I Found a Box of Women’s Things Under My Husband’s Bed and Realized They Didn’t Belong to Me

Mother, why are you always like this? Mabels voice trembled on the brink of breaking. Every time its the same story!

Mabel, Im only trying to help, her mother pleaded through the handset. Thomas is a good man, why would you upset him?

Im not upsetting him! I simply asked him not to leave dirty socks on the floor. Its basic courtesy!

Oh, my dear, youre being far too fussy, her mother chided. All men are like that; youll have to learn to live with it. My own father was the same

Mum, please dont bring Granddad into this! Im tired of hearing that a woman must simply endure! She must, must! And what is a man supposed to do?

Mabel pressed the phone to her ear and paced the cramped London flat. Thomas had gone away on a work trip that morning, and she had hoped for a quiet day. Yet, as usual, her mother found a reason to ring and dish out advice.

A man should earn a living, a woman should keep the home tidy, her mother intoned solemnly. I spent my whole life cleaning up after your father and were still standing, healthy as ever.

Mum, I work fulltime too! I bring in as much as Thomas! Why should I also have to tidy up after him like Im looking after a child?

Because youre his wife. Thats the role weve always had. Dont be angry with an old woman; I only want the best for you.

Mabel exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

I know, Mum. Im just exhausted. Very tired.

Then rest. Put the cleaning off and lie down.

I cant. The mess is so bad my eyes hurt.

They said their goodbyes, and Mabel tossed the receiver onto the settee. She looked around; the flat truly needed a proper cleaning. Thomas had left a proper chaos before his departureclothes strewn about, a mountain of unwashed dishes in the kitchen, his shaving gear scattered across the bathroom sink.

Rolling up her sleeves, Mabel grabbed a rag and started in the kitchen, methodically washing plates, cups and pans. She wiped the tables, vacuumed the carpet, and by evening she was in the bedroom.

The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled, pillows on the floor. She began stripping the linens for the wash. Thomas always slept restlessly, tossing and shedding the covers, and she had grown used to it.

As she tugged at a sheet, it caught on something. She crouched, peered beneath the bed, and discovered a dusty corner where a plain cardboard box layonce a shoe box, now taped shut.

She shook the dust loose. The box was heavy and rustled when she moved it. No label marked its contents.

What is this? she muttered to herself.

She didnt recall ever seeing the box before. Thomas had never mentioned storing anything under the bed. Curiosity got the better of her.

She ripped the tape and lifted the lid. Inside were womens items: a pale pink blouse with a lacy collar, a silk blue scarf with a delicate pattern, dark brown leather gloves, a leatherbound notebook, and an old perfume bottle with a faded label.

She examined the blouse; the size was far larger than hers. She wore a size 12, and this was clearly a size 14 or 16. The style was antique, with ruffles and frills, nothing like the crisp shirts and business dresses she preferred.

She uncorked the perfume. A heavy, sweet, oriental scent hit her nosenothing like the light floral fragrances she usually favored.

Her heart hammered. Foreign womens belongings, hidden under her husbands bed.

She opened the notebook. On the first page, in unmistakably feminine script, was written: Marinas Diary.

Marina? Mabel flipped through the pages. The entries were short, dated, the latest entry from the 15th of March. She glanced at the calendareight months had passed.

Today he didnt call again. He promised but didnt. I wait and he stays silent. It hurts.

She turned the page back.

Met him at the café. He talked about the future, said everything would change soon. I believe him. I want to believe.

Another entry a week earlier:

He gave me this scarf. Said the blue suits me. Im happy.

Mabel slammed the notebook shut and dropped it back into the box. Her hands trembled. She thought of Thomas. He had another womanMarina.

She grabbed the phone and dialed Thomas. Long rings. He didnt answer. She tried again, and again. On the fifth ring he finally picked up, his voice still groggy.

Hello? Mabel, whats wrong? he asked.

Who is Marina?! she shouted.

Silence stretched long and heavy.

What? Thomas asked, confused.

Marina! Who is she? I found a box under the bed with her things! With a diary! Mabels voice cracked.

Another pause, then a weary sigh.

I cant talk now, he said quietly. Ill be back tomorrow, well discuss.

No! Now! Explain now! she pressed.

Not over the phone. Tomorrow, he replied before cutting the line.

Mabel stared at the dead screen, unable to believe he had just hung up. She tried calling againno answer. The line was dead.

She collapsed onto the bed, clutching her face. Tears welled and spilled, hot and scorching. Thomas had been seeing Marina while they lived together, giving her gifts, taking her to cafés, promising a future.

She wept until the tears ran dry, then went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and looked at herself in the mirrorpale, eyes swollen, hair a tangled mess.

Back in the bedroom she reopened the box, sorting through the items once more. The blouse was faded at the shoulders, the gloves worn at the fingertips, the perfume bottle halfempty.

She reopened the diary, reading the entries in order. They began three years earlier.

Met him in the park. We talked about books. Hes clever, wellread. I liked him.

Three years before their marriage, meaning Thomas had been seeing Marina for almost the entire time they had been together.

The later entries grew more tender, then increasingly desperate, ending with the March note about his missed call.

Mabel closed the diary, placed it back in the box, and sat on the floor, back against the bed, knees drawn up. What now? Divorce? A fight? Forgiveness? She didnt know. She simply sat in the empty flat, staring at a point on the wall.

The night passed sleeplessly; she rose, paced, lay down again. By morning her head throbbed, eyes gritty.

Thomas returned at noon, unlocking the door, dropping his bag in the hallway. Mabel was at the kitchen table, cup of tea steaming, the box on the surface.

Hello, Thomas said softly.

She said nothing, just looked at him.

He sat opposite, his gaze falling on the box.

Did you read it? he asked, nodding toward the diary.

Yes, she replied.

Everything?

Yes.

He ran a hand over his face, sighed.

Mabel, its not what you think.

What do you think? That Ive been cheated on for three years? That youve been seeing a Marina, promising her a future while living with me?

No, he shook his head. It wasnt an affair.

What then? A friendship? A chance meeting?

Marina was my first wife, Thomas exhaled.

Mabel froze. The teacup slipped, coffee spilling over the table.

What? she whispered.

My first wife. We married when I was twentyone, she was nineteen. We lived together a year, then divorced.

You never told me youd been married! Mabel sprang up. Never! I asked and you said no!

I kept it hidden because it hurt, Thomas said, dropping his head. Marina fell illcancer. We split because she didnt want me to waste my life on her. She said I should find happiness elsewhere while she fought her disease alone.

Mabel stood stunned, unable to speak. Thomas continued.

I never wanted a divorce. I swore Id stay, but she insisted. She filed first, and I left. Years later, after wed both moved on, she contacted me. She said she wanted to meet. Her treatment had worked, she looked different, older, with a deep sadness in her eyes.

He paused, swallowing.

We started meeting againjust coffee, walks, talking about her illness. I never told you because I feared hurting you. I never slept with her; there was no physical cheating. Emotionally, I was with her. I loved her, and I loved you in a different way.

Mabel felt tears surge again. You loved her.

I loved her. Shes part of my story, but I love you too. Not the same, but love nonetheless. He reached across the table; she pulled her hand back.

Whats happened to her? Why did the diary stop? she asked.

He fell silent, then whispered, She died eight months ago. The disease returned and the doctors could do nothing. It was sudden.

Mabel covered her face with her hands, disbelief flooding her. Her husband had been caring for a dying exwife while living with her, sleeping in the same bed, saying I love you.

Why didnt you tell me? she asked through sobs. Why keep it hidden?

Because I was scared. I feared youd leave, that Id lose you. I knew it was wrong, that I was deceiving both of you, but I couldnt abandon Marina when she was alone. And I could not lose you.

Mabel rose, voice shaking. So you chose deception. To lie to me, to lie to her, to play a double game.

It wasnt a game! Thomas shouted. I was trying to save something! Doctors said she had at most a year. I wanted her to have that last year with someone who cared.

On my account?! Mabel cried. You gave her hope, and fed me lies! Three years of lies! You said you were working late, on trips, when you were with her!

It wasnt fulltime! I saw her once a week, a couple of hours!

But you thought of her! Loved her! And I was just a backup!

Youre not a backup! Thomas grabbed her shoulders. Youre my wife! I chose you! I married you! We live together! Marina is the past!

The past you kept in a box under the bed! Mabel ripped. The past you never let go of!

They stood, breathing heavily, eyes locked.

I dont know what to say, Thomas finally murmured. Im guilty of everything. I should have told you from the start. I was terrified. Ive lost your trust. Forgive me, if you can.

Mabel walked to the table, lifted the box.

Why keep it? she asked. If shes dead, why these things?

Its all thats left of her, Thomas said, looking at the box. When she passed, I took a few things from her flatthe blouse Id given her, the scarf, the gloves, her perfume, her diary. I hid them so you wouldnt find them.

But I did, Mabel said, setting the box back down. Now I dont know what to do with it.

What do you want to do? Thomas asked quietly.

Mabel was silent for a long while, then answered, I need time. To think. To decide whether I can trust you again. Whether I can live with a man who lied to me for three years.

How long?

I dont know. A week, a month, perhaps longer.

Alright, Thomas nodded. Ill wait. Whatever you need.

He gathered his bag and left. Mabel remained alone, sat on the sofa, and opened Marinas diary to the final page. After the last entry, a few shaky lines were written:

If youre reading this, Im gone. Forgive me for not letting you go fully. I was selfish, but I was alone and terrified. You were the light in my darkness. Thank you for everything. Be happy. You deserve it. And look after your wife. Marina

Mabel closed the diary, placed it back in the box, curled up on the sofa, knees to her chest, and weptfor Marina, who died alone clutching a phantom love; for Thomas, torn between two women; and for herself, betrayed and hurt.

Gradually the tears dried, and a strange understanding settled in. Thomas had not cheated in the ordinary sense; he had tried to help a dying woman, albeit by deception and at great cost to his marriage.

She dialed Thomass number.

Hello? his voice answered instantly.

Come over, she said. We need to talkproperly.

He arrived twenty minutes later. They sat together on the sofa, hands clasped.

I read the last entry Marina wrote before she died, Mabel said.

I never read her diary, Thomas admitted. I was afraid. I hid it.

She asked you to be happy and to look after me, Mabel replied.

Thomas stayed silent, squeezing her hand.

I cant say Ive fully forgiven you, she continued. It hurts, deeply. But I see why you did what you did. That doesnt excuse it, yet it explains it.

Mabel he began.

Let me finish. I need time to trust you again, to believe you chose me, not just her memory. Can you wait?

For as long as it takes, he said. Ill wait.

They held each others hands for a long while. Eventually Mabel rose, picked up the box.

What will you do with it? she asked.

I dont know. Keep it? Let it go?

Lets take it to her grave. Lay it there, so it belongs to her, not to us.

Thomas looked at the box, then nodded.

A good thought.

The following Saturday they drove to the cemetery, found Marinas modest headstone with a simple cross. Thomas placed the box at its foot and stood, staring at the name.

Forgive me, he whispered. For everything.

Mabel stood beside him, hand in his, feeling an odd calm. The past was laid to rest, and the future lay ahead.

Back home life settled gradually. Thomas became more open, honest, and attentive. Mabel learned, step by step, to trust again.

One evening, over tea in the kitchen, Thomas said, Thank you for staying.

And thank you for finally being honest, even if it was late, Mabel replied, smiling.

They laughed together, and Mabel realized they would manage. Love, after all, isnt about perfection but about forgiveness, understanding, and walking forward together.

The box that once threatened to shatter their marriage became a lesson: the past cannot be hidden forever; it must be faced, released, and then life can move on.