30April2026
Dear Diary,
This morning began with a peculiar slip of the tongue. I snuggled up to my wife, Emily, and, halfasleep, whispered, Good morning, Ellie. The words hung in the air as she stirred, her eyes blinking open. She lay there, still, as though any movement might shatter the fragile peace of the moment. A cold dread settled over her; she seemed frozen, as if the room itself had gone icy.
I tried to shake off the chill, yawning widely.
Emily, youre shivering. Im losing sleep over you. Are you alright? Its summer outside, yet youre wrapped in blankets like its winter. Ill make us some tea.
Mark, thats me, trudged to the kitchen humming a jaunty tune, while Emily lingered a bit longer in bed, her legs feeling as heavy as lead. A low hum buzzed in her head, and she finally rose, shuffled to the bathroom, and considered whether a cup of tea might indeed help.
I asked her for a pancake. She stared at me, her expression dark.
You called me Ellie this morning.
What? I replied, puzzled.
Dont pretend you didnt hear it, Mark. You called me Ellie.
I think you misheard, love. Emily, Ellieits easy to get them tangled when youre half awake. Thats why youre so cold and sour today. Women, I tell you, they make mountains out of molehills.
She wandered the house, trying to pull herself together, watered the plants, tossed the pancakes in the pan, dressed quickly, and headed to my clinic. Perhaps it truly had been a slipEmily, Ellie. It felt real enough.
At the reception a new secretary greeted me. She was young, striking, with a cascade of fiery curls and an ample figure.
MrThompson is in surgery and not seeing patients today. I can book you for next week.
Better book yourself in, youll need it, Emily blurted out, surprising even herself.
Excuse me? the secretary asked, widening her already large eyes. Who are you?
Its Emily Thompson, Marks wife, I said, a hint of irritation creeping in. Step aside, dear; were dealing with streetsmart dames here.
A speaker crackled with my voice: Ellie, could you bring me a coffee?
Emily snorted. Fine, Ill fetch it.
When she entered my consulting room with a tray, I greeted her, Ellie? Something wrong?
She placed the coffee down, added a pancake, and said, Youll get the divorce papers by post. Bon appétit.
Emily, what on earth is happening? I snapped, feeling like a witch on a broom.
The witch is in your waiting room, Mark. Why isnt her hair brushed? A respectable dentist with a vulgar secretarywhat a cheap trick.
Emily, stop. I cant stand these fits. Ill spend a week at the cottage, give you time to cool off. Call me when youre calmer.
Its too late, Mark. I wont tolerate infidelity. Tell me why, so I at least understand.
I sighed, sipped the coffee, and grimaced. Victoria left. I hired Ellie on her recommendation.
When? I asked.
A month ago, I replied, averting my gaze.
Why didnt you tell me? You always share everything.
I didnt expect Ellie to stay long, but shes doing a splendid job.
Its not just work, is it? I muttered, cheeks flushing.
It was accidental! I didnt mean
Ill pack my things today and move out.
Where to? I asked, nervous. I said Id stay at the cottage for a weekjust calm down. Emily, I dont want a divorce!
But I have to. I cant hear you call me Emily and Ellie in the same breath. Your redhaired secretary will forever haunt my mind. My work is already stressful; I have children, you know.
Stay in the house. I pleaded.
What use is your house to me? I have my own place.
In this backwater? An old timber cottage?
Thats my home. End of story.
The house was my parents old place, a source of melancholy and stale smells. My friend Nell, ever the blunt one, said, You cant live here, Emily. Sell it, get a mortgage, move into a proper flat.
I wont, I muttered. Can you manage it? she asked.
Ill see what I can do. I could hire a crew to dig the garden, I have some savings. Ive lived here five years, never once visited the town centre.
Nell whistled, Its a decent house, fifteen minutes by car to the city. The new development has wired up all the utilities. I replied, Sounds good, but thats a lot of work, and I need somewhere to stay tonight.
Your teenage daughters room is free until autumn, Nell suggested.
The teenage room is offlimits, youd need a mothers permission first!
Nell shrugged. Feel that scent? Its grass, countryside, childhood.
Yes, the grass is overgrown, needs mowing. You wont manage it yourself.
Ill sort it. I can order a team to turn the soil. Ive been living off Marks clinic earnings for five years; he treats my salary as pocket money.
Thats a good man, Nell sighed.
I thought so too, until I trailed off, Its heavy on my heart.
Imagine youd pull out her front teeth and let Mark replace themabsurd.
Nell, youre forty, lifes just beginning, right? she sneered.
How am I to explain this to Paula? I dont want her to drop out of school and come back to mediate.
Its understandable, twenty years together, no regrets?
Im as bitter as a bee in a hive. I waved her off. You think Ill weep?
Its stress showing.
Perhaps. I sighed. Do you still want to help? Bring a bucket, lets fetch water, clean the floors, dust the windows.
Better stay in a hotel, then.
No, Im fixing this house. It belonged to my parents; I wont raze it or sell it.
Then hire designers, buildersmake it proper. Its our shared flat, after all.
I dont want to stay.
Will you split it?
I think Mark will leave it to our daughter, the cottage. Paula will decide. Its basically hers; I dont need it.
Marks bought a swanky cottage, better than yours, with a toilet and water.
Everything will be like that here too. Stop whining, I need a water tank installedif you change your mind.
I hate wells. Id rather walk around and take in the scenery.
The old water tank was gone, replaced by a brandnew house behind a high fence.
Nell raised an eyebrow, Im not surprised. Plenty of years have passed; look at the houses sprouting nearby, ready to expand.
Why do you think that? I asked.
Walk around. Their fence encloses three sides, yours only has a few stakes.
Maybe they havent finished the fence yet.
Sure, sure. Look, a car approachesno owners in sight.
You just tell fairy tales, Nell.
Life can be stranger than stories. Look at that gentleman, ordinary enough.
Nell, shut up. Im drowning in divorce and betrayal, not in men.
What are you doing standing there like a sticker? she teased.
Ill ask this man where the water tank is; I need water.
He shrugged, hands in his pockets, and said nothing.
Finally he cleared his throat. What do you need?
I need firewood, I replied.
He shifted his weight. Youre the owner of this house, arent you?
Exactly. There used to be a tank here.
Sorry, none left.
Alright, Ill use my own well.
Why not go straight to it?
Im not fond of wells, clear?
Do you have drinking water? Nell whispered.
Yes, I grabbed some. Go home, youre only making yourself nervous.
The next morning a pigs squeal jolted me awake, like a memory from childhood, but there were no fresh pastries in the house. Tears welled again. Why am I here? I muttered.
More squeals followed. Where did the pig come from? Footsteps rattled outside the window.
Whos there? Ill call the police! I shouted.
A neighbour replied, Dont worry, Im just here for a stray pig named Gus.
In my pajamas, I stepped onto the doorstep.
What pig? Stop pulling my leg.
The man shouted into a tangled garden, Gus! Come out, you little rogue!
Grass rustled, a low grunt emerged, and a black piglet waddled into view.
Is he a pedigree? I asked.
Honestly, I know nothing about pigs.
Why do you want him?
He isnt mine. He wandered onto my plot and made a home in the shed. Ive canvassed the whole village, no ones looking for a pig. Ive grown attached, though.
How did you end up in a village like this?
Why? he snapped. Its peaceful, fresh air, the citys close. Youre not a country folk, are you?
You think I am? I snapped. Lets cut the drama. Im divorcing in a week, stressed to the bone. I could smash a birch with a pine axe if you push me.
Gus, lets go, its unsafe here. Please dont lose your mind, I havent even put up a fence yetyour grass is a pigs playground.
I dont hurt children or animals. Goodbyes.
The following day a dogs whine woke me. The pig, the neighbour, the chaosmaybe I had come here to be alone with my thoughts. Id spent the whole day drifting, even popping into the local supermarket, never arranging for anyone to dig the garden. Let the grass grow, I thought.
The whine sounded right outside the window. I went out and saw a small puppy.
The neighbour finally opened the gate, still in his nightshirt, looking like me. Gus snorted beside him.
Is that your puppy? I asked, irritated.
How do you know? he replied.
You have no fence; pigs get in, perhaps dogs too.
Would you like to keep a puppy? Im heading to the animal shelter this week.
Ive never owned a dog. And youve already dealt with the pig.
Consider it a neighbourly gift. Name him, then.
Ill call him Arlo.
Dont call him Arlo, Im Arlen. Naming a dog after yourself isnt proper.
Then how about Chuck? You already have Gus.
Chuck and Gus? Brilliant! Thanks again. And your name?
Emily.
A lovely name.
Ill be off, I said, standing still, unwilling to leave.
He offered to teach me how to look after a dog, promising I could eventually have my own guard dog. That sounded like something Nell would have warned me aboutdont marry a man named Thompson, she said, youll end up with grief. The surname Thompson seemed oddly comic to me now, as I faced a house with no water and an outdoor loo. I scratched my knee, thinking how nice a proper shower would be.
Just then, my husbands voice crackled over the speaker, Emily, are you having a pajama party?
Later, I introduced the neighbour, Mark, this is Arlen. Arlen, this is Markmy soontobeexhusband. Why are you here?
He replied, Your gate is wide open, the doors ajar. I just wanted to know if you still intended to go through with the divorce.
Were set for the date. Well get married again, darling? Arlen said seriously.
I swallowed, staying neutral.
Mark said, My daughter dropped by, thought the cottage was empty. Talk to her, shell call you. Youre all dressed up now. He waved and left through the gate. I stared at the neighbour, bewildered.
Why are you doing this? I asked.
Your house is old, no water, no gas, outdoor looyoull be running to me for everything. All the stray animals will end up with me. So move in with me; Im not interested in random flings. I have two children already.
Are you mad? I shouted. I might be a lunatic, but I wont let you near me. Im in the middle of a divorce and betrayal.
A year later we married, adopted a cat, and the chaos finally settled.
**Lesson:** Miscommunication can spark a wildfire of doubt, but honesty, even when painful, is the only way to keep the hearth warm.