**Diary Entry: Helen Archer**
That’s ten years of silence.
“Enough now!” I shouted, slamming my palm on the kitchen table. “Ten years I’ve endured your antics, and now *this*!”
Jane Parker sat opposite me, eyes downcast. Her hands trembled as she lifted her teacup. Between us lay a crumpled NHS letter.
“What do you want from me?” Jane whispered.
“The truth!” I sprang up, pacing our Manchester kitchen. “I want to know why you stayed silent! Why didn’t you tell me then?”
Jane set down her cup. Tea sloshed onto the wood. “I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid you’d despise me.”
“And now? When I’ve found out myself?” My voice shook with fury. The neighbour downstairs thumped the ceiling. I sank back onto my chair, hands still unsteady.
“Tell me everything,” I demanded. “From the beginning.”
Jane dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I didn’t know how to tell you. You were so happy then, newly wed…”
“Stop dodging! Out with it!”
“I saw Simon with that woman at the café on High Street. They held hands by the window. She was pregnant.”
The floor seemed to fall away. I’d known of his affair—but not that someone had witnessed it so long ago.
“When?”
“Six months after your wedding.” Her voice barely rose above a murmur. “I spotted them walking home from work. Didn’t believe it was Simon at first… till they stepped outside. Then I knew.”
“And then?”
“I meant to confront them, but…” Jane faltered. “He kissed her. Tenderly, like you kiss someone you love. Then he rested his hand on her belly.”
I shut my eyes. Memories flooded back—that time when I dreamt of children, while Simon kept postponing it.
“So he had a child with another woman even then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Helen, Helen—I truly meant to tell you, but…”
“You chose silence. Ten years!”
Jane flinched at my tone. “I thought it’d pass. That he’d come to his senses. You were so in love—buying baby clothes, planning nurseries…”
“Baby clothes,” I repeated bitterly. “And all the while he raised someone else’s child.”
I walked to the window. Children laughed carefree on the Leeds playground below. I’d ached for that. Now I’m 43, my chances fading.
“Helen, forgive me,” Jane pleaded, joining me. “I know I was wrong. But I couldn’t shatter your happiness.”
“What happiness?” I spun around. “Happiness with a liar? Wasting my best years on a man who never loved me?”
“He *did* love you! I saw how he looked at you.”
“Saw him when? While cheating with his pregnant mistress?”
Jane stared at the floor. Each word struck true. She deserved them.
“I thought I was protecting you,” she whispered.
“Protecting me?” My laugh was raw. “The right thing would’ve been telling me then. Maybe I wouldn’t have squandered ten years on him.”
The hallway phone rang. I answered wearily.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Simon. Late at the office tonight. Don’t wait up.”
I checked the clock. Seven PM. Work ended two hours ago.
“Understood,” I said flatly. “Goodbye.”
Back in the kitchen, Jane sat twisting her handkerchief.
“Was it him?”
“Yes. Late again.”
“Helen—what if he’s changed now?”
I pulled photos from my handbag and flung them on the table. “See for yourself.”
Jane leaned over the images: Simon with the same woman, older now, a boy of about nine beside them.
“His son,” I said. “I hired an investigator yesterday. Turns out he’s lived this double life ten years. Official home with me—real home with them.”
Jane covered her mouth. “Lord, Helen! I didn’t know—”
“Of course not. Because you never spoke up.”
Jane fiddled with the teapot. She refilled our cups, though neither touched the stewed brew.
“What will you do now?”
“Divorce him. What choice is there?”
“Does he know you know?”
“Not yet. But he will.”
I slid the photos back into my bag. My hands steadied, but emotion still seethed inside.
“Know what’s worst?” I said. “Not the betrayal. It’s the years I’ll never get back.”
“You’re still young. Could meet someone.”
“At forty-three? With my health?” I gave a mirthless smile. “Doubtful.”
Jane poured boiling water. The tea steeped bitter. Neither noticed.
“Helen, I know you’re angry with me. You’ve every right. But I truly meant well.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” I quoted. “You guarded my illusion. Instead, you let him deceive me.”
“I didn’t help him! I just stayed quiet.”
“Quiet betrayal is betrayal still.”
She looked away. We’d been friends since uni. Shared first loves, heartbreaks, joys. I’d always been bolder; Jane, cautious, avoiding others’ troubles.
“Remember when we met our husbands?” she asked suddenly.
“At Olivia’s party.”
“You said you’d marry Simon on the spot. I laughed and called you rash.”
“And? What’s your point?”
“Just that you were braver than me. Had I been braver, I’d have told you then.”
I weighed her words. “Jane, I don’t want this to end our friendship. But I need time to settle this.”
“I understand.”
“Ten years,” I repeated. “Ten years I lived his lie. Saving for holidays, dreaming of children… while he built another family.”
Jane nodded. She remembered me buying stuffed animals, treasuring Simon’s gifts, believing in our future.
“And now?” she asked. “Have you told him?”
“Tonight. When he comes home from her.”
“Wait till tomorrow? Think it through?”
“No. Enough waiting. I’ve wasted too much time waiting.”
I stood to leave. Jane trailed me to the door.
“Helen—call me when it’s over?”
“Perhaps.”
The silence in my Manchester flat felt colder than the night air. Simon lingered at his second home as usual.
In the bedroom, I pulled our albums from the wardrobe. Wedding snaps, Devon honeymoon, early years. I looked so happy then. So in love.
And Simon? Had he smiled honestly? Or thought of her all along?
The phone rang again. I waited till the fourth ring.
“Yes?”
“Helen? It’s me. I’ll be extremely late.”
“Simon, we must talk.”
“Can’t now. Tomorrow.”
“No. Tonight. I’m home waiting.”
“Helen—work’s mad. The team’s—”
“I know,” I cut in. “About her. And your son.
Elena heard Sergei’s hesitant footsteps on the stairs leading to their flat, the weight of a decade’s silence finally giving way to the inevitable, painful truth waiting on their doorstep.
