to your sisters when he suddenly wanted to repaint the living room.
Its normal, I murmured. Im his wife; I should look after him.
Thats the problemshould. Youve spent your life doing everyones bidding: husbands, motherinlaws, societys. But when did you ever do something for yourself?
I lowered my gaze. Id never asked myself that. I was a pretty girl from a modest background, married early to Victor, whose parents had always hinted that I wasnt quite good enough for their son. To prove my worth I abandoned my music scholarshipmy motherinlaw called it frivolous and Victor backed her. I took a secretarial job at a respectable firm, only to quit when Victor insisted I become a fulltime housewife.
We never had childrenmy first pregnancy ended in miscarriage at three months, and doctors later told us the chances of a successful pregnancy were slim. Victor was disappointed; hed always wanted a son. Over time he accepted, and I tried to fill the emptiness with endless care for him.
Emily, perhaps this is for the best, Lydia said, attempting to lift my spirits. Its time you start living for yourself.
How can you say that? I snapped. What best? My life is over!
Nonsense! Lydia laughed. Youre fortytwo, still beautiful. Look at yourselfyouve vanished into him. Where is the real Emily? The one who sang with goosebumps, who dreamed of travelling, who wanted to help children in care homes?
Silence fell. Lydia was right; the true Emily seemed lost somewhere in the past. Those twenty years had been lived not as my own.
Alright, Lydia said, standing up. Ill stay the night. Tomorrow well figure out what to do next. For now, take a shower and have this. She handed me a sleeping tablet. Itll help you rest.
Morning brought no relief. I felt shattered. Lydia was already bustling in the kitchen, humming a cheerful tune.
Good morning, sleepyhead! she chirped, placing a halfcooked omelette on the table. Come sit, lets have breakfast.
I cant, I shook my head. I cant even swallow a bite.
Fine, Lydia said, turning off the stove. Lets pack a bag and head to my cottage. Fresh air does wonders, and theres plenty to keep us busy.
No, thanks, Lydia, I replied wearily. Ill stay. Maybe Victor will change his mind and come back
And youll take him back? After he dumped you for the first woman he saw?
Laura isnt just a fling, I muttered. He said shes interesting.
So Im boring, then? Lydia shot back. What does he even know about interesting people? Hes glued to his work, has no friends, his hobbies are the sofa and the telly. You catered to his every whim for twenty years, yet now hes bored.
Stop, I winced. Victor is educated, reads books, attends lectures
He goes to lectures, Lydia noted. Did he ever take you along?
I never wanted to, I answered insecurely. Domestic duties always came first
Of course the borscht wont cook itself, Lydia quipped. And Laura probably makes both the stew and the intellectual outings.
I sighed. Maybe Lydia was right; perhaps I was to blame for becoming uninteresting to Victor. Id sunk into chores and forgotten my own growth.
Lets go to the cottage, I said suddenly. Youre right, I need a distraction.
Lydias country house turned out to be a perfect sanctuary: a modest cottage surrounded by blooming gardens, quiet except for birdsong. From dawn till dusk we tended the gardendigging, watering, picking berries. Physical labour kept my mind off Victors betrayal.
One evening on the porch, sipping tea made from freshly picked blackcurrants, Lydia asked, Do you remember singing at music college? You had such a voice!
Its a thing of the past, I waved off.
No, you buried it, Lydia insisted. Victor was always jealous of your music.
Ridiculous, I replied. He thought singing in clubs was frivolous, not a profession.
What if you had pursued it? Lydia pressed. Your teacher swore youd go to the conservatoire. Remember Sergei Ivanov?
Whats that got to do with now?
It shows you buried yourself alive for a husband who never appreciated you, Lydia said sharply. You gave up your dreams for a man who didnt value them.
A spark lit inside me. I once dreamed of a stage, of a singing career. Then Victor arrived and everything changed.
Lets go to the local club, Lydia suggested suddenly. They have live music and karaoke on weekends. We need to shake things up.
Are you mad? I protested. Im almost fortythree, married well, I was married.
Exactly, Lydia grinned. Now youre free. You can either weep over a man who left you or start living anew.
The club was loud, neon lights blazed, and youngsters swayed to the beat. I felt out of place, but with a glass of wine and Lydias encouragement, I loosened up.
Time for karaoke! the host announced.
No, I wont, I protested weakly.
You will, Lydia said firmly. Stop hiding.
Before I could protest further, I found myself on stage, a microphone in hand. The opening lyrics of Ill Never Forget You flickered on the screenmy old favourite. I sang tentatively at first, then my voice grew steadier, richer. The audience fell silent, then erupted into applause when I finished.
A man in jeans and a checked shirt approached, eyes bright. Brilliant! Im Michael, I conduct the town choir, he said, extending his hand.
Emily, I replied, still blushing. Just a housewife, really.
I dont believe that, he chuckled. With that voice, you belong on a stage. We have a solo spot open. Interested?
Lydia nudged me, Of course youre interested, love!
I hesitated, I havent sung in ages
But you sound divine, Michael insisted, handing me his card. Give me a call.
Lydia gushed, Did you see that? You were magnificent! Michael seems charming, too.
Im not looking for another man, I muttered, embarrassed.
Why not? Youre free now, Lydia replied. Formally youre still married, but fact is he walked out for someone else. You have every right to start a new life.
The idea of a new life fluttered in my mind as I stared at Michaels card. Could I really join a choir and pursue the music Id abandoned?
That night, for the first time in weeks, I didnt feel like crying. I called Michael, arranged a meeting, and signed up for rehearsals three times a week at the community centre. He praised my talent, saying it was a shame I hadnt become a professional singer, but never too late to change.
Rehearsals became my breath of fresh air, a return to the youthful joy music once gave me. I also met new peopleamateurs from all walks of life, united by song.
A month passed. I still hadnt signed the divorce papers; I hoped Victor might return. I tried calling him, but his answers were cold or silent. His solicitor had emailed the paperwork, but I postponed signing.
One afternoon, after a choir session, I opened my front door to find Victor standing there, suitcase in hand.
Hi, he said, stepping inside. Can I come in?
Sure, I replied, letting him in. He looked around, noticing the new curtains and rearranged furniture. Youve redecorated?
I just shifted things, added some curtains, I said, trying to sound casual. Ive been busy.
It looks different, he remarked. You havent signed the papers. My solicitor is pressing for them.
My heart thudded. He wasnt back to reconcile; he was there to push the divorce forward.
I havent had time, I stammered. Ive been occupied.
Occupied how? he asked, raising an eyebrow. You dont work.
I sing in a choir now, I replied, a hint of defiance in my voice. Three rehearsals a week, plus occasional performances.
What? he exclaimed, clearly surprised. A choir?
Yes, I said, feeling my temper rise. You know Ive always loved to sing.
Fine, but its just a hobby, he dismissed. Im not interested.
It matters to me, I said coldly. I even have solo parts now.
He scoffed, Right, and how long have you been at this?
Almost a month, I answered.
How did you get involved?
Lydia helped, I replied, not wanting to go into details. If youre only here for the papers, I wont keep you.
To be honest, Victor said, I wanted to talk. Maybe we could have coffee?
I headed to the kitchen, heart pounding, wondering if perhaps he had truly changed. As I brewed coffee, he watched me.
You look slimmer, he remarked.
Just a little, I said, placing the cup before him. What did you want to discuss?
He hesitated, then said, Things with Laura arent great. Shes always out, meeting friends, has her own interests. She barely cooks, the house is a mess
A smile tugged at my lips. Finally I understood. Laura wasnt the tidy housewife Victor had expected.
So what do you want from me? I asked.
Maybe we could try again, he ventured. I havent filed for divorce yet.
And the solicitors papers?
That was just a scare tactic, he waved a hand. Emily, you still love me. Twenty years isnt a joke.
I looked at him, feeling nothingno joy, no anger, no pity. Just emptiness.
No, Victor, I said evenly. Im not trying again.
What? Youre refusing? he sounded bewildered.
Yes, I answered firmly. Ive learned a lot this month. I lived for you, and you never valued that. You left when you wanted something new, never thinking of my feelings. Now that its inconvenient, youre back.
You dont understand! he shouted. I made a mistake! I love you!
No, Victor, you dont understand, I replied. You love the comfort I created for you. You like being served. You never wanted the real methe one who sings, who wants to learn, who is curious about the world beyond these walls.
He stared at me as if I were mad. Emily, stop. Weve been married twenty years. I was a fool, but things will be different now. I promise!
Yes, things will be different, I said, smiling. But without you. Ill sign the papers and send them to your solicitor. Now I have to get ready for rehearsal.
He muttered, Youll regret this! as he headed for the door. Youll never belong in that choir! Youll just be a wannabe singer, and I wont take you back!
I said nothing. When the door shut, I stood a moment longer, listening to my own breath. The silence felt light, calm. I walked to the mirror, fixed my hair, brushed on a bit of colour, and steadied my gaze.
Lived for him, and it was pointless, I thought, as I left for the choir, where new songs and new friends awaited. Perhaps even a new loveMichael seemed genuinely interested latelybut that, dear diary, is a story for another day.
