**Diary Entry**
I thought my husband was just in a bad mood until I found divorce papers in his desk drawer.
Wheres my blue striped shirt? Victor stood in the middle of the bedroom in just his trousers, rummaging through the wardrobe with irritation.
Its in the wash, I called from the bathroom, twisting my hair into curlers. Wear the light blue oneits just as nice.
I dont want light blue, I want the striped one! How many times do I have to remind youdo the laundry on time!
But you only wore it two days ago. I washed it yesterday.
And? If you knew I needed it for a meeting, you shouldve made sure it was dried!
I stepped out of the bathroom and studied him. Lately, he snapped at everythingthe soup was under-seasoned, the telly had dust on it, the wrong shirt was clean.
Would you like me to iron the white one? It suits you.
Dont bother ironing anything! Ill sort it myself!
Victor yanked the first shirt he saw from the wardrobe, pulling it on as he buttoned it up. His hands trembled with anger.
Vic, whats going on with you? You havent been yourself all week.
Nothings going on. Just tired. Works been mad.
Maybe see a doctor? Check your blood pressure?
Marina, leave it! Stop making me out to be ill!
He grabbed his jacket and briefcase, slamming the door on his way out. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, a dull ache settling in my chest. Victor never used to raise his voice. In twenty years of marriage, wed barely had a handful of arguments. Now, every morning began with a complaint.
In the kitchen, his breakfast grew coldscrambled eggs, toast, coffee, just how he liked it. But lately, he left without eating, claiming he wasnt hungry.
I poured myself a cup of tea and sat down. Id talk to him tonightcalmly, no accusations. Maybe it really was work? Or his health?
The phone rang. My friend Natasha.
Hey! Still coming to yoga today?
Not sure, Nat. Not in the mood.
Whats wrong?
Vics been off. Constantly angry, picking at everything.
Midlife crisis, maybe? My Mark went through that. Bought a motorbike, chilled out after.
Dont think so. Vics not like that. Hes traditionalhates change.
Then its work. Dont overthink it. Itll pass.
I hung up, telling myself she was right. All couples go through rough patches.
After tidying the flat, I made lunchbeef stew, Victors favourite. Maybe a good meal would lift his spirits.
At the shop, I ran into our neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins.
Marina! How are you? Havent seen Victor in ages.
Hes busy with work. Leaves early, comes back late.
Good man, hard worker. Unlike my layaboutwears out the sofa more than his shoes.
I smiled, but unease crept in. Victor *had* been staying out later. He used to call if hed be late. Now he just came home, ate in silence, and went to bed.
At home, I decided to tidy his study. He hated anyone touching his things, but he wouldnt be back for hours.
The study was small but cosybookshelves, a desk, an armchair. Our wedding photo hung on the wall. Young, happy, gazing at each other like love was endless.
I dusted the shelves and swept the floor. I wouldnt touch his papersbut the top drawer was slightly open, a folder sticking out.
I meant to push it back, but it wouldnt shut properly. I pulled the folder out to straighten it.
*Personal*, the label read. I froze. Personal? What secrets could he have from me?
Curiosity won. I opened it.
A business card lay on top: *Andrew Peterson, Family Law Solicitor*. Beneath it, a printout: *How to File for Divorce*. Thena completed application form. Signed. Victors signature.
I sank into the chair. The room spun. Divorce? He wanted a *divorce*?
My hands shook as I flipped through the papers. A list of assets. Property division. Bank accounts. All meticulously planned.
At the bottom, a handwritten note in Victors scrawl: *Tell her after New Years. Flatsplit 50/50. Carmine. Cottagehers.*
I stared at the words. *After New Years.* Two weeks away. Hed planned it all. And Id been making stew, ironing shirts.
The front door slammed. Victor was homeearly.
Marina? You here?
I shoved the papers back, hurrying out, forcing calm into my voice.
In the study. Youre back early.
Meeting got cancelled.
He walked past me into the kitchen, lifting the lid on the pot.
Beef stew? Nice.
He served himself, eating in silence. I watched himsame hands, same movements. But a stranger now. Someone whod decided my future without me.
Vic, we need to talk.
About what? He didnt look up.
Us. Whats happening? Youve changed.
Not now, Marina. Im tired. Just want to eat.
We never talk anymore. Youre always angry.
Im not angry. Works just stressful.
Its not work.
He set his spoon down, meeting my eyes. Something flickeredguilt?then vanished.
Marina, not tonight. I dont want to argue.
I dont either. I want to *understand*.
Nothing to understand. Everythings fine.
I wanted to scream about the folder. *Why pretend when its already decided?* But my throat closed. No words came.
Fine. Whatever you say.
I left, retreating to the bedroom. Face buried in the pillow, I willed myself to cry. But there was only numbness.
Victor watched the news, then came to bed. He lay on his side, facing the wall. No goodnight kiss, no arm around me. Just silence.
Marina? You awake?
No.
Ill be late tomorrow. Office Christmas party.
Okay.
Dont be mad. Just worn out, thats all.
I get it.
But I didnt. How could you share a bed while drafting divorce papers? How could you lie every day, straight to my face?
The next morning, he left without breakfast. Alone, I called Natasha.
Nat, can I come over?
Of course! Whats happened?
Ill explain when Im there.
Her flat was warm, tea and biscuits on the table, her cat purring in my lap. I told her about the folder. She listened, shaking her head.
The *bastard*. Im sorry, but theres no other word. Twenty years, and he does this?
Maybe theres someone else?
Does it matter? If he wants out, he should say it. Why the charade?
I dont know. Maybe hes trying to spare me?
*Spare you*? He hired a solicitor! Divided assets! This wasnt a spur-of-the-moment decision.
But *why*? What did I do wrong?
You didnt do anything. Men lose their minds after forty. Start panicking about ageing.
I went home that evening, cooked dinner, set the table. And waited.
Victor came in at eleven, slightly drunk.
Youre still up?
Waiting for you. Dinners ready.
Not hungry. We ate at the party.
Did you have fun?
Yeah. Same as always.
He shuffled to the bedroom, undressing. I followed.
Vic, who was at the party?
The usual lot. Why?
Just curious. Was Emma there? Your assistant?
He stiffened.
Yeah. So?
No reason. Just asking.
Marina, whats this about?
Nothing. Sleep well.
I left, sitting at the kitchen window. *Emma.* Young, pretty. Recently divorced. Maybe *she* was the reason?
Victors phone lay on the side table. He was snoring softly. I picked it up, tried to unlock it. Wrong passcode. Tried our wedding dateno. His birthdayit opened.
Messages. Nothing from Emma. Colleagues festive greetings. His mum asking when wed visit. I was about to put it down when I saw an unknown number.
*Everythings ready. Docs are with me. Well start
