**Diary Entry**
After dropping his mistress off, Butcher gave her a tender goodbye and drove home. He paused at the doorstep, gathering his thoughts before facing his wife. Up the stairs he went, key in hand, and opened the door.
“Hello,” he said. “Vera, love, you in?”
“Right here,” came the flat reply from the kitchen. “What’s the plan—shall I fry up some cutlets?”
Butcher swore he’d be direct—firm, decisive, like a proper bloke! Time to end this double life before the thrill of his lover’s kisses faded, before routine sucked him back in.
“Vera,” he cleared his throat. “There’s something I need to say… we ought to separate.”
She took the news with unsettling calm. Nothing ever ruffled Vera. Years ago, he’d even nicknamed her “Stone-Cold Vera” for it.
“Come again?” she called from the kitchen doorway. “So, no cutlets, then?”
“That’s your call,” he said. “Fry them if you fancy, don’t if you don’t. I’m leaving—for another woman.”
Most wives would fly at him with a frying pan or unleash a proper scene. Vera wasn’t most wives.
“Big fuss over nothing,” she muttered. “Did you collect my boots from the cobbler?”
“No,” he faltered. “If it’s that important, I’ll fetch them now!”
“Oh, for pity’s sake…” She sighed. “Typical. Ask a fool for boots, he’ll bring you slippers.”
That stung. This wasn’t how confessions of marital betrayal were supposed to go. Where were the tears, the rage, the accusations? Then again, what did he expect from a woman they called Stone-Cold Vera?
“Vera, you’re not listening!” he snapped. “I’m telling you I’m off to another woman—leaving you—and you’re nattering about boots!”
“Course I am,” she said. “You can toddle off wherever. Your boots aren’t at the cobblers. Mine are.”
They’d been married years, yet he still couldn’t tell when she was taking the mick or dead serious. Once, he’d adored her steady temper, her quiet ways. Plus, she kept a tidy home and had a fine figure.
Vera was solid as a ship’s anchor—loyal, unshakable. But now he loved another. Loved her fiercely, sinfully, sweetly! Time to cut ties and cast off.
“Look, Vera,” he said, all grave and mournful, “I’m grateful for all you’ve given me. But I’m leaving. I don’t love you anymore.”
“Pull the other one,” she scoffed. “Doesn’t love me, the daft git. My mum fancied the neighbour, and Dad loved dominoes and whisky. And still, here I am—turning out alright.”
Arguing with Vera was futile. Every word hit like a sledgehammer. His grand plan for a dramatic exit was fizzling fast.
“Vera, you *are* alright,” he mumbled. “But I love someone else. Wildly, recklessly. And I mean to go to her.”
“Who? That Nancy Pickford?”
He flinched. A year back, he’d had a fling with Nancy—but how did Vera know her?
“You—you know her?” he stammered. “Never mind. No, it’s not Nancy.”
Vera yawned.
“Right. So, Sandra Bullman, then?”
His spine iced over. Sandra had been another affair—but that was ancient history. If Vera knew, why’d she never said? Then again, getting words out of her was like pulling teeth.
“Wrong again,” he said. “It’s someone new. Glorious, perfect. I can’t live without her, and I’m going. Don’t try to stop me.”
“Must be Mya,” Vera said. “Oh, Butcher… you’re cracked. Open secret, this. Your ‘perfect’ little fling—Mya Valentine. Thirty-five, one kid, two terminations… That the one?”
He clutched his head. Bullseye. Mya *was* his current lover.
“But—how?” he croaked. “Who snitched? You been spying on me?”
“Elementary,” Vera said. “I’ve been a gynaecologist twenty years. I’ve examined every woman in this dratted town—whereas you’ve only managed a handful. Takes one glance to know you’ve been there, you daft sod.”
Butcher stiffened.
“Suppose you’re right! Doesn’t change a thing. I’m still leaving.”
“You’re dim, you are,” Vera said. “Could’ve asked me first! And for the record, Mya’s nothing special. Seen it all before—medically speaking. You ever peek at her medical history?”
“N-no,” he admitted.
“Thought not. Right—first, hop in the shower. Second, I’ll ring Doc Simmons, get you seen at the clinic tomorrow,” she said. “*Then* we’ll chat. Disgrace, this—a gynaecologist’s husband picking up God knows what!”
“What do I do?” he whinged.
“I’m frying cutlets,” Vera said. “You wash up and suit yourself. If it’s a clean ‘perfect woman’ you’re after, let me know—I’ll point you right.”
**Lesson learned:** Never underestimate a woman who’s seen it all—especially if she’s the one who’s seen *you* first.
