Mum, why are you always like this?! Evelyns voice trembled on the edge of breaking. Every single time its the same thing!
Evelyn, Im only trying to help, love! Her mother wailed into the receiver. James is a good man, why are you making him upset?
Im not upsetting him! I just asked him not to leave dirty socks on the floor! Its basic common sense!
Oh, my girl, youre being far too picky! Men are all like that, you have to get used to it! My own father was the same
Mum, please, stop talking about Granddad! I dont want to hear that women are supposed to endure everything! Supposed to, supposed to! And what is a man supposed to do?!
Evelyn pressed the phone to her ear, pacing the flat in circles. James had gone off on a business trip that morning and she had hoped for a quiet day, but her mother, as always, found a reason to call and lecture.
A man should earn the money, and a woman should keep the home tidy, her mother intoned. I spent my whole life cleaning up after your father and were still alive and well.
Mum, I work too! Fulltime! I earn as much as James! Why should I also have to clean up after him like Im looking after a child?!
Because youre his wife. Thats the role. Evelyn, dont be angry with an old woman. I only wish you well.
Evelyn exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose.
I know, Mum. Im just exhausted. Really tired.
Then rest. Put the cleaning off, lie down.
I cant. The mess is so bad my eyes hurt.
They said goodbye and Evelyn flung the phone onto the sofa. She looked around. The flat truly needed a good tidy. Before leaving, James had turned the place into a battlefieldclothes strewn everywhere, a mountain of unwashed dishes in the kitchen, shaving gear scattered across the bathroom sink.
Evelyn rolled up her sleeves, grabbed a cloth, and started at the kitchen, scrubbing plates, mugs, pans with methodical precision. She wiped the tables, vacuumed the carpet, and by evening she was in the bedroom.
The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled, pillows on the floor. Evelyn began stripping the linens for the wash. James always slept restlessly, tossing, shedding the blanket. She was used to it.
When she tugged at a sheet, it snagged. She crouched, peered under the bed. In the dusty corner sat a cardboard boxplain, once a shoe box, taped shut.
She pulled it out, shook off the grime. The box was heavy, something rustling inside. No label on the lid.
What on earth? she muttered to herself.
She didnt recognise the box. James had never mentioned storing anything under the bed. Curiosity won.
She ripped the tape, lifted the lid. Inside lay a collection of womens things: a pale pink blouse with a lace collar, a silk blue scarf with a delicate pattern, dark brown leather gloves, a leatherbound notebook, an old bottle of perfume with a faded label.
She unfolded the blouse. It was a size too bigshe wore a 12, this was clearly a 14 or 16. The style was not hers; she preferred crisp shirts and business dresses, not frills and ruffles.
She uncapped the perfume. A heavy, sweet, eastern scent hit her nosenothing like the light floral sprays she usually favored.
Her heart thumped faster. Foreign garments, a womans scent, hidden beneath her husbands bed.
She opened the notebook. The first page bore a flowing, unmistakably feminine hand: Marinas Diary.
Marina? Evelyn flipped through. The entries were short, dated, the latest from fifteen March. She glanced at the calendareight months had passed.
Today he didnt call again. Promised, but didnt. I wait, and he stays silent. It hurts.
She turned a page back.
Met him at the café. He talked about the future, about things changing soon. I believe him. I want to believe.
Another entry a week earlier:
He gave me this scarf. Said the blue suited me. Im happy.
Evelyn slammed the notebook shut, dropping it back into the box. Her hands trembled. The thoughts swirledJames, her James, had another woman. Marina.
She grabbed the phone, dialled James. Long rings. He didnt answer. She tried again, and again, until on the fifth ring a groggy voice answered.
Hello? Evelyn, whats wrong? he sounded halfasleep, irritated.
Who is Marina?! Evelyn shouted.
Silence stretched, thick and sticky.
What? James repeated.
Marina! Who is she? I found a box under the bed with her things! With a diary!
A pause, then a heavy sigh.
Evelyn, I cant talk now, he said softly. Ill be back tomorrow, well discuss.
No! Now! Explain now!
Not over the phone. Tomorrow, he hung up.
Evelyn stared at the screen, stunned. He had just dropped the call. She tried againnumber unavailable. James had switched his phone off.
She collapsed onto the bed, clutching her face. Tears burst, hot and scalding. James had been seeing Marina all this timemeeting, gifting, promising a future while they lived together.
She wept until the tears ran dry, then stood, splashed her face with cold water, and faced the mirror. Pale skin, swollen red eyes, hair in a tangled messa pitiful sight.
Back in the bedroom she reopened the box, sorting the items again. The blouse was faded at the shoulders, the gloves worn at the fingers, the scarf slightly threadbare. She leafed through the diary once more, this time reading it straight through. The first entry dated three years ago:
Met him in the park. Talked about books. Hes clever, wellread. I liked him.
Three years agoshe and James had been married five years by then. So he had been seeing Marina for almost all of their life together.
The entries grew tender, naïve, full of hope. Marina adored James, wrote about each meeting, each promise, each dream. The later notes grew sorrowful:
He calls less. Says hes busy, tired, work problems. I understand but it hurts. I want to be near him, but he keeps me out of his life.
He didnt show up today. I waited two hours. He wrote that hed forgotten an urgent matter. Forgot about me.
Im tired of waiting. Tired of believing. Maybe its time to let go. But how?
The diary stopped at the last entry about him not calling.
Evelyn closed the diary, placed it back in the box, sat on the floor with her back against the bed, and wondereddivorce? Fight? Forgiveness? She didnt know. She simply sat in the empty flat, knees drawn up, staring at a point in the wall.
The night passed without sleep. She turned, rose, paced, lay down again. By morning her head throbbed, her eyes stuck together.
James returned at lunch, unlocking the door with his key, dropping his bag in the hallway. Evelyn was at the kitchen table, sipping tea. The box sat on the table.
Hello, James said quietly.
Evelyn gave no answer, just watched him.
He sat opposite, looked at the box.
You read it? he nodded toward the diary.
I read it.
Everything?
Everything.
James ran a hand over his face, sighed.
Evelyn, it isnt what you think.
What do you think I think? she pressed the mug. That youve been cheating on me for three years, seeing some Marina, promising her a future while living with me?
No, he shook his head. It wasnt an affair.
Then what? her voice rose. A friendship? A chance meeting?
Marina was my first wife, James exhaled.
Evelyn froze. The mug slipped, coffee spilling across the tabletop.
What? she whispered.
My first wife. We married when I was twentyone; she was nineteen. We lived together a year, then divorced.
You never told me youd been married! Evelyn leapt up. Never! I asked, you said no!
Because it hurt. It was terrible, James lowered his head. Marina fell ill. Cancer. We split because she didnt want me to waste my life on her. She said I should find happiness elsewhere, that shed fight her illness alone.
Evelyn stood, unable to speak. James continued:
I didnt want to divorce. I swore Id stay, to get through it together. She insisted, filed for divorce herself. I left, and she stayed.
And then? Evelyn sank back onto the chair.
I tried to move on. Worked, dated, but nothing felt right. Years later I met you. Fell in love, married. I thought I could forget.
But you didnt forget, Evelyn finished for him.
I didnt forget, James nodded. Marina reached out three years ago. Said she wanted to meet. I went. Shed beaten the disease, but she was older, frail, eyes full of longing
He swallowed.
We started seeing each other again. Just coffee, walks, talking about her treatment, how scary it had been. I never told you I was married again. I feared hurting you.
So she wrote in that diary, hoping for a future with you, Evelyn said bitterly. She thought youd be with her again.
Yes, James agreed. I never had a physical relationship. I swear, Evelyn, I never crossed that line.
Emotionally, you were with her, Evelyn felt tears well up again. You loved her.
I loved her. I still love her. Shes part of my story. But I love you too, just differently. he reached across the table; Evelyn pulled her hand back.
What about her now? Why did the entries stop? she asked.
James was silent, then whispered:
She died eight months ago. The illness returned. Doctors could do nothing. It happened quickly.
Evelyn covered her face with her hands. The idea that James had been caring for a dying exwife while living with her felt like a nightmare.
Why didnt you tell me? she asked through sobs. Why keep it secret?
Because I was scared. Scared youd leave, scared I was doing the wrong thing. I knew I was deceiving both of you, but I couldnt abandon her. And I couldnt lose you.
So you chose deception, Evelyn said, standing. To lie to me, to lie to her. To play a double game.
I didnt play a game! I was trying to save something! James shouted, standing. Marina was terminal; the doctors said she had at most a year. I wanted her to have a year not alone, to have hope.
At my expense?! Evelyn screamed. You gave her hope, gave me lies! Three years of lies! You said you were working late, on trips, while you were with her!
I wasnt always there! James protested. At most once a week, a couple of hours!
But you thought of her! Loved her! And to me you were a backup!
Youre not a backup! James grabbed her shoulders. Youre my wife! I chose you! I married you! I live with you! Marina is the past!
The past you kept in a box under the bed! Evelyn snapped. The past you couldnt let go!
They stood, breathing heavily, eyes locked.
I dont know what to say, James finally said. Im guilty. I should have been honest from the start. I was frightened. Ive lost your trust. Forgive me, if you can.
Evelyn walked to the table, took the box.
Why keep these? she asked. If shes dead, why hold onto her things?
Its all thats left of her, James answered, looking at the box. When she died I took a few things from her flat: the blouse Id given her, the scarf, the gloves, the perfume she loved, the diary she wrote for me. I couldnt throw them away, so I hid them under the bed so you wouldnt find them.
But I did, Evelyn said, placing the box back. And now I dont know what to do with them.
What do you want to do? James asked softly.
Evelyn was silent for a long moment, then said:
I need time. To think. To decide if I can trust you again. If I can live with a man who lied for three years.
How much time? he asked.
I dont know. A week? A month? Maybe longer.
Alright, James nodded. Ill wait. Whatever you need.
He gathered his bag and left. Evelyn stayed alone in the flat, sat on the sofa, opened Marinas diary to the final page. After the last entry a few trembling lines were added:
If youre reading this, Im no longer here. Forgive me for not letting you go sooner. I was selfish, but I was so lonely, so scared. You were a light in my darkness. Thank you for everything. Be happy. You deserve it. And look after your wife. Love, Marina.
Evelyn closed the diary, slipped it back into the box, curled on the sofa, and weptfor Marina, who died alone clutching a phantom love; for James, torn between two women; for herself, betrayed and bewildered.
Gradually the tears faded, and a strange clarity settled. James hadnt cheated in the usual sense; he had tried to help a dying woman. It was a flawed, painful choice, but born of desperation.
She dialled James.
Hello? he answered at once.
Come over, she said. We need to talk. Properly.
He arrived twenty minutes later. They sat sidebyside on the couch, hands clasped.
I read the last entry Marina wrote before she died, Evelyn said.
I never read her diary, James admitted. I was afraid. I hid it.
She asked you to be happy, to look after me.
James stayed silent, squeezing her hand.
I cant say I fully forgive you, Evelyn continued. It hurts, deeply. But I understand why you did it. It doesnt excuse it, yet it explains.
Evelyn James began.
Let me finish. I need time to trust you again, to believe you chose me, not just her memory. Can you wait?
As long as you need, he said. Ill wait.
They sat, hands entwined, for a long while. Then Evelyn rose, took the box.
What do we do with it? she asked.
Keep it? Throw it away? James wondered.
Lets take it to the cemetery. Lay it there with her. Let it stay with her, not with us.
James looked at the box, then nodded.
Good idea.
On Saturday they drove to the cemetery, found Marinas modest stone marked with a simple cross. James placed the box beside the name, stood silently, whispering:
Im sorry. For everything.
Evelyn stood beside him, hand in hand, feeling an unexpected lightness. The past was there, but the future stretched ahead, unburdened.
They returned home. Life settled slowly. James became more open, more honest. Evelyn learned, step by step, to trust again.
One evening over tea in the kitchen, James said:
Thank you for staying.
Thank you for being truthful, even if late, Evelyn replied.
They smiled at each other, knowing they would survive. The box that once threatened to ruin their marriage became a lesson: the past cannot be hidden forever; it must be faced, released, and then one can move forward.
