Secrets of the Soul: A Family’s Redemption
Emily packed her bags, replaying the years of her marriage in her mind. She planned to leave quietly, without explanations—just a note and her absence. It would be easier for both of them, she thought, folding clothes into the suitcase. But every piece, every trinket carried memories. There was the jumper James had given her on their second anniversary. She’d criticised it, said the colour didn’t suit her. James had said nothing, just tucked it away in the wardrobe. Yet she’d worn it in secret when he wasn’t looking. And now, it still lingered in her drawer.
She didn’t know what to do with these relics. Throw them out? Leave them behind? Deciding on a box sealed with tape, she reached for it—only to find none at hand. Then she remembered spotting a roll in James’s study while tidying last week. Stepping into his room, she pulled open the desk drawer—and froze. Nestled among papers was a notebook. Not just any notebook—a diary. Well-worn, as if opened daily.
Her hand moved on its own. *If I’m already betraying him by leaving, what’s one more wrong?* Curiosity tangled with desperation. Maybe these pages held answers. Was there another woman? Did he regret marrying her? Emily flipped it open—and her world shattered.
He wrote about *her*. Pages and pages—her name, her habits, her smile. She sank into the chair, unable to look away. James remembered everything. Even that jumper she’d mocked. He’d described the sting of her reaction, how he’d resolved never to gift her anything again to spare her disappointment. *”Mum always said I got it wrong. Now Emily thinks so too,”* one entry read. Tears burned her eyes.
Further in—his childhood. His mother scolding him for loud laughter, for jokes, for “too many” words. Chastised for an imperfect smile, for speaking too fast. Once, he’d brought her a bouquet of autumn leaves, only for her to wave it off: *”Why bring me rubbish? Pick something proper.”* Emily saw it now—the little boy shamed for his joy, for trying to give love. And without realising, she’d done the same, criticising that jumper.
But the crushing truth? He loved her. Still. He admired her work triumphs, savoured watching her cook or sleep. On mornings, he lingered, stealing glances, afraid to wake her. He noticed how she frowned in dreams, how she tugged the blanket closer. The last entry—written yesterday—splintered her heart. James dreamed of taking her kayaking, like the adventures of his happiest youth. But he feared she’d refuse, laugh at him as she had before. *”I’ll probably say nothing again,”* the words ended.
Emily shut the diary, feeling walls collapse inside her. She wasn’t the betrayer anymore. Those pages had shown her the man she’d married—truly. Their marriage had been crumbling, but now she saw the way back.
The door creaked—James was home. Emily hadn’t noticed the hours slip away. He stepped in, surprised to see her.
“Em? You’re not at work?” He shrugged off his coat.
She met him, diary in hand. James stiffened at the sight, but she spoke first.
“I’ll go,” she said firmly.
“Where?” Confusion lined his voice.
“Kayaking. I’ve started packing.” A pause. A deep breath. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I found your diary. I—I couldn’t stop reading. It’s… the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re incredible. The best. I’m ashamed I ever thought otherwise. Can we start over? Talk, share, love—without fear?”
James pulled her into his arms, so tight she felt his heartbeat. He buried his face in her hair, voice barely steady.
“I didn’t come back for lunch. Cleared my day. Wanted to talk, but I was scared you’d—” He broke off.
Then, tentative, he met her eyes. “Maybe… we could go shopping? Pick you a new jumper? Time we wrote a new chapter, don’t you think?”
Emily nodded, joy spilling down her cheeks. She returned to packing—not to leave, but to begin anew. With the man she was only just learning to truly know.
