**Diary Entry**
He kept insisting his late-night disappearances were for work. I didnt believe him. One evening, I followed him to an old house where the sound of a womans weeping echoed through the walls.
*Again?* I asked, watching as he frantically laced his shoes in the hallway.
He frozejust for a fraction of a secondbut it was enough.
*Lina, weve been over this. Urgent project. Needs my personal oversight.*
His voice was calm, almost indifferent. He avoided my gaze, staring blankly at the opposite wall. That emptiness hurt more than any argument.
The lie wasnt in his words but in the air between usthick, suffocating, clinging to the furniture, our belongings, to me.
I didnt respond. Just leaned against the doorframe, watching. Weeks ago, Id caught the faint scent of unfamiliar lotion on his jacketnot perfume, something subtler, sweet. When I asked, hed joked it was just the office air freshener. But he worked in IT, where the only woman was a pension-aged accountant.
*Ill be late. Dont wait up,* he called as the door clicked shut behind him.
The metallic sound of the lock was a full stop on a sentence I was too afraid to finish.
Something inside me snapped. Not for the first timebut tonight, for the last. Enough. Enough of the torment, enough pretending to believe his flimsy excuses.
I threw my coat over my pyjama top, shoved my feet into trainers, and grabbed my car keys without thinking. My hands moved on their own, guided by cold resolve.
I slipped out minutes after him. His car was just turning at the end of our cul-de-sac. I kept my distance, dimming my headlights when he stopped at traffic lights. My heart pounded in my throat.
He wasnt heading toward his office in the city centre. Instead, he took the old road leading to abandoned cottages on the outskirtsplaces no sane person would go at night.
Gravel replaced tarmac. My car shuddered over uneven ground, branches scraping the sides. Finally, his car stopped near a leaning fence, beyond which stood a two-storey housedark, derelict, with broken windows like hollow eyes.
He stepped out without looking back and vanished into the shadows.
I parked further away, engine off. Silence pressed in, broken only by rustling leaves. I sat for minutes, steadying my trembling hands. *Why was he here? What was this place?*
Creeping toward the fence, I avoided crunching gravel. A dim light flickered in an upstairs window.
Thats when I heard ita womans cry. Soft, despairing, seeping under my skin.
My mind raced through terrible possibilities, but all led to one truth: betrayal. Not just any betrayalsomething stranger, darker.
I pushed the creaking gate open and waded through waist-high weeds. The house reeked of damp wood and decay. Pressing close to the window, I heard his voice.
*Shh, its alright. Im here now.*
His toneso tender, so patientwas one hed never used with me.
Rage burned through me. I wanted to kick down the door, demand answers, see her face. But fear rooted me in place. What if I barged in only for him to shield *her* from me?
I stumbled back into the dark.
The drive home felt endless. I arrived just before him, tossing my wet shoes aside and waiting in the kitchen, lights off.
When he walked in, his exhaustion was palpablegrey skin, dark circles. He flicked the switch, startled to see me.
*Lina? Why arent you asleep?*
*Waiting for you. From “work.”* I kept my voice steady.
He rubbed his temples. *Long night. Well talk tomorrow.*
*No, Andrew. Now. I know where you were.*
His eyes met mineno guilt, just bone-deep weariness and fear.
*What do you know?*
*The old house. The woman crying. Is *that* your urgent project?*
His face went slack. *You followed me?*
*Did I have a choice? Youve lied for months! Who is she?*
I expected denial, anger, apologies. His answer gutted me.
*I cant tell you.*
*What do you mean, *cant*?* My voice cracked.
*It means you have to trust me. Please, Lina, dont dig into this. Save what we have.*
No excuses. Just a wallsolid, impenetrable.
That night, we lay side by side, strangers in our own bed.
—
The next day, I went back.
In daylight, the house looked even sadder. The gate groaned as I pushed through. Inside, furniture sat shrouded in dust sheets. The air smelled of mildew.
A rustle came from upstairs.
The door to *her* room was ajar. Inside, a thin girl in an oversized jumper sat on the bed, combing long dark hair. Her shoulders trembled.
*Hi,* I whispered.
She flinched, turning wide, frightened eyes on meeyes exactly like Andrews.
Not his lover.
His sister.
*Who are you?* she breathed.
*Lina. Andrews wife.*
Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
*Annie? Where*
Andrew froze in the doorway, face white.
*Lina what are you doing here? Please, go!*
*No.* I kept my eyes on the girl. *No more secrets. Explain.*
He looked between us, then broke.
*This is Annie. My little sister.*
The truth spilled outhalting, painful. Five years ago, their mother died suddenly in this house. Annie found her. The trauma broke her. Agoraphobia. Panic attacks. Therapy failed.
Hed hidden her, terrified shed be institutionalised. Carried the burden alone.
*I was afraid to tell you,* he whispered. *I thought youd leave.*
I knelt, taking his hands. All my jealousy now felt petty, shameful.
*You idiot. Were family.*
Annie watched us, curiosity flickering in her eyes for the first time in years.
I didnt know what lay aheadonly that wed face it together.
—
The first days were fragile.
Andrew glanced at me like he couldnt believe I stayed. Annie barely spoke, wary as a cornered animal.
I came daily. First just leaving groceries. Then baking. The smell of warm bread pushed back the stale air.
One day, I left a plate of biscuits by her door. An hour later, it was empty.
A small victory.
Andrew warned me she was scared of everyone.
*I wont push,* I said. *Ill just be here.*
But I researched specialists. Found a therapist with gentle methods.
*Weve tried that,* he said, tense. *It only hurts her.*
Our first fight since the truth came outquiet but raw.
His fear ran as deep as her pain.
The next day, I sat on the stairs outside her room and talkedabout my day, a kitten Id seen, Andrews absent-mindedness. No response.
I did this daily.
Then, one evening, as I stood to leavea creak.
Her door was open a crack. A single eye peered out.
Less afraid now.
I smiled. *See you tomorrow, Annie.*
Andrew was wrong. Action *was* needednot force, but patience.
And warmth. Enough to melt even the thickest ice.
