On my husbands birthday, my son pointed at the guests and shouted, Thats her! Shes wearing that skirt!
I couldnt refuse.
Please, Mum, he begged. I promised my mates Id bring the blankets and drinks. And I said youd make those caramel chocolate biscuits.
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 snooping, 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 along the hem. Refined. Beautiful.
And familiar.
Id shown it to Jonathanmy husbandmonths earlier, while we were strolling through the city centre. 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 laughed.
So when I saw the skirt, carefully folded in tissue paper inside that box, I knew. It had to be my birthday gift. A quiet joy filled me.
Maybe we were still okay.
I didnt want to ruin the surprise, so I closed the box, put it back, and gave William an old blanket. I even bought a blouse to match the skirt and tucked it away in my drawer, waiting.
My birthday came. Family gathered. Jonathan handed me a wrapped 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 the two of us.
That moment never came.
Days later, I sneaked back into the wardrobe for another look. But the box was gone. Just like that. Without a trace.
Still, I said nothing. I didnt want to be the suspicious wife. The one who jumps 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 baking lemon cakes for a wedding order, William burst into the kitchen. His eyes darted nervously, his shoulders stiff.
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, he continued, I skipped school for a bit. 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 a secret like that.
Days later, I hosted Jonathans birthday party. I cooked, cleaned, smiled.
I wore a navy-blue dress and red lipstick. Slipped into heels Id regret within an hour. Played the partgracious wife, warm hostess, unshakable pillar.
Inside, I was breaking.
The party buzzed with chatter and music until William tugged my sleeve.
Mum, he whispered, eyes wide. Its her. The skirt. Shes wearing it.
I followed his gaze.
Emma.
Jonathans assistant. She stood by the wine table, glowing, confident, in that unmistakable violet satin skirt.
The one hed hidden.
The one I thought was for me.
She stood beside her husband, Daniel, glass in hand, beaming.
I picked up a tray of canapés and glided towards them with a smile.
Emma! That skirt looks stunning on you. Where 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 wavered.
Across the room, Jonathan watched, frozen.
Daniel! I called. Join us! We were admiring Emmas skirt. Jonathan, come too!
The four of us stood in a tense circle. Emmas hand trembled on her glass. Daniel looked confused. Jonathan was shattered.
I loved that skirt, I said softly. I thought it was meant for me. But I see now it was meant for someone else.
Jonathan coughed. II gave it to Emma. 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 Emma. Her eyes filled with shame, and I stood there, knowing my life from that moment on would be mine alone.
