Dear Diary,
Tonight I was in the kitchen, trying to whip up a dinner for Paul. Hed mentioned wanting a plate of seafood pasta, so after a long day at the office I popped into the local Tesco, grabbed all the bits and pieces, and set about cooking alone. Paul finally trudged in, a handful of fresh roses in his coat pockets, shouting cheerfully, Emily, heres a tired husband for you! I laughed, tucked the blossoms into a vase, and we settled down after the meal to talk through the days little dramas before slipping onto the sofa for a film.
Weve been married for over ten years now. The early spark has settled into a comfortable warmth. Together we run a modest family business: I handle the suppliers, Paul looks after sales and the accounts. We live in a decent flat in Manchester, everything feels full and settled. Children? Not on the cards yet neither of us feels the urge, maybe when were nearer forty.
A few weeks ago I found a tiny, scruffy kitten wandering the back alley and brought him home despite Pauls protests. Why on earth did you pick up that stray? Take it to a shelter, hed said. If you want a cat, get a purebred Maine Coon those are all the rage or at least a hairless one. This little rag is nothing but trouble. I fell in love with the little thing instantly, and he became my companion, a striped grey Tom. Paul, however, could not stand him. The animosity was mutual; Id catch Paul giving Tom a little shove, and Tom would retaliate by curling up on his trousers, shedding fur, or clawing at his sweater. Paul would yell, Im getting rid of that cat; its ruining my clothes! Id reply, Dont fling things about, just put them away. Tom doesnt like that. Hed mutter, The name is absurdTom, and the cat would flash his green, inscrutable eyes.
For a whole year it felt like a battle of wills between husband and cat. Lately Toms very presence set Paul off; as soon as he saw the cat, hed shout, What is he doing here? Hell cause trouble. Id try to calm him: Paul, relax. The cat is just minding his own business. He isnt a menace. Hed reply, Emily, hes driving me mad. Maybe we should give him away? I said firmly, No, hes mine. By then Tom had grown into a sleek, handsome feline.
Saturday I was doing the usual deep clean while Paul was away on a Thursday business trip to Bristol, fixing a few urgent matters that meant he wouldnt be back until Sunday. I dusted, vacuumed, and when I reached the wardrobe I saw Tom pawing at a gap. What are you up to, you little thief? I asked, and a thin folder slipped out. Inside were receipts for hotel stays, shortbreak holiday packages, pricey jewellery, airline tickets, and a contract for a car purchase. The car was registered to a Natalie, but the payment had come from Pauls account. Some of the slips bore his handwritten notes. He had a habit of hoarding receipts, later passing many through the company to mask personal spending.
My stomach turned. I wanted to tear the papers up, scream, call Paul straight away, but I held back. Tom brushed against my leg, leapt onto the folder, and purred a low, soothing tune that somehow steadied me. I whispered, Tom, youve seen it all, havent you? I made copies of every document and, later that evening, searched online for the cars owner. A young woman surfaced, posing beside a shiny red hatchback with a caption that read gift from my love. No picture of a man, just her back and armsclearly the same photo Paul had posted in a private album. The implication was unmistakable: Paul had a mistress and had been splurging our joint money on her.
Paul returned on Sunday night, as usual with a grin and more flowers. Wheres your husband? Hes not meeting you at the door? he joked as he stepped in. I muttered, I have a cold, my head hurts, my eyes already reddened. He ate, and I retired to the spare bedroom. Should we call a doctor? he asked. No, Ill just lie here and take the medicine Ive already had, I replied.
Later, while he slept, his phone lay on the kitchen counter. I absentmindedly turned it over, and for the first time in years I actually looked at his messages. The texts confirmed my fears: a flirty message to Sunshine saying, Missing you. Lets meet Tuesday. My heart hammered.
On Monday I sent Paul off to work, telling him I was feeling ill and would stay at the cottage. I gathered all the paperwork and walked to a solicitors office. By the end of the week a divorce petition and a claim for division of assets were filed. I told Paul, Im really unwell, I think Ill spend some time at the country house, and kept my plans hidden.
When the papers arrived, Paul was stunned. What are you thinking? Weve been together for so long. Ive done everything for you. I answered simply, Ive fallen out of love, Paul. Well see each other in court. I said nothing about the mistress. In court the receipts and the car purchase were laid out, and the exhusband was left speechless. The judge asked, Did you really spend those sums on a lover? Did you buy her a car? Paul, bewildered, admitted, Yes, I did.
My solicitor secured half of the businesss value, a fair monetary settlement, and even reclaimed half of the money Paul had spent on his mistress, since it was family money. Paul kept the flat; I received the cottage and a substantial sum. The two cars stayed where they wereeach of us kept our own.
Before the divorce was final, I had already shifted some of my suppliers to a new company and took over both the sales and finance sides of the operation myself. Its tougher, but I feel more in control now. Tom has settled into his role as my loyal sidekick. The new business is thriving.
Paul, meanwhile, is fuming. Hes lost a sizable portion of his income, and his new fling doesnt seem to mean much to himjust a fling, not a life. He goes on dates, returns to an empty flat, and watches his world shrink.
So here I am, writing this, feeling a strange mixture of relief and uncertainty. Ive reclaimed my independence, but the road ahead is still unwritten. I hope Tom will keep me company as I navigate this new chapter.
Emily.
