Mum, why are you always like this?! Ainsley’s voice trembles on the edge of breaking. It’s the same argument every time!
Ainsley, I just want to help! her mother whines over the phone. James is a good man, why are you upsetting him?
I’m not upsetting him! I just asked him not to leave dirty socks on the floor! It’s basic courtesy!
Oh, my dear, youre being far too fussy! Men are all like that, you have to get used to it! My own father was the same
Mum, please dont bring Granddad into this! I dont want to hear how a woman is supposed to endure everything! Supposed to endure, endure! And what is a man supposed to do?!
Ainsley presses the phone to her ear, pacing the flat in circles. James left on a business trip this morning, and she hoped for a quiet day, but Mum, as always, finds a reason to call and lecture her.
A man should earn a living, a woman should keep the home tidy, her mother says solemnly. I spent my whole life cleaning after your father and were still alive and well.
Mum, I work fulltime too! I earn as much as James! Why should I also have to tidy up after him like Im looking after a child?!
Because youre his wife. Thats the role. Ainsley, dont be angry with an old woman. I only want the best for you.
Ainsley exhales, pinches the bridge of her nose.
I know, Mum. Im just exhausted. Really exhausted.
Then rest. Put the cleaning off, lie down.
I cant. The mess is terrible, it hurts my eyes.
They say goodbye and Ainsley tosses the phone onto the sofa. She glances around. The flat genuinely needs a proper tidy. Before leaving, James created a real disaster clothes everywhere, a mountain of unwashed dishes in the kitchen, his shaving kit scattered across the bathroom sink.
Ainsley rolls up her sleeves, grabs a cloth and starts in the kitchen, methodically washing plates, cups and pans. She wipes the tables, vacuums the carpet. By evening she reaches the bedroom.
The bed is unmade, the sheets rumpled, pillows on the floor. She pulls the sheets off to launder them. James always sleeps restlessly, tossing and shedding the duvet. Shes used to it.
As she pulls a sheet, it catches on something. She crouches, looks under the bed. In a dusty corner sits a plain cardboard box, once used for shoes and taped shut.
She pulls it out, shakes off dust. The box is heavy, something rustles inside. The lid bears no label.
What on earth? she murmurs to herself.
She doesnt recognize the box. James never mentioned anything stored under the bed. Curiosity wins.
She tears off the tape, lifts the lid. Inside are womens items: a pale pink blouse with a lace collar, a silk blue scarf with a pattern, dark brown leather gloves, a leatherbound notebook, an old bottle of perfume with a faded label.
Ainsley pulls out the blouse and unfolds it. Its a size too big for her she normally wears a 14, this is clearly a 16 or 18. The style is not her usual crisp shirts and business dresses; its frilly, ruffled.
She unscrews the perfume bottle. A heavy, sweet, oriental scent hits her nose nothing like the light floral fragrances she prefers.
Her heart beats faster. Foreign clothes, a perfume, a diary, all belonging to someone else, hidden under her husbands bed.
She opens the notebook. The first page, in unmistakably feminine handwriting, reads: Diary of Marina.
Marina? Ainsley flips through the pages. The entries are short, dated. The latest entry is dated 15March. She checks the calendar eight months have passed.
Today he didnt call again. He promised but didnt. Im waiting and hes silent. It hurts.
She turns the page.
Met him at the café. He talked about the future, said things would change soon. I want to believe him.
A later entry, a week before that:
He gave me this scarf. Said the blue suits me. Im happy.
Ainsley slams the notebook back into the box. Her hands shake. She thinks of James. He has another woman. Marina.
She grabs the phone, dials James. Long rings. He doesnt answer. She tries again, and again. On the fifth ring he finally picks up, sounding bleary.
Hello? Ainsley, whats wrong? his voice is sleepy and irritated.
Who is Marina?! Ainsley shouts.
Silence, thick and heavy.
What? James repeats.
Marina! Who is she? I found a box under the bed with her things! With a diary!
Another pause, then a heavy sigh.
Ainsley, I cant talk now, he says quietly. Ill be back tomorrow, well discuss it.
No! Now! Explain now!
Not over the phone. Tomorrow, he hangs up.
Ainsley watches the screen, disbelief flooding her. He just ends the call. She tries again the number is unavailable. James has switched his phone off.
She collapses onto the bed, clutching her face. Tears pour, hot and burning. James has been seeing another woman all this time, buying her gifts, meeting in cafés, promising a future.
She sobs until the tears run dry, then washes her face with cold water, looks at herself in the mirror: pale skin, swollen red eyes, dishevelled hair. A pitiful sight.
Back in the bedroom she pulls the box out again, sifts through the items. The blouse is faded on the shoulders, the gloves are scuffed, the perfume bottle is halfempty.
She rereads the diary, this time from the beginning. The first entry, three years ago:
Met him in the park. We talked about books. Hes clever, wellread. I liked him.
Three years agoAinsley and James have been married five years now, so he has been cheating for almost their entire marriage.
The entries become increasingly naive, full of hope, then later grow sad.
He calls less. Says hes busy, tired, work problems. I understand but it hurts. I want to be near him, but he keeps me out.
He didnt show up today. I waited two hours. He texted that he forgot he had urgent work. He forgot about me.
Im tired of waiting. Tired of believing. Maybe its time to let go. But how?
The final entry is the one about him not calling.
Ainsley closes the diary, sits on the floor, back against the bed. What now? Divorce? A fight? Forgiveness?
She doesnt know. She just sits in the empty flat, hugging her knees, staring at a point on the wall.
The night passes without sleep. She tosses, gets up, walks the flat, returns to the bed. By morning her head aches, her eyes feel glued shut.
James returns at lunchtime, key in hand, drops his bag in the hallway. Ainsley sits at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. The box sits on the table.
Hello, James says softly.
Ainsley doesnt answer, just looks at him.
He sits opposite, eyes the box.
Did you read it? he nods toward the diary.
I read it.
All of it?
All.
James runs a hand over his face, sighs.
Ainsley, its not what you think.
Then what do I think? she grips her mug. That youve been cheating on me for three years, meeting some Marina, promising a future while living with me?
No, he shakes his head. It wasnt an affair.
Then what? she raises her voice. A friendship? A random encounter?
Marina was my first wife, James exhales.
Ainsley freezes. Her mug slips, coffee spills across the table.
What? she whispers.
My first wife. We married when I was twentyone, she was nineteen. We lived together a year, then divorced.
You never told me youd been married! Ainsley jumps up. Never! I asked, you said no!
Because it hurt. It hurt a lot, James lowers his head. Marina fell ill. Cancer. We divorced because she didnt want me to waste my life on her. She said I should find someone else and be happy, while she fought the disease alone.
Ainsley stands, speechless. James continues:
I didnt want a divorce. I swore Id stay, that wed get through it together. But she insisted, filed for divorce herself, and I left. She stayed.
And then? Ainsley sits again.
I tried to move on. Worked, dated, none felt right. A few years later I met you. Fell in love. Married you. Thought I could forget.
But you didnt forget, Ainsley finishes for him.
I didnt, he nods. Marina contacted me three years ago. Said she wanted to meet. I went. Shed beaten the illness, was older, a little frail, eyes full of longing
He pauses, swallows.
We started meeting. Just coffee, walks, talking about her treatment, the fear, the loneliness. I didnt tell you because I was scared to hurt you. I never crossed any line physically, just emotionally.
So that diary? Ainsley says bitterly. She thought youd still be with her, that youd build a future together?
Yes, James admits. I lied to her about my life. I gave her gifts, stayed near, but nothing more. I swear, Ainsley, I never cheated in the physical sense.
But emotionally you were with her, Ainsley feels tears well up again. You loved her.
I loved her. I still love her in a way. Shes part of my past, part of my story. But I love you too, just differently. he reaches across the table, she pulls her hand away.
Whats happening with her now? Why did the diary stop? Ainsley asks.
She died eight months ago. The cancer returned. Doctors couldnt save her. It happened quickly.
Ainsley covers her face with her hands. The idea that James was caring for a dying exwife while living with her feels surreal.
Why didnt you tell me? she asks through sobs. Why keep it hidden?
I was afraid. Afraid youd leave, that Id lose you. I knew it was wrong, that I was deceiving both of you, but I couldnt abandon her. And I couldnt abandon you.
So you chose to lie, Ainsley says, standing. To cheat, to play a double game.
I didnt play a game! I tried to save something! James jumps up. Marina had at most a year left, doctors said. I wanted her to spend that year not alone, to have hope.
At my expense?! Ainsley yells. You gave her hope, and gave me lies! Three years of lies! You said you were working late, on trips, while you were with her!
I wasnt there all the time! I met her once a week, a few hours! he protests.
But you thought of her! Loved her! Came to me like a backup option!
Youre not a backup! James grabs her shoulders. Youre my wife! I chose you! I married you! I live with you! Marina is the past!
The past you kept in a box under the bed! Ainsley erupts. The past you never let go!
They stand, breathing heavily, staring at each other.
I dont know what to say, James finally admits. Im guilty. I should have told you from the start. I was scared. Ive lost your trust. Forgive me, if you can.
Ainsley walks to the table, picks up the box.
Why keep it? she asks. If shes dead, why keep her things?
Its all thats left of her, James says, looking at the box. When she passed, I took a few things from her flat: the blouse I gave her, the scarf, the gloves, the perfume, the diary she wanted me to read after she was gone. I couldnt throw them away. I hid them under the bed so you wouldnt find them.
But I found them, Ainsley says, placing the box back. Now I dont know what to do with them.
What do you want to do? James asks quietly.
Ainsley stays silent for a long moment, then says:
I need time. To think. To decide if I can trust you again. To see if I can live with a man who lied to me for three years.
How much time? he asks.
I dont know. A week, a month, maybe longer.
Alright, James nods. Ill wait. Tell me when youre ready.
He gathers his bag and leaves. Ainsley remains alone in the flat. She sits on the sofa, picks up Marinas diary, opens to the last page.
After the final entry, a few trembling lines appear:
If youre reading this, Im no longer here. Im sorry I didnt let you go sooner. Im sorry I held on, knowing you had another life. I was selfish, but I was terrified and lonely. You were a light in my darkness. Thank you for everything. Be happy. You deserve it. And your wife too. Take care of her. Marina
Ainsley closes the diary, puts it back in the box, curls on the sofa, and criesfor Marina, who died alone clutching a ghost of love; for James, torn between two women; for herself, betrayed and hurt.
Gradually the tears ease. She realizes James didnt cheat in the usual sense; he tried to help a dying person, albeit through deception and at great personal cost.
She picks up the phone, dials James.
Hello? he answers instantly.
Come over, she says. We need to talk. Really.
James arrives in twenty minutes. They sit on the sofa, she takes his hand.
I read Marinas last entry, the one she wrote before she died.
I never read her diary, James admits. I was scared. I hid it.
She asked you to be happy. And to look after me.
James stays silent, squeezing her hand.
I cant say I fully forgive you, Ainsley continues. It hurts. Very much. But I understand why you did it. It doesnt excuse it, but it explains.
Ainsley James starts.
Let me finish. I need time to trust you again, to believe you chose me, not her memory. Can you wait?
As long as it takes, he nods. Ill wait.
They sit, holding hands, for a long while. Then Ainsley rises, takes the box.
What will you do with it? she asks.
I dont know. Keep it? Or let it go?
Lets take it to the cemetery. Put it with her. Let it stay with her, not with us.
James looks at the box, then agrees.
Good idea.
They drive to the cemetery on Saturday, find Marinas modest gravestone with a simple cross. James places the box at the foot of the stone, stands and looks silently at the name.
Im sorry, he whispers. For everything.
Ainsley stands beside him, hand in his. She feels no pain, only a strange relief. Marina is part of his past, not his future. Their future lies together.
They return home. Life slowly steadies. James becomes more attentive, open, honest. He shares everything, hides nothing. Ainsley learns to trust again, step by step.
One evening, while they sip tea in the kitchen, James says:
Thank you for staying. For giving us a chance.
Thank you for being honest, even if it came late, Ainsley replies.
They smile at each other, and she knows they will get through this, together. Love isnt about being perfect; its about forgiving, understanding, and moving forward.
The box that almost tore their marriage apart becomes a lesson: the past cannot be hidden forever; it must be faced, released, and then life can go on.
