On my husbands birthday, our son pointed at the guests and shouted, “Thats her! Shes wearing that skirt!”
I couldnt refuse.
“Please, Mum,” he insisted. “I promised my friends Id bring the blanket and drinks. And you said youd make those caramel chocolate brownies.”
So, being the good mother I am, I began searching. Old suitcases, tangled wires, broken fans from summers long gone. Then, tucked in a corner, I saw it.
A sleek black boxelegant, square, hidden like a secret. I wasnt prying, but curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out, sat on the carpet, and lifted the lid slowly.
My breath caught.
Inside lay a satin skirtdeep violet, soft as a whisper, with delicate embroidery at the hem. Sophisticated. Beautiful.
And familiar.
Id shown it to Williammy husbandmonths earlier while strolling through town. We passed a boutique, and Id pointed it out in the window. “Too extravagant,” Id said, though deep down, I hoped hed remember.
“You deserve something luxurious now and then,” hed chuckled.
So when I found the skirt, carefully folded in tissue paper, I knew. It had to be my birthday gift. A quiet joy warmed me.
Maybe things were still good between us.
Not wanting to ruin the surprise, I closed the box, tucked it away, and handed Thomas an old blanket instead. I even bought a blouse to match the skirt, stashing it in a drawer, waiting for the right moment.
My birthday arrived. The family gathered. William handed me a gift with a boyish grin.
Books.
A lovely stack of carefully chosen novelsbut no skirt. Not a word about it.
I waited. Perhaps he was saving it for a special dinner, just the two of us.
That moment never came.
Days later, I sneaked back into the wardrobe for another look. But the box was gone. Vanished. 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 explanation. Just silence.
Then, one afternoon, while baking lemon drizzle cakes for a wedding order, Thomas entered the kitchen. His eyes darted nervously, shoulders tense.
“Mum?” he said quietly. “I have to tell you something. About that skirt.”
I set the spatula down.
“I know Dad bought it,” he began. “When we went to the shopping centre for my football boots, he told me to wait outside. Said he had something to pick up.”
My stomach twisted.
“Then, one day,” Thomas continued, “I skipped school for a few hours. 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.
“She laughed, Mum. It wasnt you. I saw her legs. She was wearing the skirt.”
I froze, the room tilting around me.
Then I pulled him into my arms.
No child should carry that kind of secret.
Days later, we hosted Williams birthday party. I cooked, cleaned, smiled.
I wore a navy-blue dress and red lipstick. The shoes I always regret after an hour. And I played the partthe graceful wife, the warm hostess, the unshakable pillar.
Inside, I was crumbling.
The party buzzed with chatter and music until Thomas tugged my sleeve.
“Mum,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Its her. The skirt. Shes wearing it.”
I followed his gaze.
Eleanor.
Williams assistant. She stood by the wine table, glowing and confident in that unmistakable violet satin skirtthe one hed hidden.
The one I thought was meant for me.
She stood beside her husband, Daniel, sipping wine, her face radiant.
I picked up a tray of canapés and approached them with a smile.
“Eleanor! That skirt looks stunning on you. Wherever 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 disappeared.”
Her smile faltered.
Across the room, William watched, frozen.
“Daniel!” I called. “Do join us! We were admiring Eleanors skirt. And you, William!”
The four of us stood in a tense circle. Eleanors hand trembled around her glass. Daniel looked confused. William seemed shattered.
“I adored that skirt,” I said softly. “I thought it was for me. But now I see it was meant for someone else.”
William 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 as I stood there, I knewfrom that moment on, my life would be mine alone.
