On my husbands birthday, my son pointed at the guests and shouted, “Thats her! Shes wearing that skirt!” I couldnt refuse him.
“Please, Mum,” he insisted. “I promised my friends Id bring the blanket and the drinks. And I said youd make those caramel chocolate cakes too.”
So, being the good mother I am, I started searching. Old suitcases, tangled cables, broken fans from summers long gone. And then, tucked in a corner, I saw it.
A black box. Elegant, square, hidden like a secret. I wasnt prying, but I couldnt resist. I pulled it out, sat on the carpet, and lifted the lid slowly.
My breath caught.
Inside was a satin skirtdeep violet, soft as a whisper, with delicate embroidery at the hem. Refined. Beautiful.
And familiar.
Id shown it to Jamesmy husbanda few months earlier when we were strolling through town. We passed a boutique, and Id pointed it out in the window. “Too extravagant,” Id said, though deep down, Id hoped hed remember.
“You deserve something luxurious now and then,” hed laughed.
So when I saw the skirt, folded neatly in tissue paper inside the box, I knew. It had to be my birthday gift. A quiet joy washed over me.
Maybe things were still good between us.
I didnt want to ruin the surprise, so I closed the box, put it back, and handed Oliver an old blanket. I even bought a blouse to match the skirt and tucked it away in a drawer, waiting for the right moment.
My birthday came. The family gathered. James handed me a gift with a boyish grin.
Books.
A lovely stack of carefully chosen novelsbut no sign of the skirt. Not a word about it.
I waited. Maybe he was saving it for a special dinner, a private moment.
That moment never came.
Days later, I snuck back into the cupboard for another look. But the box had vanished. Just like that. Without a trace.
Still, I said nothing. I didnt want to be the wife who doubted. Who jumped to conclusions.
Hope keeps us standing, even when we know better.
Three months passed. No sign of the skirt. No word. Just silence.
Then one afternoon, while I was baking lemon cakes for a wedding order, Oliver walked into the kitchen. His eyes darted, his shoulders tense.
“Mum?” he said softly. “I need to tell you something. About that skirt.”
I set the spatula down.
“I know Dad bought it,” he began. “When we went to the mall for my football boots, he told me to wait outside. Said he had something to pick up.”
My stomach twisted.
“Then one day,” Oliver continued, “I skipped a few classes. Came home early to grab my skateboard but I heard voices upstairs. Thought it was you and Dad.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“But youre never home at that time. I got scared. Hid under the bed.”
My heart ached for him.
“He laughed, Mum. It wasnt you. I saw their legs. She was wearing the skirt.”
I stood frozen, the room tilting slowly around me.
Then I pulled him into my arms.
No child should carry a secret like that.
Days later, I hosted James birthday party. I cooked, I cleaned, I smiled.
I wore a navy-blue dress and red lipstick. I slipped on the shoes I always regret after an hour. And I played the partthe gracious wife, the warm host, the unshakable pillar.
Inside, I was crumbling.
The party buzzed with chatter and music until Oliver tugged my sleeve.
“Mum,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Its her. The skirt. Shes wearing it.”
I followed his gaze.
Eleanor.
James assistant. She stood by the wine table, glowing, confident in that violet satin skirtimpossible to mistake.
The skirt hed hidden.
The skirt Id thought was for me.
She stood beside her husband, Daniel, holding a glass, beaming.
I picked up a tray of canapés and glided toward them with a smile.
“Eleanor! That skirt suits you wonderfully. Where did you find it?”
She blinked, surprised. “Oh thank you. It was a gift.”
“How lovely,” I said sweetly. “FunnyI had one just like it. Found it in the house once. Then it vanished.”
Her smile faltered.
Across the room, James watched, frozen.
“Daniel!” I called. “Come here! We were admiring Eleanors skirt. And you, James!”
The four of us stood in a circle. Eleanors hand trembled on her glass. Daniel looked confused. James seemed shattered.
“I loved that skirt,” I said quietly. “I thought it was for me. But now I see it was for someone else.”
James coughed. “I gave it to Eleanor. As a bonus. For her excellent work.”
“How thoughtful,” I replied, voice steady. “For her performance at work or for her lunchtime visits to our bedroom?”
Silence.
Daniel stepped back from Eleanor. Her eyes filled with shame, and I stood there, knowing my life from that moment on would be mine alone.
