**Diary Entry A Lesson in Love and Folly**
Id just finished my scrambled eggs and was sipping the last of my coffee when my wife, flushed and uneasy, asked the question that shattered the morning calm:
*”Are you seeing someone else?”*
*”What makes you think”*
*”Dont lie to me, Simon. Just tell me the truth.”*
My face burneda rare thing for me, reserved for moments when I couldnt bring myself to lie but couldnt tell the truth either.
*”You dont have to say anything. I understand.”*
Like a scalded dog, I bolted outside. The whole workday was a blur of nerves and self-loathing. The situation had derailed me, forcing a decision I wasnt ready to make. I couldnt lie to hershe meant too much.
Yes, there was another woman. Younger? No. Prettier? Not even close. Just an old flameEmily, my first love, the one that got away. A chance encounter after decades.
*”Simon? Bloody hell, look at youproper London gent now!”*
I froze. There she stood, smirking, the same girl whod tormented me in school with cruel nicknames. (*”Simpkin”* had been the kindest.) Before I could react, she dragged me to a café, whereof all people*Charlotte* appeared. Golden-haired, delicate, her voice a melody Id never forgotten.
*”Simon Waverly, is that really you?”* My throat closed.
We talked, laughed. The next day, unable to resist, I waited for Charlotte after work. She wasnt surprised. We sat in that café again, just us, then well.
For six months, I lived two lives. One: my familymy children, Oliver and Lily, whom I adored, and my wife, Margaret, whom I loved (yes, *loved*it had dimmed but never died). The other: Charlotte, a storm of passion, stolen moments, the thrill of conquest. Id have happily lived in both worlds forever.
But Margaret unraveled it all too soon.
*”Simon, the children and I are staying with my parents. I need time. Just stay in touch with Oliver and Lily. They love you.”*
Stunned, I trudged home. Id been so focused on *my* choice, Id forgotten she had one tooand it might not favour me.
Days passed. I thought of Charlotte (bright, intoxicating) and Margaret (steady, familiar). Then, on impulse, I called an old schoolmate, James. Wed both fancied Charlotte back thenunrequited, of course.
He came over. Rain lashed outside, so we drank. And drank. Finally, I confessed.
James went quiet. Unusual for him.
*”You dont want this,”* he said at last. *”I know what Im talking about.”*
*”And whats that?”* I snapped.
*”I lived with her for six months, Simon.”* He sighed. *”Her ex-husband? Remember Daniel Whitmore? The bloke she left when he got crippled in a crash abroad? She nursed him back, then walked awaystraight into the arms of some sixty-year-old financier who bought her a flat.”*
His words hit like ice water. The dream dissolved. That night, I drowned the rest of the bottle, clutching the illusion of Charlotte like a sinking ship.
Morning brought clarity. The “affair” was over.
Fate intervened when my father-in-law calledstranded with a flat tyre near my office. I helped him. He was tight-lipped until I blurted, *”Could you lend me a thousand quid? I want to take the family to Spain.”*
His face lit up. *”Good man. Dont let a thing like this ruin what youve got.”*
That weekend, I fetched Margaret and the kids. She was silent, hollow-eyed. The flight, the hotelall met with numb indifference. But the childrens joy was infectious.
Then, on the fifth day, Oliver begged us to ride the new water slideadults only. Margarets hand was cold in mine as we climbed. The moment we plunged into the dark, she *screamed*not in fear, but in release. Years of pain tore loose. I held her tight, whispering, *”I love you, Margaret. Only you.”*
We crashed into the pool, drenched and gasping. The kids tackled us, giggling. Margaret sobbed into my shoulder, fists pounding my back as I kept murmuring, *”Im yours. All yours.”*
**Lesson learned:** Some dreams are mirages. The real treasure was beside me all alongalmost lost to my own folly.
(Word count preserved; cultural adaptations: names, locations (Spain vs. original), idioms (“proper London gent”), and phrasing adjusted for English context.)
