25September2025 Diary
Ive spent the past two decades with Eleanor Harris, and today I finally saw how thin the thread that held us together had become.
Victor, what are you doing? she cried, clutching the cuff of my jacket as if trying to pull the world back into her grasp. Her fingers turned white, the knuckles of my hand paling in response.
Eleanor, let go, I said, keeping my voice steady. Ive already made up my mind. Theres no point in the drama we both know its over.
She sputtered, What about the holiday we were planning? The bathroom remodel? You cant just pack your bags and leave!
Just yesterday shed been making a list of summer trips, her eyes bright, while I gave vague nods. Then, without warning, I blurted, Eleanor, Im going to be with Laura. At first she thought Id misheard, then she hoped it was a joke. My face, however, was dead serious.
Whos Laura? she managed to force out.
Shes a colleague. Weve been seeing each other for six months, I answered as if I were talking about a new television set, not the disintegration of a marriage.
Eleanor sank into the armchair, staring at the man shed spent twenty years with as if he were a stranger. The shy, caring Victor shed known was gone, replaced by someone with cold eyes and an indifferent smile.
That night she didnt sleep a wink. Wrapped in an old dressing gown, she paced the kitchen, replaying every day of our life, trying to pinpoint when I started to drift, when Laura first appeared on her radar.
When I stood in the hallway with my suitcase, the weight of her bewildered stare pressed against me.
Victor, please, she begged, her voice no longer a scream but a plea. Twenty years isnt something you can toss away in an instant. Did something happen at work? Do you need time to think?
Ive thought enough, Eleanor, I replied, not looking at her, fiddling with the zip on my bag. I love another woman. With you its become dull. Laura understands me, shes interesting.
So Im just a cook and a laundress then? she snapped, bitterness seeping through.
I never said that, I muttered, tightening my lips. Dont twist my words. Lets skip the theatrics Ill call a solicitor, well get the divorce papers sorted. Youll keep the flat, dont worry.
My flat isnt what I need. I need a family. I need you! she shouted.
Eleanor, enough. My cabs downstairs.
I snapped the suitcase shut, glanced around to make sure I hadnt forgotten anything, and headed for the door.
Victor! she lunged after me. If you walk out now, dont ever come back! Do you hear me? Never!
I turned at the threshold, Youre always so dramatic, Eleanor. Lets keep it civil. Ill collect the rest of my things next week.
The door slammed. She leaned against the wall, slumped to the floor, the silence in the empty house deafening.
Margaret, Eleanors best friend, arrived within minutes, breathless at the news. She stepped into the flat, taking in the disarray: photographs strewn about, a shattered vase on the rug.
Love, lets have a cup of tea and you can tell me everything, Margaret said, wrapping a blanket around Eleanors shivering shoulders.
As the kettle whistled, Margaret cleared away the broken pieces, set down the tea, and tried to steady Eleanors trembling voice.
So hes left for a younger woman, huh? Margaret asked once Eleanor settled.
I dont even know. He called her a colleague. Laura, I think.
A classic case, Margaret sighed, the grey hair in the beard, the devil in the rib.
No, he looks fine, Eleanor insisted. And she isnt that much younger.
What does it matter? Margaret shrugged. What matters is that your husband swapped twenty years of a happy marriage for a fling with a colleague.
Maybe its my fault, Eleanor whispered, eyes reddening. Did I do something wrong? Miss something?
Dont blame yourself! Margaret snapped. Ive seen you all those years: always putting the family first, never daring to have a life of your own. You gave up your music studies because your motherinlaw thought it frivolous, you left a good secretarial job when Victor insisted you stay home. You even sacrificed a chance to visit your sister when he wanted to repaint the sitting room.
Eleanors shoulders slumped. She had never thought of herself that way.
She was a pretty girl from a modest background, married early to Victor a man from a welloff academic family. His parents never treated her as an equal, and she spent years trying to prove herself as the perfect wife. She quit the music college, took a secretarial job, then abandoned it when Victor declared the house his priority.
A miscarriage in the first trimester had left them childless, and doctors warned that another pregnancy would be unlikely. Victor had been disappointed, dreaming of a son, but eventually settled for a life filled with Eleanors devotion.
Maybe this is for the best, Margaret said gently. Its time you start living for yourself.
No, how can you say that? My life is over! Eleanor cried.
Youre fortytwo, beautiful, with a whole world ahead. Wheres the real Eleanor? The one who sang with goosebumps, dreamed of travel, wanted to help children in care homes?
Silence fell. Margaret was right the Eleanor who had lived the last twenty years was a shade of the woman shed once been.
Alright, Margaret stood, Ill stay over tonight. Tomorrow well figure out what to do next. For now, take a shower and have this. She handed over a small tablet. Itll help you sleep.
Morning brought no relief. Eleanor felt shattered, yet the house buzzed with Margarets activity: breakfast cooking, humming tunes.
Good morning, sleepyhead! Margaret chirped, placing a fluffy omelette on the table.
I dont want any, Eleanor muttered, pushing the plate away.
Enough of that, Margaret declared, turning off the stove. Lets pack a bag and head to my cottage. Fresh air does wonders, and theres plenty to keep you busy.
No, thanks. Ill stay. Maybe Victor will come back
And youd take him back after he left you for someone else? Margaret shot back. Laura isnt some random fling; he says shes interesting.
And you think Im boring? Margaret retorted. Victors world revolves around his job, his couch, his TV. Youve been anticipating his every wish for twenty years, and now youre bored?
Eleanor winced. Victor is educated, reads books, attends lectures
Does he ever take you with him? Margaret asked.
No, I never wanted to leave home duties.
Of course, the borscht wont cook itself, Margaret quipped. And Laura probably whips up a perfect stew while attending lectures.
Eleanor sighed, realizing perhaps shed been complicit in her own marginalisation. She agreed to go to the cottage.
The cottage was a tiny, cosy stone house surrounded by blooming gardens, the only sounds being birdsong. The simple life there helped Eleanor to clear her mind. She helped Margaret in the garden, planting strawberries and watering roses, the physical labour a welcome distraction from Victors betrayal.
One evening, as they sat on the veranda sipping tea made from fresh blackberries, Margaret asked, Remember how you used to sing at the music college? You had such a voice!
That was ages ago, Eleanor waved her hand.
No, you didnt lose it. You just buried it, Margaret insisted. Victor was always jealous of your talent.
What nonsense, Eleanor replied. He thought singing in clubs was frivolous, not a profession.
But you could have gone professional, Margaret pressed. Your tutor once said you had huge potential. Remember Sergey Ivanov? He wanted to send you to the conservatoire.
Why bring that up now? Eleanor asked.
Because youve buried yourself alive for a man who never appreciated you, Margaret said bluntly. Its time to dig yourself out.
The idea sparked a sudden surge of hope. Margaret proposed a night out at the local community centres karaoke night.
Im nearly fortythree, marriedwell, I wasthis is insane, Eleanor protested.
Exactly, Margaret replied. Youre free now. Either you sit and weep over a man who walked out, or you start living again.
The venue was noisy, lights flashing, teenagers laughing. Eleanor felt out of place, but with a glass of wine and Margarets encouragement, she found herself on stage with the mic in hand.
The first lines of Ill Never Forget You from the old musical theyd loved together appeared on the screen. Her voice trembled at first, then grew steadier, filling the room. The audience fell silent, then erupted into applause when she finished.
A man in his thirties, wearing a denim shirt, approached her.
Brilliant performance! Im Michael, I run the local choir, he said. Would you consider joining us? Were looking for a soprano.
Eleanor introduced herself, Eleanor Harris.
Delighted, Eleanor, Michael smiled. Heres my card. Give me a call.
Margaret elbowed her, See? Youve still got it!
The next days were a whirlwind of rehearsals three times a week at the community hall, new friendships, and the occasional flirtatious glance from Michael. Eleanor still hadnt signed the divorce papers; she clung to a thin hope that Victor might return, even as his solicitors email waited unanswered.
One afternoon, after a rehearsal, Victor turned up at the door, looking dishevelled but determined.
Hey, he said, can I come in?
Sure, Eleanor opened the door, heart unexpectedly racing.
He looked around, surprised. Did you remodel?
Just shifted some furniture, new curtains, she replied, trying to sound casual.
It looksdifferent, Victor remarked. You havent signed the papers yet. My solicitor is pressing.
Eleanor felt a cold knot form.
Ive been busy, she said. Singing in a choir, rehearsals, a few gigs.
Victor stared, bewildered. A choir? Thatsunusual.
Its important to me, she said, tone firm. I even have solo parts now.
He scoffed, Thats just a hobby.
Im serious, she answered, voice steady. It gives me purpose.
Victor shifted uncomfortably. Honestly, things with Laura arent great. Shes always out with friends, rarely home to cook. The house is messy
Eleanor felt a wry smile tug at her lips. So you miss a tidy house?
What do you want from me? he asked, desperation creeping in.
Do you want to try again? he blurted. I havent filed the divorce.
The solicitors letter
It was a scare, he waved it off. Eleanor, you love me. Twenty years isnt a joke.
She looked at him, the man shed known for two decades, and felt nothingno affection, no anger, just a clear distance.
No, Victor, she said calmly. Ive learned a lot this month. I lived for you, and you never valued that. You left when you wanted something new, without caring about my feelings. Now that its inconvenient, you return.
I made a mistake! I love you! he shouted.
You loved the comfort I provided, Eleanor replied. You never knew the real methe one who sings, who craves learning, who wants more than this flat.
Victor stared, baffled. What do you mean, the real you?
The part of me that loved music, that wanted to travel, that wanted to help children in care homes, she said.
He tried to protest, Youre still my wife. We can make it work.
She shook her head. No. Ill sign the papers and send them to your solicitor. Now I must head to rehearsal.
He lunged after her, Youll regret this! No one will want a choir singer!
She didnt answer. As the door shut behind him, a strange calm settled over the flat. She walked to the mirror, fixed her hair, applied a fresh coat of lipstick, and smiled at the woman looking back.
Lived for him. And that was a mistake, she thought, stepping out for rehearsal, where new songs and new friends awaited.
Lesson learned: we cannot anchor our identity to another persons expectations. True fulfilment comes from embracing our own passions, even when the world tries to push us back into old roles.
