**Diary Entry – 5th October**
It’s often said there should be no secrets between husband and wife. At least, not the kind that serve no real purpose. Yet my husband, James, lied to me for years—coolly, confidently, as if it were nothing. He claimed his company had a strict “no spouses” policy for work events. I believed him. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve never been one for crowds, and after our son was born, I settled into the quiet rhythm of home life.
But the truth came out eventually. And it didn’t just hurt—it made me feel like a stranger in my own marriage.
James and I have been married five years. I fell pregnant soon after our wedding, and now our boy, Oliver, is four. Those years blurred together—nappies, sleepless nights, doctor’s visits. I went back to work as soon as I could. With grandparents helping, things eased financially. I try to be home early, to be present. But James… He’s been coming home later, sometimes not until dawn, looking wrecked. Always the same excuse: “Swamped at the office.”
Three years ago, he landed a prestigious job—better pay, better title. No more complaints about his boss or colleagues. But one thing gnawed at me: he never invited me to company parties. Not the summer outings, not the Christmas do. “It’s just not done,” he’d say. “No wives. Nothing personal.”
I wanted to believe him. If he were hiding something, wouldn’t he avoid the subject altogether? Besides, who had time for parties? My old friends—some married, some single—had drifted away. Weekends were laundry, meals, school runs.
Then, last week, I bumped into an old schoolmate, Emily, at the chemist. We grabbed coffee, got talking. Turned out her husband worked at the same firm as James. Small world, we laughed. I suggested meeting up Friday.
“Can’t,” she said. “We’ve got the company bash.”
I blinked. “You’re going… *with* him?”
She looked puzzled. “Of course. Couples always go together.”
A chill ran through me. I pretended I knew, brushed it off, mumbled about other plans—but inside, everything crumbled. So he’d lied. For years. I walked home numb. Not about the party itself. About the deceit. The shame of knowing he was *ashamed* of me.
At dinner, I kept my voice steady. “Funny thing—Emily’s going to your work do with her husband. Says it’s normal.”
James froze. Glanced at me sidelong. Fussed with his tea, tore at his napkin, eyes anywhere but mine.
“Well… that’s just for new hires. The rest of us, we’ve known each other ages.”
“You never invited me. Three years isn’t ‘new.’”
A sigh. A shift in his chair. Then the truth, sharp as a knife:
“I just wanted a night off. No couples. No small talk about mortgages or the kids. No sober bloke with his wife watching. I’m tired. I wanted to *unwind*.”
The words stung. So I was a burden. With others, he could relax—with me, he couldn’t. Was I dull? Ugly? Bad company? Or did he just think I’d ruin his “fun”?
Sometimes a lie is kinder. The truth, after all this time, felt like a slap. I didn’t shout. Just decided—next Friday, *my* office party? I’ll go alone. Wear that dress I’ve been saving. Laugh, chat, dance.
Maybe it’s not the perfect solution. But he’ll learn this much: you don’t treat your wife like this. Not the one who holds things down at home, nor the one you’d bring to a party. We’re not enemies. But right now, I feel like one. And enemies don’t get invitations.
**Lesson learnt:** Trust isn’t just about the big betrayals. Sometimes, it’s the small, senseless lies that cut deepest.
