**Diary Entry 12th June**
I couldnt say no.
“Please, Mum,” my son pleaded. “I promised my friends Id bring the picnic blanket and drinks. And I told them youd make those caramel chocolate brownies.”
So, being the good mother I am, I started searchingold suitcases, tangled wires, broken fans from summers long gone. And then, tucked away in a corner, I saw it.
A black box. Elegant, square, hidden like a secret. I wasnt snooping, but curiosity got the better of me. I lifted the lid slowly, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.
My breath caught.
Inside lay a satin skirtdeep violet, soft as a whisper, with delicate embroidery along the hem. Sophisticated. Beautiful.
And familiar.
Id pointed it out to my husband, James, months ago while we were strolling through town. Wed passed a boutique, and Id admired it in the window. “Too extravagant,” Id said, though deep down, Id hoped hed remember.
“You deserve a little luxury sometimes,” hed chuckled.
So when I saw the skirt, carefully folded in tissue paper inside that box, I knew. It had to be my birthday present. A quiet joy settled over me.
Maybe things were still okay between us.
Not wanting to spoil the surprise, I closed the box, put it back, and handed my son, Oliver, an old picnic blanket instead. I even bought a blouse to match the skirt, tucking it away in my drawer, waiting for the right moment.
My birthday came. 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, just us two.
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 suspicious wife, jumping to conclusions.
Hope keeps you standing, even when you know better.
Three months passed. No skirt. No explanation. Just silence.
Then one afternoon, while baking lemon drizzle cakes for a wedding order, Oliver wandered into the kitchen. His shoulders were tense, his eyes uneasy.
“Mum?” he said quietly. “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 shopping centre for my football boots, he told me to wait outside. Said he had something to pick up.”
My stomach tightened.
“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 panicked. Hid under the bed.”
My heart ached for him.
“She laughed, Mum. It wasnt you. I saw their feet. She was wearing the skirt.”
I froze, the room swaying around me. Then I pulled him into my arms.
No child should carry that kind of secret.
Days later, I hosted James birthday party. I cooked, cleaned, smiled.
I wore a navy-blue dress and red lipstick. Put on heels Id regret within the hour. And I played the partgracious wife, warm hostess, unshakable pillar.
Inside, I was crumbling.
The party hummed with chatter and music until Oliver tugged my sleeve.
“Mum,” he whispered, wide-eyed. “Its her. The skirt. Shes wearing it.”
I followed his gaze.
Emily.
James assistant. She stood by the wine table, glowing, confident, in that unmistakable violet satin skirt.
The one hed hidden.
The one I thought was meant for me.
She was beside her husband, Mark, glass in hand, beaming.
I picked up a tray of canapés and glided toward them with a smile.
“Emily! That skirt suits you beautifully. Wherever did you find it?”
She blinked, startled. “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.
“Mark!” I called. “Do join us! We were admiring Emilys skirt. And you, James!”
The four of us stood in a tense circle. Emilys hand trembled on her glass. Mark looked baffled. James seemed wrecked.
“I adored that skirt,” I said softly. “I thought it was mine. But now I see it was meant for someone else.”
James cleared his throat. “I gave it to Emily. As a bonus. For her excellent work.”
“How thoughtful,” I replied calmly. “For her performance at work or for her lunchtime visits to our bedroom?”
Silence.
Mark stepped back from Emily. Her eyes filled with shame, and there I stood, knowing my life from that moment onward would be entirely my own.
