**Diary Entry**
After the divorce, Marianne took a long time to recover. She’d loved her husband, Edward, with her whole heart—that was just her nature. When she loved, she did so completely, giving everything to her husband and their son. Not that the son was in question; he was, after all, the one man in any woman’s life who could never truly fall out of her affections, no matter what.
Oliver had chosen to dedicate himself to helping others after school, enrolling in medical school in Brighton. Marianne had assumed he’d stay close, but he had other plans—his dreams had always stretched beyond their little corner of London. Edward barely reacted, indifferent as always.
*”Oh, come now, Marianne,”* he’d said. *”If Oliver wants to be a doctor, let him. It’s his life, his choices.”*
And Oliver had dreamed of it since childhood.
*”Mum, you know I’ve always wanted to help people. I’ll visit when I can, but I need to do this.”*
He’d reassured her with warm words, promising his love and support. She smiled, hiding her ache.
*”I know I can count on you. And your father’s still here. We’ll manage.”*
After graduation, Oliver married, settled in Manchester, and soon had a daughter. Marianne longed to see them more, but distance kept visits rare.
She and Edward had been married twenty-five years—comfortable, if not passionate. She was intelligent, elegant, always smoothing over conflicts. Edward, meanwhile, was brusque and impatient, but she’d made it work. She’d even helped him establish his car repair business, drafting plans, managing accounts.
One afternoon, she met her friends at a café near Covent Garden. Catherine, recently made a grandmother, had come into town. The three women—Catherine, Olivia, and Marianne—had been close for years.
Over tea, Catherine suddenly asked, *”Marianne, do you trust Edward completely?”*
Marianne frowned. *”Of course. We have no secrets. Why?”*
Catherine and Olivia exchanged glances.
*”I’ve seen him a few times—at a café, in the supermarket—with a young woman. She was holding his arm.”*
Marianne laughed it off. *”Probably someone from work. He has late meetings sometimes.”*
But after that, she watched him more closely.
Then, one day, the girl arrived at their doorstep—pregnant, smiling sweetly.
*”Good afternoon,”* she chirped. *”You must be Marianne? Edward said you were older… ill, even. You look radiant!”*
Marianne froze.
*”I’m Hannah. I’m carrying Edward’s child. He’s been promising to leave you. I thought I’d speed things along.”*
The girl—barely twenty-one—shrugged.
*”I need security. A man with means. You understand.”*
Marianne showed her out wordlessly, then collapsed onto the sofa, weeping.
When Edward returned, she was calm.
*”Your bags are packed. Hannah stopped by. Take them and go.”*
He stammered, panicked.
*”Marianne, please—I don’t want a divorce!”*
She shut the door behind him.
They met at a café a month later. He wanted the house—the large, two-story home her father had bought for them.
*”The house stays with me,”* she said. *”You keep the business—though we both know you’d have nothing without me. Take it or we divide everything, but you won’t win. Think it over.”*
He backed down when her father intervened.
Six months passed. Marianne adjusted to solitude, reflecting:
*”What did I learn? Never love a man more than yourself. He’ll take it for granted.”*
She focused on Oliver, her granddaughter, and her own happiness.
On a train home from visiting them, she caught a man watching her—silver at his temples, kind grey eyes.
*”Ivan,”* he introduced himself at the station. *”May I drive you home?”*
They talked like old friends. He’d been widowed six years, his wife and daughter lost in a car crash.
A year later, on his fiftieth birthday, he proposed in front of his friends.
With Ivan, Marianne finally understood what it meant to feel safe—to have someone who shielded her from every storm. She hadn’t known men like him existed.
