On my husbands birthday, my son pointed at the guests and shouted, “Thats her! Shes wearing that skirt!” I couldnt say no.
“Please, Mum,” he begged. “I promised my mates Id bring the blanket and the drinks. And I told them youd make those caramel and chocolate cakes.”
So, being the good mum I am, I started digging around. Old suitcases, tangled cables, broken fans from summers long gone. And then, tucked in a corner, I saw *it*.
A black box. Elegant, square, hidden like a secret. I wasnt being nosy, but I couldnt help myself. I pulled it out, sat on the rug, and lifted the lid gently.
My breath caught.
Inside was a satin skirtdeep violet, soft as a whisper, with delicate embroidery at the hem. Classy. Beautiful.
And *familiar*.
Id shown it to Jamesmy husbandmonths earlier while we were out in town. We passed a boutique, and Id pointed it out in the window. “Too fancy,” Id said, but deep down, I hoped hed remember.
“You deserve something luxurious now and then,” hed laughed.
So when I saw the skirt, carefully folded in tissue paper inside that box, I *knew*. It had to be my birthday gift. A quiet joy washed over me.
Maybe things were still good between us.
I didnt want to ruin the surprise, so I closed the box, put it back, and handed Oliver an old blanket. I even bought a blouse to match the skirt and tucked it away in my drawer, waiting for the right moment.
My birthday came. Family gathered. James handed me a gift with a boyish grin.
Books.
A lovely stack of carefully chosen novelsbut no sign of the skirt. Not a word about it.
I waited. Maybe he was saving it for a special dinner, just us two.
That moment never came.
Days later, I sneaked back into the wardrobe for another look. But the box was *gone*. Just like that. No trace.
Still, I said nothing. I didnt want to be *that* wifethe suspicious one, jumping to conclusions.
Hope keeps you standing, even when you know better.
Three months passed. No sign of the skirt. No mention. Just silence.
Then one afternoon, while I was baking lemon cakes for a wedding order, Oliver walked into the kitchen. His eyes darted, his shoulders tense.
“Mum?” he said quietly. “Ive got to tell you something. About that skirt.”
I set the spatula down.
“I know Dad bought it,” he started. “When we went to the shopping centre for my football boots, he told me to wait outside. Said he had something to pick up.”
My stomach twisted.
“Then one day,” Oliver went on, “I skipped school for a bit. Came home early to grab my skateboard but I heard voices upstairs. Thought it was you and Dad.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“But youre never home at that time. I got scared. Hid under the bed.”
My heart ached for him.
“She *laughed*, Mum. It wasnt you. I saw her feet. She was wearing *the skirt*.”
I froze, the room tilting around me.
Then I pulled him into my arms.
No child should carry a secret like that.
A few days later, I hosted Jamess birthday party. I cooked, cleaned, smiled.
I wore a navy-blue dress and red lipstick. I put on heels I always regret after an hour. And I played the partthe gracious wife, the warm host, the unshakable pillar.
Inside, I was crumbling.
The party buzzed with chatter and music until Oliver tugged my sleeve.
“Mum,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Its *her*. The skirt. Shes wearing it.”
I followed his gaze.
*Emily*.
Jamess assistant. She stood by the wine table, glowing, confident in that violet satin skirtimpossible to mistake.
The skirt hed hidden.
The skirt Id thought was *mine*.
She was next to her husband, Daniel, holding a glass, beaming.
I picked up a tray of canapés and walked over with a smile.
“Emily! That skirt suits you *perfectly*. Wherever did you find it?”
She blinked, startled. “Oh thanks. It was a gift.”
“How lovely,” I said sweetly. “FunnyI had one just like it. Found it in the house once. Then it *vanished*.”
Her smile faltered.
Across the room, James watched us, frozen.
“Daniel!” I called. “Come over! We were admiring Emilys skirt. You too, James!”
The four of us stood in a circle. Emilys hand trembled on her glass. Daniel looked confused. James seemed wrecked.
“I *loved* that skirt,” I said softly. “I thought it was for me. But now I see it was for someone else.”
James coughed. “I gave it to Emily. As a bonus. For her excellent work.”
“How *thoughtful*,” I replied, calm as ice. “For her work performance or for her lunchtime visits to *our* bedroom?”
Silence.
Daniel stepped back from Emily. Her eyes filled with shame, and I stood there, knowing my life from that moment on would be *mine* alone.
