**Diary Entry**
I saw my daughters phone messages today, and suddenly everything made sense.
I cant take this anymore! Every evening, the same thing! Emily slammed the plates into the sink. He comes home in silence, eats in silence, disappears into his study for hours. Its like living with a stranger!
Mum, calm down, Sophie set her phone aside and looked at her frazzled mother. Dads just going through a rough patch at work. You know how it is.
A rough patch? Emily threw her hands up. Three months of this rough patch? Mark used to always make time to talk, to tell me about his day. Now? Its like theres a wall between us. And those strange phone calls he answers in whispers
Sophie shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her gaze flickering to her abandoned phone.
Youre overreacting, Mum. Hes just tired.
Tired, Emily echoed. He wasnt tired before? Twenty-five years together, and he always had energy for us. Now She trailed off, waving a hand dismissively before scrubbing an already-clean pot with unnecessary force. Sophie sighed, grabbing her phone and retreating to her room.
Something was wrong in our family, and I couldnt figure out what. Markalways so open, so presenthad become withdrawn, evasive. He worked late, avoided conversation, and worst of all, stopped meeting my eyes. Like he was hiding something.
Another woman? The thought haunted me, but I pushed it away. Not Mark. Never. Then what?
Later, as I wiped down the kitchen, the front door clicked open.
Evening, Mark muttered, toeing off his shoes. Late again.
As usual, I forced a smile, though it felt brittle. Hungry?
Not really. He avoided my gaze. Sophie home?
Upstairs. I hesitated. Mark can we talk?
About what? He finally looked at me, and I saw exhaustionand something else. Fear?
About us. About whatevers happening. Youve been so distant
Not tonight, Em. He squeezed my shoulder gently. Im wiped.
Without another word, he headed to Sophies room. A soft knock, a murmured Come in, and the door closed behind him. I stood frozen in the hallway, dread coiling in my chest. What was happening to my husband? To my family?
That night, sleep wouldnt come. Mark lay beside me, turned away, his breathing steadybut I knew he wasnt asleep. Just thinking. About what? About whom? I wanted to reach out, to ask outright: *Whats going on?* But I couldnt. I was afraid of the answer.
The next morning, after Mark left for work, I busied myself cleaning. Sophie was still asleeplate shift at uni today. Dusting, vacuuming, scrubbinganything to fill the emptiness spreading inside me. Her room was tidy, as always. I straightened her duvet, folded a stray jumper, wiped down her desk. Then I saw it: her phone, forgotten on the bedside table.
*Should plug it in.* Sophie never locked itNothing to hide, she always said. I connected the charger, and the screen lit upopen to a chat with her father.
I didnt mean to read it. Truly. But the message glaring on the screen snagged my attention: *Dad, you have to tell Mum. She has a right to know.*
My heart stuttered. *Tell me what?*
Put it down, I ordered myself. But my fingers disobeyed, scrolling up.
*Mark: Soph, I cant. Shes only just recovered from your grans stroke.*
*Sophie: This is different! And the doctors said the odds are good.*
*Mark: Still. Chemo, surgeryshell lose it with worry.*
My hands went numb. *Chemo? Surgery?*
*Sophie: Shes not blind, Dad. She sees youve changed. Shes imagining the worstasked me yesterday if you were having an affair.*
*Mark: Dont be daft. Tell her its just work stress. I need time. At least till the biopsy results.*
*Biopsy.* I sank onto Sophies bed, my vision swimming. Mark was sick. And hed hidden it from me.
Scrolling further, I found messages from three months ago:
*Mark: Need your help, love. Dont tell Mum.*
*Sophie: Whats wrong?*
*Mark: Remember my stomach pains? Got the tests back. Not good. Being referred to oncology.*
I shut my eyes, swallowing hard. Grans stroke six months ago had wrecked mesleepless nights, weight loss, panic. Mark had been my rock. Now *he* was suffering and staying silent to spare me.
The door creaked. Sophie stood there, blinking at me.
Mum? Whatre you doing?
Just tidying. I shoved the phone aside, but it was too late. Her eyes darted to the screen, her face paling.
You read my texts? Not anger in her voicefear.
Sophie, I stood, knees trembling. Whats wrong with your dad?
She bit her lip, looked away, then exhaled shakily and sat beside me. Hell kill me for this.
*Please.*
And she told me. The stomach pains three months ago. The tests. The suspicion of pancreatic cancer.
He didnt want to worry you, she murmured. Said hed wait for a proper diagnosis. Then then it got harder to admit hed kept it hidden.
*Him?* Afraid? I shook my head. Mark had never been afraid of anything.
Afraid of breaking your heart. Sophie met my eyes. He saw how Grans illness wrecked you. Didnt want you going through that again. He was waiting for the biopsy. Its tomorrow.
*Tomorrow.* I stood, staring out the window. A normal spring daysunshine, blooming trees, people rushing past. A day my world tilted on its axis.
Mum? Sophies voice wavered. Are you angry?
At who? You? For keeping his secret? Or him? For not trusting me?
Both, maybe. She ducked her head. We shouldve told you.
You shouldve. I nodded. Now tell mewhich hospital? What time?
St. Marys. Ten a.m.
Right. I straightened. Lets make his favourite for dinner. Hell be starving.
That evening, Mark paused in the doorway, eyeing the roast lamb with suspicion.
Special occasion?
No occasion. I set down the salad. Just wanted to spoil my husband.
His gaze flicked between Sophie and me. Whats going on?
Nothing. I poured him a glass of wine. Just realised something important today.
And whats that? He took a sip, watching me.
That weve been married too long for secrets. I held his gaze. Im coming with you to St. Marys tomorrow.
The glass froze midway to the table. His face drained of colour.
Sophie? He turned to her, accusatory.
I didnt tell her! She raised her hands. Mum saw our texts when she was cleaning.
*Dont* blame her. I touched his arm. I shouldnt have looked.
I wanted to protect you, he whispered. After your mums stroke
And who protects *you*? My voice cracked. Did you really think I wouldnt notice you pulling away? That I wouldnt be terrified?
Im sorry. He gripped my hand. I thought it was for the best.
The best is facing this *together.* I squeezed back. Whatever the biopsy says, well handle it. As a family.
At St. Marys the next day, the hours dragged. Then the verdict:
Benign, the doctor smiled. Surgery to remove it, but no chemo needed.
Relief surged through me. Marks eyes shonepure, unguarded happiness.
Thank you, I whispered.
Thank *him*, the doctor nodded at Mark. Most men his age ignore symptoms. Another six months, and wed be having a different conversation.
Outside, Mark slumped against the wall, covering his face. His shoulders shook.
Hey. I pulled him close. Its okay.
Im sorry, he rasped. For shutting you out.
Doesnt matter. I wiped his tears. Were here now. Together.
Sophie barrelled into us. Well? What did he say?
All clear. I hugged her. Just a quick op, and Dads good as new.
Thank God. She sagged against us.
Mark wrapped his arms around us both, grinninghis real, familiar grin. Everythings going to be okay.
And for all my guilt over invading Sophies privacy, I couldnt regret it. Sometimes, you have to cross a line to save what matters most.
