Olivia was packing her things, replaying the years of their marriage in her mind. She wanted to leave quietly, without any explanations—just a note and then she’d be gone. Easier for both of them, she thought, folding clothes into the suitcase. But every item, every little thing, sparked a memory. There was that jumper Victor had bought her in their second year together. She’d criticised his choice back then, said the colour didn’t suit her. He hadn’t argued, just tucked it away in the wardrobe. And yet, she’d secretly worn it when he wasn’t around. Now, it still hung in her closet.
Olivia didn’t know what to do with these things. Throw them out? Leave them behind? She decided to box them up and seal it with tape, so she wouldn’t reopen old wounds. But there was no tape in sight. Then she remembered spotting a roll in Victor’s study last week when she was tidying. She stepped inside, slid open the desk drawer—and froze. Among the papers lay a notebook. Not just any notebook—a diary. Worn at the edges, like it had been opened often.
Her hand reached for it before she could stop herself. *If I’m already betraying him by leaving, what’s one more wrong move?* she thought. Curiosity tangled with desperation. Maybe the answers were in these pages. Another woman? Regrets about their marriage? Olivia opened it—and her world tilted.
He’d written about *her*. Page after page—her name, her habits, her smile. Olivia sank into the chair, unable to look away. Victor remembered *everything*. Even that jumper she’d mocked. He described how much it hurt when she rejected it, how he’d decided never to buy her anything again to spare her disappointment. *”Mum always said I got it wrong. Now Olivia thinks so too,”* one entry read. Tears pricked her eyes.
Further in—his childhood. How his mother scolded him for laughing too loud, for joking, for “pointless” chatter. How she’d mocked his smile, his fast-talking. Once, he’d brought her a bouquet of autumn leaves, and she’d brushed it off: *”Why bring rubbish? Pick something proper next time.”* Olivia read, and the image of a little boy—shamed for his joy—formed in her mind. Without realising, she’d done the same, snapping at him over that jumper.
But the biggest shock? Victor still loved her. He *admired* her—her work successes, the way she cooked, even how she slept. Turns out, he’d linger in bed just to watch her, careful not to wake her. Noticed how she frowned in her sleep, how she tugged the duvet closer. The last entry, from yesterday, shattered her. Victor dreamed of taking her kayaking—like he’d done as a kid, when he was happiest. But he feared she’d laugh at him, like she had before. *”I’ll probably stay quiet again,”* it ended.
Olivia closed the diary, feeling the walls she’d built crumble. She wasn’t the betrayer anymore. Without these pages, she’d never have truly known him. Their marriage had been hanging by a thread—but now, she saw how to save it.
The door creaked—Victor was home. She hadn’t even noticed the time. He walked in, surprised to see her.
“Liv? You’re not at work?” he asked, shrugging off his coat.
She met him, diary in hand. Victor froze when he saw it, but she didn’t let him speak.
“I’m in,” she said firmly.
“In for what?” He looked lost.
“The trip. Kayaking. I’ve already started packing.” She paused, took a breath. “I’m sorry, Vic. I found your diary. I *had* to read it. It’s… the most beautiful thing. You’re incredible. The best. I’m ashamed I ever thought less. Can we start over? Talk, share, love—without fear?”
Victor pulled her into a hug so tight she felt his heartbeat. He buried his face in her hair, voice barely steady.
“I didn’t come back for lunch. I cancelled everything. Wanted to talk, but I thought you’d…” He trailed off.
“Or maybe—” He pulled back, hesitant. “We could go shopping? Pick you a new jumper? Time for a fresh chapter, yeah?”
Olivia nodded, tears streaming. She went back to packing—but not to leave. To begin again. With the man she was only just starting to truly know.
