**Diary Entry**
The day my world shattered began like any othera dull, overcast morning in London, the kind where the rain never quite commits but lingers in the air like a threat. Emily, eight months pregnant, adjusted her woollen hat and stepped out alone to buy baby supplies. My husband, James, had left early, muttering something about an urgent meeting. I didnt dwell on it, though a quiet ache settled in my chest. Even now, on the brink of motherhood, I was the one trudging through the crowded high street, stacking nappies and tiny vests into my bag.
The market was bustling. I moved carefully, one hand steadying my heavy bump. Just as I turned to leave, I heard his laughwarm, familiar. My breath caught.
There he was. James, holding hands with a woman in a short skirt and heels, grinning as he carried her shopping bag. He murmured something to her, voice tender. “Anything you fancy, love? Ill get it for you.” She giggled. “I shouldntIll put on weight.” He squeezed her hand. “Doesnt matter. Id love you anyway.”
I froze. The world narrowed to just themmy husband, doting on another woman while I stood there, invisible, swollen with his child. My throat tightened, but no tears came. Just a hollow, suffocating pain.
I didnt scream. Didnt confront him. Instead, I pulled out my phone and typed with steady fingers:
*”Just saw you at the market. Too tiredIve taken a cab home. You carry on playing your part.”*
I switched off my phone before he could reply.
James was still laughing when his phone buzzed. His face drained of colour as he read my message. He dropped the girls hand, scanning the crowd. “Whats wrong?” she asked. He didnt answer. Just bolted, muttering, “EmilyEmily was here”
But I was already gone. The weight of my belly, the shuffle of my steps through the crowd, my dry eyes. No anger. No rage. Just a hollowed-out heart.
At home, I didnt go upstairs. I laid out each baby item on the kitchen tablea soft blue onesie, knitted booties, a tin of talcum powder, a bottle. One by one, like knives twisting.
I remembered the nights he claimed overtime while I lay alone, aching. The prenatal appointments I attended solo, waiting in sterile clinics. The way his touch had grown cold.
It wasnt my imagination. He had someone else.
James stumbled in an hour later, face ashen. “EmilyGod, Im sorry” I didnt turn. “Sorry for what? The *meeting*?” His voice cracked. “It was a mistake. She means nothing. I never wanted to leave you” “If I hadnt seen you today, how long would you have lied?”
I stood then, facing him with a calm that scared even me. “Dont bother leaving her. Ive already decided for us both.”
His eyes widened. “Emily, please” “This baby doesnt need a liar for a father. And I dont need a cheating husband.”
I slid the divorce papers across the table. “Sign them. I dont want anythingjust the baby. And peace.”
He crumpled into a chair, head in his hands. Hed expected tears, pleading. Not this steel in my voice. “Do you still love me?” he whispered.
“Maybe once. But the second I saw you holding her hand I felt nothing.”
That was the end. No shouting. No drama. Just a woman who, for him, had finally found her strength.
Months later, I gave birth to a healthy boy. Slowly, I rebuilt my lifehis gummy smiles stitching my heart back together.
James still knocks sometimes, gifts in hand, regret in his eyes. But the door stays shut.
The past is behind me. That timid woman? Shes gone. I learned to let go and live for the ones who truly matter. Myself. And my son.
