Andrew No Longer Recognised His Wife—He Couldn’t Understand What Was Happening to Her. Vera Had Always Cleaned, Cooked, and Ironed, But Now She Had Stopped Doing Her Usual Chores. Andrew Cautiously Asked What Was Going On, to Which Vera Replied: “I’ve Spent So Many Years Looking After You, Can’t I Have a Little Rest?” Suspecting Vera Might Be Seeing Someone Else, Andrew Decided to Check His Wife’s Belongings. Suddenly, Inside Vera’s Bag, Andrew Noticed a Strange Letter

John hardly recognised his wife these days, and he couldnt quite comprehend what was happening to her. Fiona had always kept a tidy home, cooked meals, and pressed his shirts, but now she had stopped doing everything she once did. Cautiously, John asked her what the matter was, to which Fiona replied, Ive been waiting on you lot for years. Can I not have even a little rest?

John immediately began to suspect Fiona of having met someone else, and resolved to check through her belongings. That was when he spotted a strange letter tucked away in her handbag.

John hardly knew his own wifewhat on earth was happening to her, he simply couldnt fathom. They had been together for seventeen years, and in all that time she had never changedalways kind and understanding, never flying off the handle or hiding anything, which was exactly why he had fallen for her. Shed always have porridge or eggs ready for breakfast, raced home from work to get dinner on, and spent every Sunday afternoon ironing precisely fifteen shirtsa fresh one each day for him and their two boys, though, truth be told, the lads muddled through with two or three for the week. It had proved impossible to school the boys into the same neatness that set John apart.

Now it had been two weeks of cereal or toast for breakfast, with Fiona proposing they make their own. For dinner, if they were lucky, theyd have the remains of yesterdays lunch, otherwise just a scribbled note on the counter: Back after ninepop the pies in the oven.

John chalked the first few days up to some conference Fionas college was holding, but when the conference ended and their usual routine didnt return, his concerns grew.

Hesitantly, John asked what was wrong. Fionas reply was blunt:
Cant I have a life of my own? Ive been seeing to you three for years. Cant I have a bit of a break?

Of course you can, thats perfectly fair, John replied.

He wanted to ask how long this bit of a break was meant to last, but lost his nerve. Time passed, and Fiona was still out, one day at the cinema, another at the theatre, or off to some exhibition. And John didnt like that his wifes wardrobe now featured daring dresses, nor that instead of making breakfast shed be upstairs putting on her mascara and lipstick. Dark suspicions crept inhad his wife found another man?

He was ashamed of what he was thinking, but anxiety got the better of him. He began watching her closely, checking her phone and her card statements, and at last, rifled through her handbag. There, in a hidden pocket, he found a lettercreased, faded, and evidently reread many times. Clearly a love letter, with words only a most intimate acquaintance would have written. Fiona, I miss you terribly, I have no words to say how long these days seem without you. I hear your voice everywhere, search for your laughter and never find it…

The reading was unpleasant. Judging by its worn state, this affair had gone on for quite some time, which stung all the morehe couldve forgiven a mere fleeting fancy with a visiting colleague, perhaps, but this? Was all their married life just a lie?

For three days, John kept silent, broodinghow many temptations had he withstood, how many chances to stray, but never had he once betrayed his wife. The third day, he cracked.

I know everything, he said, in a low voice.

Know what? Fiona looked at him, surprised.

Her tone was calm, just slightly bewildered, but John was convincedhed read the letter himself, there could be no mistake.

Youve found someone else, he didnt so much ask as accuse.

Fiona laughed.

What nonsense, John. You cant be serious?

Had she confessed and wept, at least that would have been somethingbut this

I read the letter! John declared. Who do you take me for? People dont write things like: I cant wait for the day were together again, our souls destined to walk side by side until the end of time unless they mean it. He spat the words.

And Fiona laughed again, which he found infuriating.

Are you being serious? she asked.

And what about you?

John glowered at her, breathing heavily.

So, you went through my handbag?

Yes.

And read the letter?

Yes.

And dont you remember, it was you who wrote it?

Yes. Waitwhat? The sense of it dawned on John slowly.

You wrote that letter, John! When you were away with work, and I was left home with little Sam. Ring any bells?

You dont think Id know my own handwriting? And I couldnt have written anything like that!

With a sigh, Fiona pulled up a stool, fished a box down from the top shelf, opened it, and began rifling through. Presently, she produced an envelope and handed it to John.

Go on, look. Your hand was injured, you wrote with your left.

He read the address on the envelopeand sure enough, it was from him, another town, and the writing, although crooked, was his, from when hed sprained his wrist working the building site. It really had been then?

And why do you still carry that letter about? he asked, sulkily.

My counsellor advised it, Fiona said, matter-of-factly.

Counsellor?

Yes, John. Im tired. Ive been looking after you and the boys all my life. Since Sam was born I havent truly had a life of my own. I barely ever get a thank you, let alone a bunch of flowers or kind words. You give me flowers, always and only on Mothers Day, and I can scarcely recall the last time you said you loved me. But Im not so old yet as all that. Ill admit, Ive thought about leaving. But our family is a good oneI do value it. So I went to see a specialist. She gives me advice, and I try to follow it.

Her admission startled John. Leave him? She wanted a divorce?

Do her suggestions help? he managed to ask.

Sometimes, she smiled softly.

And the letters?

They remind me we once loved one another.

John nodded, needing to think. He slipped out to the small balcony. They never spoke of it again.

***

In the morning, when Fiona awoke, the house was strangely lively and smelled of vanilla. She was bemused until she stepped into the kitchen.

Her eldest son was making scrambled eggs. The youngest was laying out scones on plates. On the table, her favourite flowers were arranged in a vase.

Whats all this? she asked in astonishment.

Good morning, Mum, the youngest called out. What can I get youtea or coffee?

Fiona could hardly believe her eyes, nor her ears.

Coffee, please.

And eggs or scones?

Scones

Her husband was nowhere to be seen, but Fiona understood well enough who was behind all this. When she took her first mouthful, John entered, handing her a folded piece of paper.

Good morning, my dear!

Whats this? she asked.

A new letter, John smiled. Maybe this time itll do the trick.

Fiona smiled backand from that day, life was good again. No, not every morning brought such breakfastsmiracles are rare in this world, after allbut sometimes they did. And now, when she went to the cinema, John gladly came along. The marriage was saved.