A Fairy Tale, or Real Life
That morning, Alice wakes with the distinct sense that something important might happen today. The sun streams in with unusual brightness, birds are singing outside, and as her husband leaves for work, he kisses her on the cheek and says, You really are the best, you know. Everything is as it always is. Perfect.
Perfectthats the word Alice uses to measure her life. Perfect husband: Oliver, a successful and caring businessman. Perfect children: their son, a university student; their daughter, finishing sixth formboth smart, no trouble at all. The perfect flat in Central London, a charming cottage in the Cotswolds, the perfect car. Shes perfect too: well-groomed, fit, looking thirty-five at forty-five.
Her friends are envious: Ali, youre so lucky! Yours is a fairy tale, not a real life. Alice gives a modest smile and thinks, yes, she is lucky. Though, truthfully, lucks got nothing to do with it. Shes always known how things should be. How to look, how to speak, how to run a household, how to support her husband, raise her children. Shes poured everything she is into this perfectionevery last drop.
Her husband, Oliver, is the centre of her universe. They met in their fourth year at universitya handsome, clever man from a good family. Every girl fancied him, but he chose her. Alice. She nearly lost her mind, she was so happy.
They married a year later. His business began to flourish, her own career climbedshe made it to chief accountant at a large firm. Then the children came. Everything unfolded as if scripted.
Sometimes, though, Alice notices the odd thing. Oliver might suddenly stare out the window, lost in thought, not hearing her voice. He takes work trips and sometimes calls less often. Sometimes, he looks at her with a kind of sadness, as if hes seeing somethingsomeoneelse.
Whats up? she asks.
Nothing, he replies. Just tired.
She doesnt dwell on it. Everyone gets tired; business is stressful.
***
That Tuesday, Alice stops by Olivers London office to sign some documents under a power of attorneyhes asked her to. The new secretary looks a little flustered, stammering, Mr. Burton is busy, perhaps youd like to wait? Alice waves her off: Its fine, Im family, dont worry.
She walks right in without knocking.
Oliver sits at his desk, gazing at his computer screen. A photograph is open: a young woman, beautiful, with long blonde hair and sad eyes. Alice glimpses the image and is surprised. Is he looking at other womens photos right in front of his secretary?
Im here for the paperwork, Alice says.
Oliver jumps, quickly closes the window, but shes seen it. Something sharp twists inside her.
Yes, of course, he flusters, opening a drawer. Here, its all here. Just sign them and leave them, Ill collect them later.
Whos that? Alice asks, steady and calm. The kind of calm only women who sense disaster can manage.
What? He tries to look surprised, but his eyes betray him. Oh, just a colleague. Work stuff.
Do colleagues photos take up your whole screen?
Alice, dont start, he sighs, impatient. Youre imagining things.
She nods, takes the papers, and leaves. But inside, the sting of doubt has already settled in.
***
Naturally, Alice cant let it rest. She doesnt really want to do it, but her hands start searching anyway. She checks his phone while hes in the shower, finds a hidden chat in a messenger app, locked with a code. She knows the codeher daughters birthday. Oliver never changes his passwords.
I miss you, writes the woman.
I miss you too. Well see each other soon, Oliver replies.
Hows she? Has she got any idea?
No. Its all fine.
Alice reads, almost not believing her eyes. Five years. Hes been having an affair for five years. While shes cooked dinners, raised kids, welcomed him home from work, smiled at partieshes been with someone else.
She scrolls up. There are photos, sweet words, plans for meetings. Then she stumbles on a sentence that makes her blood run cold:
You know youre the only one for me. Ever since uni. If things had gone differently, wed never have split. Alice is a good woman, but fate turned out this way.
Alice reads it three times.
The only one. Since uni. If things had gone differently.
So, all this time, she wasnt the woman he loved. She was justthe convenient choice. There when real love was gone.
That evening, she waits for him in the kitchen, watching the sun set, thinking: how do you go on? What do you say to the children? What do you do with years that turn out to be fake?
Oliver comes in. He sees her face and knows.
You know everything, he states, not asking.
I do, Alice says. Who is she?
He sits at the table and buries his face in his hands.
Im sorry, Alice. I never wanted you to find out like this.
How did you want me to find out? That I never would? That youd stay with us, dreaming of her?
I dont think about her all the time, he tries, weakly.
Dont lie. I read it. The only one for me. Since uni. Tell me. I want the truth.
And he tells her.
Her name is Harriet. They met in their first year at university. It was love at first sight. They dated, planned to marry. But Harriets parents disapprovedOliver wasnt their sort, not enough money, not the right connections. They took her away to another city, arranged a suitable marriage. Harriet sent letters and cried, but couldnt fight it.
Oliver waited two years. Then he met Alice. Pretty, clever, from a good family. He thoughtwhy not? Life goes on.
They married. Had children. His business thrived. He started his own company, partly to prove his worth to Harriets parents. And all that time, Harriet lived on in some quiet corner of his heart.
Five years ago we bumped into each other, he says dully. She was divorced, living alone, no children. It all came back. I couldnt fight it.
And with me, have you been fighting all this time? Alice asks. Nearly twenty years?
I respect you, he begins. Youre a wonderful wife and mother. Youve given me everything.
Except love, she cuts him off. You never really accepted my love, did you? You just wanted a woman who was convenient. And love stayed back at uni.
He says nothing. Because its true.
***
Packing is quick. Alice has always known: if youre leaving, do it straight away. No drama, no begging, no lets try to save it. She respects herself too much to become a pawn in someone elses love story.
She tells the children calmly, no tears. Her son tries to talk to his dad, but Alice stops him: Dont, Tom. This is between me and him. Please, dont get involved.
Her daughter cries: Mum, how will you cope on your own?
Ive got myself, Alice replies. Thats more than enough.
She rents a flat in another part of town.
The first months are hellish. At night, she lies awake, staring at the ceiling. By day, she works, smiles, gets on with life. At night, she thinks. She remembers every year, every I love you, every kiss, every Christmas and birthday together. And she realises: it was all a lie. A beautiful, comfortable, warm lie.
The worst part isnt even the betrayal. Its realising that she, smart and strong and so apparently perfect, never spotted it. Because she didnt want to. Because the perfect life was convenient, too.
***
A year later, as her wounds begin to heal, Alice bumps into an old mutual friend.
You know, the friend says, Olivers remarriedto that Harriet. They were sweethearts at uni but her parents split them up. Crazy, right? Like something from the telly.
Alice smiles politely, the way only former perfect wives can.
Yes, she says, very romantic.
At home, she sits at the kitchen table long into the night, watching the wall. And then, for the first time in a year, she cries.
Not in painthe pain is almost gonebut in sheer bitterness. Because she realises shes been just background. Set dressing. The convenient option for a man who was really waiting for someone else.
She gave him children. Built their home. Supported his business. Looked after his family. Hosted his friends. Crafted cosiness and comfort. All the while, his heart belonged to another. The bitterest truth: she could do nothing to change it. You cant force love. Youll never be the main character if you were always only the understudy.
***
Another two years pass.
Alice learns to live alone. Surprisingly, she rather likes it. No one needs dinner on the table at seven sharp. No one moans if shes late back from work. No one gazes out the window, longing for someone else. The kids have grown upToms married, Charlotte is off to do her postgrad. Alice is not just a mother now, but a friend.
Sometimes, her friends sigh: Ali, what about men? Youre still young and beautiful. Why are you alone? Alice just shrugs: Im not done enjoying my freedom yet.
But really, the answer is deeper. Shes scared of being someones convenience again. Shes afraid therell be indifference behind the sweet words. That once more, shell be counted on while someone waits for real love.
Better to be alone than with just anyone, she says. Id rather be in charge of my own life.
One evening, sorting through old things, Alice finds her wedding album. She sits, leafing through, gazing at her young eyes, his smile. Back then, she thought her happiness was forever.
And now?
Now, she closes the album and tucks it away on the highest shelf. Not thrown outthe past is the pastbut kept out of sight.
The sun shines through the window. Music plays from next doorthe neighbours are redecorating. Life carries on.
Alice looks at herself in the mirror: still fit, well-kept, bright-eyed and calm.
Youve done well, she tells her reflection. You made it.
And its true. She has. Not because she found someone betterbut because she found herself again.
The woman she nearly lost trying to live that perfect picture. The one who knows how to be alone, but not lonely. The one who knows her worth.
And thats worth more than anything.
As for Oliver, he calls sometimesasks how things are, sends a birthday text. Alice replies politely and keeps it brief.
Shes not angryanger faded long ago. All that remains is calm acceptanceshe was a good wife, but he was never her man. They both just realised it too late.
And Harriet well, Harriet now lives in Alices old house with Alices former husband. Alice has heard theyre happy, and genuinely, shes glad. At least that story has a happy endingeven if it wasnt hers.
Today, Alice is off to yoga, then meeting a friend at a café. In the evening, dinner with her son and daughter-in-lawtheyve invited her to a new restaurant.
Life is fulland shes the one who filled it.
Sometimes, as shes about to fall asleep, Alice wonders: What if hed really loved her? What if theyd grown old together, watched grandchildren play, gone to the cottage on weekends
And then she turns over and settles down to sleep. Because theres no use longing for things that never were. What happened has happened. And shes come out the other side victorious.
Not because she beat someone elsebecause she didnt lose herself.
