**Diary Entry: A Tale of Betrayal and Unexpected Friendship**
There I was, trapped in a mess of my own making. Back home waited my wife, Margaret—a woman whose weight had long since passed fifteen stone, the mother of my son. Divorce? My conscience wouldn’t let me abandon her, nor did I want to look like a villain in my boy’s eyes. Besides, the flat was in her name—a gift from her parents. Leaving meant losing the roof over my head. And then there was Emily. Young, graceful, with a sparkle of joy in her eyes. For two years, I’d fed her promises of divorce, and she’d waited, believing every word.
Emily had her own flat in central Manchester, but she shared it with her younger sister, a university student, leaving no room for me. We met in secret—sometimes at hers while her sister was in lectures, other times in hotels. Those moments were like stolen breaths of freedom—Emily never nagged, always smiled, wrapping me in warmth and lightness. Meanwhile, Margaret had become a storm of complaints at home: shirts in the wrong place, not enough money brought in, rubbish left uncollected. A typical wife, you might say. But I used to love her. What had I seen in her once? I couldn’t remember anymore.
Everything trudged on until Emily took a reckless step. Knowing I wasn’t home, she knocked on Margaret’s door. My wife was enjoying a rare day off, a face mask on, eager to pamper herself, when the bell rang. She answered without checking, assuming it was Mrs. Wilkins from next door dropping in for a chat. But on the doorstep stood a young woman with a steady gaze.
“Hello. Are you Margaret, Alex’s wife?”
“Yes, that’s me. What’s this about?” Margaret’s guard went up.
“It’s personal. We need to talk. May I come in?”
“No. I don’t let strangers in. You could be some scammer—”
“That’s unfair. I’m not a scammer. I’m Emily—your husband’s mistress. And I’ve got something to say.”
Shocked, Margaret slammed the door. A cruel joke? But her gut told her otherwise. After a pause, she reopened it. Emily stood there, unmoved, as if expecting it.
“Fine, come in. Say what you came to say.”
Emily stepped inside, slipped off her shoes, and walked to the kitchen.
“Cosy place,” she remarked, surveying the room. “Alex is so indecisive. For two years, he’s promised to leave you but keeps stalling. I’m tired of waiting. Thought I’d fix things myself. What do you say?”
Margaret stared, her world collapsing. Two years? Emily was beautiful, slender—everything she wasn’t. Maybe Alex stayed for their son, or pity. Or perhaps he just had nowhere else to go. Thoughts whirled. She had to respond.
“You know, Emily, I wasn’t always like this. When we married, I was eight stone, long hair—everyone called me pretty. Then my body changed, and here I am. No wonder he picked someone like you. It stings, sure. But love left us long ago. We just go through the motions—meals, laundry, socks. No warmth left. Thank you for opening my eyes. It’s time to let him go. I hope you’ve somewhere to live. I won’t tell our son the truth—he doesn’t need to know his dad cheated. We’ll say we drifted apart. Kids don’t need that pain.”
Emily burst into tears. Flustered, Margaret handed her a tissue.
“Why are you crying? That’s my job, and yet here I am, dry-eyed.”
“Margaret,” Emily sniffed, “my dad left when I was little. Found another woman and walked out, even took the telly off the wall. Mum begged, but he just left. I thought you’d be some bitter, overweight nag making Alex miserable. But you’re… not.”
“Oh, I’m still fat, and I snap at him—he drives me mad. But why keep living like this? Our son sees it. Maybe he’ll be happy with you.”
Just then, the key turned in the lock. Alex froze in the hallway at the sound of voices, heart pounding. Emily? Here? He barged in, shouting,
“Girls, don’t fight!”
But instead of a scene, he found Margaret and Emily on the sofa, flipping through the wedding album.
“Ah, our dashing lover returns!” Margaret smirked. “We’re reminiscing—look, little Timmy in his tiny suit.”
Alex was dumbstruck. Where was the screaming, the drama?
“Alex, you’ve got a wonderful wife, and you strayed?” Emily scolded. “Shame on you!”
He nearly choked. She was lecturing him?
“You begged me to leave her, and now I’m the villain? What’s wrong with you?”
“Because if we got together and I gained weight, you’d leave me too! Men only love us when we’re pretty!”
“You’re the troublemaker!” he snapped. “Marching in here, spilling everything—”
“Enough,” Margaret cut in. “I know the truth. Alex, pack your things. We’ll divorce cleanly.”
He stared, waiting for tears, hysterics—but she was calm, and that stung worse.
“Peggy, I’ve nowhere to go—”
“Stay tonight, but find somewhere fast.”
Emily stood. “I’ll go, Margaret. Glad we met—honestly. I’ll call you.”
After she left, Alex sat, head in hands. Margaret felt a pang of pity.
“Alex, what just happened?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed.
He quit his job and moved to his parents’ village in Cornwall, where he shacked up with a widow and her two kids. He missed Margaret and his son but knew there was no going back. He resented Emily, blaming her for ruining his life.
Margaret befriended Emily and her mother, a nutritionist, who helped her lose weight. She took up dance classes and, for the first time in years, felt truly happy. She swore off marriage—life was good as it was.
Emily married a decent bloke, putting the affair behind her. She even reconciled with her father and bonded with his daughter from his new marriage.
Who knows how things might’ve turned out if Emily hadn’t knocked that day? But things unfolded as they were meant to.
**Lesson learned:** Some storms break us, but others steer us to clearer skies.