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At that moment, I didn't know what to say. With tears in her eyes, she said she hadn't been happy for years and that Colin provided an escape. I wanted to yell at her, but my initial anger was quickly anaesthetised by shock. My jaw ached with panic and I felt the sudden flush of adrenaline. The descriptions ranged from the relatively tame ("Kissed and cuddled today, it was lovely") to the kind of things you get in the racier passages of a Mills & Boon novel - nothing too graphic, but surprisingly comprehensive. The entries stretched back months, detailing their covert liaisons - romantic, practical, but mostly sexual. My immediate impulse was to slam the diary shut and try to forget I'd seen his name before it had a chance to sink in. I went to put it in her bedside drawer, but as I closed the pages I caught sight of the word "Colin". This was unusual but, stranger still, it was open. One afternoon I walked into our bedroom and noticed she'd left her diary on the bed. And secretly, day by day, it was written down: my wife was a meticulous diarist and spent 20 minutes every evening logging the day's events. I thought we were happy but, in truth, I was too wrapped up in my job to know.
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While I was away, my wife stayed at home taking care of the kids. By then we'd been married for some time and had two young children. He must have known that my job often took me abroad, and he probably had me profiled as a workaholic, as insensitive to my wife's needs as I was trusting of her fidelity. It is easier now to see that he was a more astute people-watcher than he seemed. Then he mowed the lawn."Ĭolin was indeed the helpful friend who lived down the road. "Colin took the remains of that old fence to the dump for me today, honey." Or, "Oh, by the way, Colin mended the lawn mower. Rather more mundanely, she referred to him matter-of-factly in conversation. "Honey, you've seen that handsome man with the blond hair, broad shoulders and light tan who lives at number 18? His name's Colin." But no. It wasn't by way of an introduction, although years later I did wonder how that might have gone. A familiar voice uttered it, though: my wife's. I don't even remember when I first heard his name. When our paths crossed, he would seldom meet my gaze.
#Woman was created to be a wife and a mother; that is her destiny brownson driver
A fleetingly glimpsed neighbour I'd sometimes nod to, I knew he was a long-distance truck driver and I think he knew who I was. I don't remember the exact day Colin (not his real name) became part of my life.