I scarcely recognised my own wife these days. For the life of me, I couldn’t make out what was going on with her. Lucy had always been so diligenttidying up, cooking hearty stews, ironing my shirtsand now she’d just stopped altogether. Trying not to sound accusatory, I gently asked if everything was alright. She looked at me and said, Ive been looking after you lot for years! Surely Im allowed a bit of a rest every now and then?
That sparked something in mesuspicion, if Im honest. Was it possible shed met someone else? Feeling rather ashamed, but unable to shake my concern, I decided to check her things. In the pocket of her handbag, I found a curious old letter, its corners worn from being read multiple times.
Lucy and I had been together seventeen years and never once had I seen anything like this. Shed always been warm-natured and opennever one for dramatics or secrets. Mornings, shed prepare porridge or a decent fry-up. Soon as shed come home from the library, shed start on supper. Sundays meant fifteen crisp shirts ironedone per day for me and our two sons (truth be told, the boys never lasted a week without needing a fresh one, despite my best efforts to teach them neatness).
But for two straight weeks now, breakfast had been cereal or toast, which we were gently told to make ourselves. Supper, if lucky, was yesterdays leftovers; some nights, just a note: Back after nine, pop some pies in the oven.
At first, I chalked it up to a conference at her college, but soon enough the conference ended, and nothing changed.
I tried to broach the subject. Lucy, sounding weary, replied, Am I not entitled to a life of my own? Ive catered for you all these years, surely I can have a bit of rest!
Of course, thats fair, I replied, though I silently wondered how long this bit might last. Days passed. She dashed out to the cinema, the theatre, even some quirky art exhibitions. And I couldnt help but notice bold new dresses in her wardrobeshed stand in front of the mirror doing her eyelashes instead of making eggs.
A gnawing suspicion grew: had she found someone else? I was horrified at my own thoughts, but it ate away at me until I caved and poked about in her mobile, bank card history, and finally her handbag. Thats when I found the letterhidden deep, faded with age. Pouring over the words, it was unmistakably romantic in tone. Lucy, how I miss you. I cant describe how hard it is to wait for our next meeting. Your voice echoes in my mind; I search for your smile and find nothing has its shine without you
Reading it made my stomach churn. Given the state of the letter, this mustve gone on for some timewhich hurt all the more. Had our marriage all been a lie?
For three days, I brooded in silence, replaying moments when Id turned down temptation out of loyalty to her. On the third night, I couldnt bear it any longer.
I know everything, I blurted.
Lucy, genuinely surprised, wanted to know what I was on about.
In a tone that was unexpectedly calm, she replied, Youre not being serious, are you, Tom?
But Id seen the letter myself, couldnt be mistaken.
Youve got someone else, I stated flatly.
She burst out laughing.
Honestly, Tom, where have you got that from? Surely youre joking?
A confession or even tears would at least have been something. But this
I read his letter! I declared. You dont write things like, I cant wait until the day were together again, our souls united for as long as this universe exists I couldnt help but scoff at the melodrama.
Still smiling, Lucy said, Are you serious right now?
I just stared at her, jaw set.
So you went through my handbag? she asked.
Yes.
And read the letter?
I did.
And you dont recognise that you wrote it?
I was taken aback. Pardon?
She went to the top of the wardrobe, came down with a shoebox, sorted through it, and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to me. You wrote this when you were on assignment in Manchester, and I was here with Harry as a baby. Remember now?
The address and name were mineodd handwriting, but me. Then it clicked: Id hurt my hand at a building site back then, had written with my left. Had I really written such passionate words?
And why do you carry my old letters around with you? I asked, uneasy.
The therapist advised it, Lucy replied evenly.
Therapist?
Yes. Tom, Im tired. All my life Ive run about for you and the boys. Since Harry was born, I dont feel Ive had any life of my own. Sometimes I dont even hear a thank you. You buy flowers for me only on Mothers Day, and I can hardly remember the last time you said anything loving. I may not be young, but Im still a woman. I caught myself thinking about divorce. But we have a good family, I do treasure that. Thats why I went to see someone. She gives me advice; I try and follow it.
Her honesty left me stunned. Divorce? Shed thought of leaving?
Does it help, this advice? I ventured.
Sometimes, she smiled.
And the letters?
To remind myself there was love between us.
I nodded, needing space to think, and stepped out onto the balcony. We never mentioned it again.
***
Next morning, Lucy woke to a bustle in the kitchen and the warm fragrance of vanilla wafting through the house. She couldnt quite believe it when she walked in.
Our eldest was making omelettes; the younger was setting out warm scones on plates. A vase of her favourite tulips stood at the centre of the table.
Whats all this about? she asked, taken aback.
Morning, Mum, said the youngest. Would you like tea or coffee?
Lucy could hardly believe ither own sons bustling about with breakfast.
Coffee, she managed.
And what will it be? Omelette or scones? he asked.
Scones
I was nowhere in sight, but she must have guessed I was behind all this. As she took her first bite, I walked in and handed her a folded sheet of paper.
Good morning, love, I said.
Whats this? she asked.
A new letter, I replied with a grin. Just to be sure it helps.
Lucy smiled back, and from that day things looked up. There werent magical breakfasts every morning, of courselifes not that generous. But sometimes there were. And she didnt go to the pictures alone any more; I was more than happy to be her date.
If I learned anything, its that even after years together, we mustnt take each other for granted. A bit of appreciation and a kind word still mean the world. Marriage, after all, is still worth fighting for.
