13May2024
Dear Diary,
The night began as usual. I was slipping my coat on by the door, ready to head out again, when Eleanor lifted her eyes from the phone. Where are you off to this time? she asked, voice flat.
Emmas place, I said, pulling the zipper closed. She needs a hand.
She rolled her eyes and set her phone on the kitchen table. Youve been there a lot lately. How many times this week?
I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. Her car wont start, and she cant manage it alone. A knot of irritation rose from my gut and spread through my chest.
Just call a mechanic, Eleanor snapped, rising from the sofa. There are professionals for that.
Itll cost a fortune, I replied, fastening my coat. Ill sort it out for free. Whats the big deal?
David, youre at her every single day. Every other day! When will it end? she pressed, stepping closer. Shes left alone with the kids. I cant just abandon her, you understand?
A sudden flash of anger surged back at me. And what about me? Youre never home!
Dont exaggerate, she muttered. Well talk when you get back.
The door shut behind me, leaving Eleanor alone in the quiet flat. She pressed her palms to her ears, as if trying to block out the emptiness. She drifted into the kitchen where a mountain of unwashed dishes waited in the sink. She turned the tap, squeezed detergent onto a sponge, and began scrubbing with jerky, frantic motions. A plate clanged against the basin with an unpleasant clang.
A year has slipped by since Emmas husband, Tom, was taken from us in a sudden, senseless accident. At first I felt genuine pity for Emmatwo little ones, no support. Tom and I had been mates since school, practically brothers. Of course I ought to help. Eleanor understood that, at least in those early weeks.
But the help didnt stop. I seemed to set up camp at Emmas flat: fixing the tap, changing lightbulbs, ferrying the children to the health centre, delivering groceries, buying clothes, paying for their afterschool clubs. All of it drawn from the joint £2,500 we had saved together.
We had no children of our own. We lived in a modest onebedroom council flat in Manchestercramped, but ours. Wed dreamed of a bigger place, saved for a house, even thought about having a baby. In the past twelve months every penny vanished into Emmas needs, into Toms children, into an endless stream of obligations for someone else.
Eleanor tossed the sponge into the sink, the suds splattering over the tiles. The sight made her boil with whitehot anger. By night she was alone in our flat while I was with Emma, helping, comforting, spending time with her kids. It felt as if she had forgotten his wife.
She tried to talk to me, again and again. I brushed her off, called her jealous, said I was simply a friend to the widow. Its been a year, love. Emma needs to learn to stand on her own.
On a Tuesday evening I returned around nine. Eleanor was still at her desk, grinding out reports. I marched into the kitchen, kettle whistling.
Eleanor, Ive fixed it! I shouted, waving a pipe. Just a crushed hosenothing else. The kids were thrilled. Tim and Lily are such a pair. We played football in the park, and Emma baked pancakes with condensed milk for us. They were amazing.
Her eyes glazed over, her thoughts slipping into a monotonous hum. I placed a mug of tea on the table.
Eleanor, are you listening? I asked.
Mm, she muttered.
See? You never listen! Im trying to tell you something and
Dave, Im working, she snapped, grinding her teeth. I need to finish this report.
Always busy, I muttered, retreating.
Every mention of Emma, her children, her pancakes, her clean flat gnawed at me. It was as if Emma lived in a proper home while our flat was just a place to sleep.
The weeks stretched on. I kept disappearing to Emmas house, sometimes staying until late. Id come back tired but pleased, boasting about the kids smiles and Emmas gratitude. Eleanor fell silent; she no longer argued.
Then the comparisons started, casual as if they were small talk. We were having dinnerstorebought meatloaf with barley. I poked at my plate.
Emmas borscht was brilliant todayreal homemade, beef, a dollop of sour cream, I said, halfdreaming.
Eleanors gaze hardened. Something tightened in her chest.
Dave, Ive been at work all day. I have no time to make soup, she replied evenly.
But Emma finds the time, I continued. Her flat is always spotless, despite the kids. Shes brilliant, truly.
My words killed her appetite. She set her fork down, stood, and carried her plate to the sink. The irritation boiled over.
From that night onward the arguments grew more frequent. I kept praising Emmaher cooking, her tidy house, the way she raised the children alone. Eleanor would snap, shouting that she was fed up hearing it. Id get upset, leave the room, return, and the cycle repeated.
She started staying late at work deliberately, just to avoid coming home to a house where I was either absent or constantly talking about Emma. Shed linger at her computer till evening, sip coffee alone, chat with colleagues about anything but her own life.
She would get home near midnight, find me already asleep, or pretending to be asleep.
One night she walked in at ten, exhausted, shoes off at the hall, and found me at the kitchen table munching on frozen dumplings.
Theres nothing at home, I said, eyes on my plate.
What? she whispered.
I mean, you never cook anything. I had to boil dumplings. Emma always has a fridge full of homecooked foodmeatloaf, salads, soups. What do we have? Nothing.
Something snapped inside her, a string stretched too far. She stepped forward, voice shaking.
Then go to her! she shouted. If its so great there, go live with her and leave me alone!
I froze, fork midair, the dumpling falling back onto the plate.
Eleanor, what are you
Im done! she gasped, tears brimming. Im tired of hearing about her borscht, her kids, how wonderful she is! If youre so eager to replace Tom, then take on his role! Because it feels like you spend more time there than here! Do you like Emma better? Go live with her!
I stood, trying to calm her. Im just helping. Tom was my friend. I feel obliged
My obligation is to me, not to her! she cut in. I feel sorry for Emma, truly. But I cant keep living with a ghost in our flat while youre there in body but not in spirit!
Dont say that, I tried, stepping closer.
She backed away. Then quit! Right now. Say you wont go back. Say well rebuild our family. Say it.
I was silent. I could see the conflict on my face, but I knew I would never abandon Emma. Shed never let me.
Fine, I said finally, turning away. Im leaving.
She snatched her coat from the rack.
Where are you going? I shouted, lunging after her.
Im staying with my mother for the night, she replied, opening the door. By morning you wont be here. Pack your things and go. I hope Emma can find a place for you.
Eleanor, wait! I called, but she was already out, the door slamming shut with a thud that rattled the whole hallway.
A few weeks later I filed for divorce. There was nothing to split the flat was in Eleanors name, and I only had a few belongings. I took what I could that evening, left the keys on the hall table.
The courtroom was quiet and cool. I sat on a wooden bench, waiting my turn. Across from me sat Eleanor, and beside her, Emma with her two children, a boy and a girl, silent on their mothers lap. Emma held my hand, and we both stared at the intertwined fingersmy face flushed as I felt her gaze, yet I didnt let go.
The judge signed the papers, stamped the passports. No longer husband and wife.
Walking out of the building, I turned back. Emma, her children, and the boy Id carried for a moment walked toward a car. Emma held the little boy on her hip, the girl clutched to her side. They looked like a family.
I walked the opposite way, a strange calm settling over me. There was no anger, no lingering bitternessonly relief. I was glad I had left when I did, that I didnt waste any more of my own life waiting for everything to crumble completely.
I am free now. Thats the best decision Ive ever made. As for the future, Ill let fate decide.
Lesson learned: love a partner enough to keep them present, not to replace anothers loss with your own.
