**Diary Entry: A Cold January Morning**
Marina is now certain that women who divorce young and live without a husband are happier. She says this from her own perspective, shaped by bitter experience.
“Maybe some women disagree,” she tells her friend Nadine, “but this is what I believe now.”
“Perhaps,” Nadine replies hesitantly. “But every woman has her own fate. You can’t speak for all of them. Some are unhappy in their first marriage but find happiness in their second, or even third.”
“I won’t argue,” Marina says firmly. “But I still stand by my opinion. In my case, the stress was unbearable. And now, with old age approaching, he’s trampled my feelings. I don’t trust anyone anymore.”
Last New Year’s Eve, Marina, her husband George, his mother—who lives just down the hall—and their fourteen-year-old son Anthony celebrated at home. Everything seemed fine. Marina had prepared the festive table, her mother-in-law helped, and they welcomed the new year as a family. On the first of January, they slept late, the noise of fireworks still echoing outside. By afternoon, George was gone. He simply drove off without a word.
When night fell, Marina couldn’t sleep, her thoughts spiraling. What if he’d had an accident? His phone was off. By morning, her head throbbed with exhaustion. Then, a text arrived: *”Don’t look for me. I’ve left you.”*
Her hands shook. Should she show his mother? But then suspicion crept in—what if she’d known all along? Resolved, she marched next door.
“Look what your son sent me,” she spat, shoving the phone toward her mother-in-law.
“Marina, this can’t be! He never said a word.” The older woman stared, bewildered. “Did you notice anything?”
“I thought you were in on it.”
“Of course not! If I’d known, I’d have given him a piece of my mind.” Her voice trembled. “But I’m on your side, love. That… that *bastard*.”
Relief washed over Marina—George was alive. But the betrayal burned deeper. How could he vanish like a coward?
She called his phone again—this time, a woman answered.
“Who is this?” Marina asked sharply.
“His wife,” the voice replied. “And you?”
Tactfully, Marina lied: “I’m a friend’s wife. I need to speak with him about my husband.” The woman gave an address in a quiet suburb.
After feeding Anthony breakfast, she left.
“Mum, where’s Dad?” he asked, hesitant.
“Gone,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.
She phoned Nadine next, her voice breaking. “George left me.”
“What? You’re joking!”
“No joke. He’s with another woman. I’m going to see her.”
“Let me come—”
“No. I’ll handle this alone.”
The bus ride was a blur. The house was unlocked. Inside, George and his mistress sat eating.
He leapt up, pale. “Who’s this?” the woman demanded.
“His legal wife,” Marina said coldly.
The woman’s face darkened. “George told me you *died* two years ago!”
Marina laughed bitterly. “Well, here I stand. And his mother’s alive too—she only learned today he’d left.” She turned to the woman. “How long has this been going on?”
“A year,” came the reply.
Marina’s stomach twisted. A year of lies: *Mother’s ill, I can’t leave her… Now she’s gone, I’m free.*
“Funny,” Marina sneered. “He’s buried us both. But don’t worry—I’ll file for divorce myself.” She left, head high.
At home, Nadine rushed over. “Marina, you’re shaking!”
“He told her I was *dead*, Nadine. And buried his mother in the same lie.” Her laugh was hollow.
Later, she told Anthony the truth. To her surprise, he hugged her. “Mum, don’t stress. We’ll be okay.”
Her heart swelled. “When did you grow up so much?”
Now, it’s just the two of them. George keeps his car but leaves the flat—as if material things could erase the years. His mother still treats Marina like family but refuses to speak to him.
Marina remembers nursing him after his surgery—spoon-feeding him, enduring sleepless nights in that hospital ward. And all the while, he was plotting.
Some men leave with dignity. Others slink away like thieves. George chose the latter.
In the end, she pities him. A man who’d rather bury the living than face the truth is no man at all.
