Secrets of the Soul: A Family Rescued
Emma packed her things, her mind replaying every year of their marriage. She wanted to leave quietly, without explanations—just a note left behind before vanishing. It would be easier this way, she told herself as she folded clothes into the suitcase. But every item, every little thing, carried memories. There was the jumper Victor had given her in their second year together. She’d criticised his choice back then, insisting the colour didn’t suit her. Victor had said nothing, just tucked the gift back into the wardrobe. Yet secretly, she’d worn it 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 away? Leave them behind? She decided to box them up, sealing them with tape to keep the past from spilling open. But there was no tape nearby. She remembered seeing a roll in Victor’s study last week while tidying. Stepping into his room, she pulled open the desk drawer—and froze. Among the papers lay a notebook. Not just any notebook. A diary. Personal, worn at the edges, as though opened often.
Her hand reached for it before she could stop herself. *If I’m already betraying him by leaving, what’s one more wrong?* she thought. Desperation tangled with curiosity. Maybe the answers were here. Maybe there was another woman. Or maybe he regretted ever marrying her. Emma opened it—and her world shattered.
He’d written about *her*. About *her*! Page after page, her name, her habits, her smile. Emma sank into his chair, unable to look away. Victor remembered *everything*. Even that jumper she’d mocked. He’d written how it hurt when she rejected it, how he’d decided never to give her gifts again just to spare her disappointment. *”Mum always said I got things wrong. Now Emma thinks so too,”* one entry read. Tears burned behind her eyes.
Further on, his childhood spilled onto the pages—how his mother scolded him for laughing too loud, for joking, for speaking too fast. How she’d once sneered at the bouquet of autumn leaves he’d picked for her: *”Why bring me rubbish? Pick something pretty.”* Emma saw it then: a little boy, shamed for his joy, for trying to make others happy. And without realising, *she* had done the same, scolding him for the jumper.
But the worst—the most beautiful—was that Victor still loved her. He wrote it plainly. He admired her work, cherished watching her cook or sleep. He lingered in the mornings just to gaze at her, careful not to wake her. He noticed how she frowned in her dreams, how she tugged the blanket closer. The last entry, penned just yesterday, shattered her completely. He’d wanted to ask her on a trip—to kayak down the river like he had as a boy, back when he was happy. But he feared she’d laugh. *”I’ll probably keep quiet,”* he’d written.
Emma shut the diary, feeling walls inside her crumble. She wasn’t the betrayer anymore. If not for these pages, she might never have truly known him. Their marriage had clung to a thread—but now, she saw the way back.
The door creaked—Victor was home. She hadn’t noticed time passing. He stepped inside, surprised to see her there.
“Emma? You’re not at work?” He shrugged off his coat.
She met him in the hallway, the diary in her hands. Victor froze at the sight, but she spoke before he could.
“I’ll go,” she said firmly.
“Go where?” Confusion flickered across his face.
“The trip. Kayaking. I’ve already started packing.” She took a breath, steadying herself. “I’m sorry, Vic. I found your diary. 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 doubted it. Can we start over? Talk, share, love—without fear?”
Victor pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she felt his heartbeat against her own. He rested his chin on her head, voice barely a whisper.
“I didn’t come back for lunch. Cancelled everything today. Wanted to talk—but I was scared you might…” His words faltered.
Then, hesitating, he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Or maybe… we go shopping? Pick you a new jumper? Time we wrote a new chapter, don’t you think?”
Emma nodded, tears streaming freely now. She turned back to finish packing—but not to leave. To begin again, with the man she was only just beginning to truly know.
