**A Diary of Unspoken Love**
When I was just a girl, I started working as a secretary at a construction firm. University hadn’t been an option—Dad was too ill, and Mum had passed away giving birth to me. He raised me alone. But at school, I’d loved French. I took extra classes, even polished it further, hoping one day it might be useful.
**Hopeless and Secret Love**
The first time I laid eyes on my boss, Mr. Anthony Whitmore, I froze. He walked into the office one morning, nodded politely, lingered a moment on the new girl—me—then disappeared into his room.
*Goodness,* I thought, flustered, *what a handsome man.* Then reality hit—*He’s my boss. Married. And twice my age.*
Anthony was in his forties—tall, striking, with a velvet voice, blue eyes, and a smile that could melt anyone. He called me into his office once, gave instructions, and I drowned in his gaze, savouring his voice before snapping back and nodding.
Outside, I collapsed into my chair, pulse racing. *This can’t happen. He’s married. Everyone says he adores his wife, Veronica.*
And he did. No children, but their love was unmistakable. The women at work whispered:
*What does he see in her? She’s plain, dresses frumpily. Never gave him kids. And him—so dashing.*
They weren’t wrong. Veronica was ordinary next to him, but to Anthony, she was everything. Flirting attempts bounced off him like rain off stone.
I listened quietly, nursing my secret love. In my dreams, he’d notice me, understand how I felt.
*We’ll be together. I’ll give him children. Not to break his marriage—just to have his baby. God, how I love him.*
Anthony became my impossible dream. To him, I was just a good worker. Once, he gave me flowers—my birthday. That small gesture made me foolishly happy.
**An Accidental Reunion**
Twenty years later, I saw him on the street. At first, I didn’t recognise him—stooped, shuffling, grey. The man I’d loved was gone. My heart pounded, throat dry, feet rooted as he passed without a glance.
I wanted to run after him, cling to him, confess—but I couldn’t move. Staring after him, I murmured aloud, *God, what happened to him? Did he deserve this?*
An elderly woman answered, *He’s never been the same since Veronica died. Only two years, but he’s given up. Drinks his pension away. Poor soul.*
She eyed me. *You know him?*
*No one,* I sighed, walking off.
The encounter haunted me. That night, memories flickered behind my eyelids. My one love had returned—broken.
**A Business Trip to France**
Three years into the job, I’d never betrayed my feelings. Then Anthony announced:
*We’re going to France. You speak French—you’ll interpret.*
He had no idea how my heart soared. I imagined us alone together.
The negotiations succeeded. Celebrating at a restaurant, Anthony drank too much—uncharacteristic for him. I helped him to his room.
Then, softly, he pulled me close. *Thank you, darling,* he whispered, kissing me. I melted, guilt warring with longing.
He called me Veronica. It stung, but I didn’t resist.
At dawn, I slipped out.
The next morning, shamefaced, he apologised. *It shouldn’t have happened.*
*It’s fine,* I lied. *No one will know.*
**A Miracle and a Resignation**
Life should’ve resumed, but I couldn’t forget that night. Then—a miracle. I was pregnant.
*His child. A piece of him inside me.* Joy flooded me—until reality crashed in.
*He must never know. I won’t wreck his life.*
I resigned, claiming I was getting married. Anthony, puzzled, wished me well, even gave a bonus.
Dad supported me, though his health was failing. My son, Christopher, arrived, bringing us both joy. When Dad passed, it was just Chris and me. I avoided my old workplace, my old life.
Then, at seventeen, Chris was finishing school—and I saw Anthony again. Aged, broken. The past rushed back. Guilt gnawed at me—Chris knew nothing of his father.
**No One Should Die Alone**
The next day, I went to Anthony’s flat. The door opened to a dishevelled man, the flat reeking of neglect.
*Dina?* He blinked. *Forgive the mess. Veronica’s gone, and I…* He gestured weakly at the bottles.
I stepped in, pity twisting my chest. Snatching his glass, I poured it away.
*Enough. You’re not alone. You have a son. And me.*
*What?* His face paled.
I told him everything—my love, Chris, the years of silence.
*We won’t let you die alone.*
Shock, then wonder crossed his face. *A son? You loved me all this time?*
We embraced. I helped clean, promising, *We’ll come tomorrow.*
**Meeting His Son**
Chris understood instantly. *I have a father?* Relief, not anger.
The next evening, we arrived with a cake. Anthony had shaved, dressed smartly—almost his old self.
Chris, steady, extended a hand. *Hello, Dad.*
Tears streamed down Anthony’s face. Then he knelt before me, shaking. *Thank you. For loving me. For our son.*
*I forgave you long ago,* I whispered.
Now, we live together. Chris studies medicine. Anthony says often:
*You taught me to live in the present, darling. Thank you.*
