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

Mum, why do you always say that? Evelyn’s voice trembled on the edge of a breakdown. It’s the same argument every single time!

Evelyn, Im only trying to help! her mother wailed through the receiver. James is such a good man, why are you making a fuss?

Im not making a fuss! I just asked him not to leave dirty socks on the floor! Its common sense!

Oh, my dear, youre being far too fussy! Men are like that, you just have to get used to it! My own father was the same

Please, dont bring Granddad into it! Im tired of hearing that a woman is supposed to put up with everything! Supposed to, supposed to! And what is a man supposed to do?!

Evelyn pressed the phone to her ear, pacing the cramped London flat in circles. James had left on a work trip that morning, and she had hoped for a quiet day, but her mother, as always, found a reason to call and lecture.

A man should earn the bread, and a woman should keep the house tidy, her mother intoned. I spent my whole life cleaning up after your father, and were still alive and well.

Mum, I work full time too! I earn as much as James! Why should I also have to clean up after him like Im looking after a child?!

Because youre his wife. Thats the role we have. Evelyn, dont be angry with an old woman. I only want the best for you.

Evelyn exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

I know, Mum. Im just exhausted. So very exhausted.

Then rest. Put the cleaning aside, lie down.

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

They said goodbye, and Evelyn flung the handset onto the sofa. She looked around. The flat truly needed a thorough clean. James, before his departure, had left a hurricane of clutterclothes strewn everywhere, a mountain of unwashed dishes in the kitchen, his shaving kit scattered across the bathroom sink.

She rolled up her sleeves, grabbed a rag, and started at the kitchen, scrubbing plates, cups, pans methodically. She wiped down the tables, vacuumed the rug. By evening she made her way to the bedroom.

The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled, pillows on the floor. Evelyn began stripping the linens to toss in the wash. James always tossed and turned in his sleep, shedding the duvet. She was used to it.

When she tugged at a sheet it caught on something. She dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. In a dusty corner sat a plain cardboard box, the kind youd get when you buy a new pair of shoes, taped shut.

She brushed the dust off, lifted the heavy box, and felt something rustle inside. No label marked its contents.

What on earth? she muttered.

She didnt recognise the box. James had never mentioned storing anything under the bed. Curiosity won.

Evelyn tore off the tape and lifted the lid. Inside lay a collection of womens items: a palepink blouse with a lace collar, a silk scarf in sky blue with a delicate pattern, a pair of dark brown leather gloves, a leatherbound notebook, and an aged bottle of perfume with a faded label.

She unfolded the blouse; it was far too largeshe wore a size 12, this was clearly a size 16 or 18. The style was oldfashioned, full of ruffles, nothing like the crisp shirts and tailored dresses she preferred.

She spritzed the perfume. A heavy, sweet, oriental scent filled the airnothing like the light floral notes she usually wore.

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

Opening the notebook, the first page bore a handwritten title in a clearly female hand: Megans Diary.

Megan? Evelyn flipped through. The entries were short, dated, the last one from fifteen March. She glanced at the calendareight months had passed.

Today he didnt call again. He promised he would, but he didnt. I wait, and hes silent. It hurts.

She turned the page.

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

Another entry, a week earlier:

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

Evelyn slammed the notebook shut, dropping it back into the box. Her hands shook. The thoughts swirledJames, her James, had another woman. Megan.

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

Hello? Evelyn, whats wrong? he asked.

Who is Megan?! Evelyn shouted.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy.

What? James repeated.

Megan! Who is she? I found a box under the bed with her things! With a diary!

A pause, then a weary sigh.

Evelyn, I cant talk now, he said quietly. Ill be home tomorrow, we can discuss it then.

No! Now! Explain now!

Not over the phone. Tomorrow, he cut the call.

Evelyn stared at the screen as he hung up. The line went dead. She tried againnumber unavailable. James had switched his phone off.

She collapsed onto the bed, clutching her face, hot tears pouring down, burning her cheeks. James had been seeing Megan all this time, giving her gifts, promising a future, while living with Evelyn under one roof.

She wept until the tears ran dry, then splashed cold water on her face, stared at her reflection: pale skin, swollen red eyes, hair in disarraya tragic sight.

Back in the bedroom she lifted the box again, sifting through the items once more. The blouse was faded at the shoulders, the gloves worn at the fingertips, the perfume bottle scratched.

She reopened the diary, reading entry after entry, the earliest from three years ago:

Met him in the park. Talked about books. Hes intelligent, wellread. I liked him.

Three yearsEvelyn and James had been married five years already, meaning he had been cheating almost the entire time theyd been together.

The later pages were tender, naïve, full of Megans devotion. He promised soon, later, when I have time. The final entries were sorrowful:

He calls less now. Says hes busy, tired, work problems. I understand, but it hurts. I want to be near him, but he keeps me out of his life.

He didnt show up for our meeting. I waited two hours. He texted that hed forgotten an urgent matter. Forgot about me.

Im tired of waiting. Tired of believing. Maybe its time to let go. But how?

And then the diary stoppedright at the entry about him not calling.

Evelyn closed the notebook, placed it back in the box, sank onto the floor, back against the bed. Divorce? A fight? Forgiveness? She didnt know. She simply sat in the empty flat, knees drawn to her chest, staring into nothing.

The night passed without sleep. She rose, paced, lay down again. By morning her head throbbed, eyes stuck together with crust.

James returned at noon, unlocking the door with his keys, dropping his bag in the hallway. Evelyn was at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. The box sat on the table.

Hello, James said quietly.

She didnt answer, just stared.

He sat opposite her, eyes flicking to the box.

Did you read it? he nodded toward the diary.

I read it.

All of it?

All.

James rubbed his face, sighed.

Evelyn, its not what you think.

Then what do I think? she clenched her mug. That youve been seeing another woman for three years, promising a future, while living with me?

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

Then what? she raised her voice. A friendship? A chance encounter?

Megan she was my first wife, James exhaled.

Evelyn froze. The mug slipped, coffee spilling across the table.

What? she whispered.

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

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

It was painful, James lowered his head. She fell illcancer. We split because she didnt want me to waste my life on her. She said I should find someone else, be happy, while she fought the disease alone.

Evelyn stood, unable to speak. James continued:

I didnt want a divorce. I swore Id stay, that wed face everything together. But she insisted, filed for it herself. I left, she stayed.

And then? Evelyn asked, sitting back down.

I tried to move on. Worked, dated, but nothing felt right. A few years later I met you. Fell in love, married. Thought I could forget.

But you didnt forget, Evelyn finished for him.

I didnt. Megan contacted me three years ago. Said she wanted to meet. I drove out. Shed beaten the cancer, but she was older, frail, eyes full of sorrow

He paused, swallowed.

We started seeing each other. Just coffee, walks, talking about her treatment, her fears. I never told you because I was terrified of hurting you. I never crossed a line physically, but emotionally I was there for her.

So she wrote in that diary, hoping youd give her a future, Evelyn said bitterly. She thought youd be with her again.

Yes, James nodded. I lied to her about my marriage. I gave her gifts, tried to give her hope, but nothing more. I swear, Evelyn, I never cheated in the usual sense. There was no intimacy.

But emotionally you were with her, Evelyn felt tears rise again. You loved her.

I loved her. I still love her, in a way. Shes part of my past. But I love you too, just differently. he reached across the table, but Evelyn pulled her hand away.

Whats happening with her now? Why did the diary stop? she asked.

James fell silent, then softly:

She died eight months ago. The cancer returned. Doctors couldnt help. It was swift.

Evelyn covered her face with her hands. The truth hit like a sledgehammerJames had been caring for a dying exwife while living a normal life with her.

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

I was scared. Scared youd leave, scared Id be wrong. I knew I was deceiving both of you, but I couldnt abandon her when she needed me. And I couldnt lose you.

So you chose to lie, Evelyn stood, voice shaking. To play a double game.

I wasnt playing! James snapped, standing. I was trying to save something! Megan had a year left, doctors said. I wanted her to have a year not alone, to have hope!

At my expense! Evelyn shouted. You gave her hope, gave me lies! Three years of lies! You said you were on business trips, while you were with her!

I wasnt there every day! he protested. Just a few hours each week!

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

Youre not a backup! James grabbed her shoulders. Youre my wife! I chose you! I married you! I live with you! Megan is the past!

The past you kept in a box under the bed! Evelyn ripped, pointing at the box. The past you refused to let go!

They stood, breathing hard, eyes locked.

I dont know what to say, James finally whispered. Im guilty. I should have been honest from the start. I was terrified. Ive lost your trust. Forgive me, if you can.

Evelyn walked to the table, lifted the box.

Why keep this? she asked. If shes gone, why keep her things?

Its all thats left of her, James said, looking at the box. When she died I took a few things from her flat the blouse Id given her, the scarf, the gloves, the perfume, the diary she wanted me to read after she was gone. I couldnt throw them away. I hid them so you wouldnt find them.

But I did, Evelyn replied, placing the box back. And now I have no idea what to do with them.

What do you want to do? he asked quietly.

She lingered in silence, then:

I need time. To think. To decide if I can ever trust you again. To see if I can live with a man who lied for three years.

How much time? he asked.

I dont know. A week? A month? Maybe longer.

Whatever you need, James said, nodding. Ill wait.

He gathered his bag and left. Evelyn remained alone, sitting on the sofa, picking up Megans diary. She turned to the final page. After the last entry, a few trembling lines were written:

If youre reading this, Im no longer here. Forgive me for not letting you go sooner. I was selfish, but I was terrified and lonely. You were my light in darkness. Thank you for everything. Be happy. You deserve it. And look after your wife. Megan

Evelyn closed the diary, slipped it back into the box, curled into a ball on the sofa, and weptfor Megan, who died alone clutching a phantom love; for James, torn between two women; for herself, betrayed and broken.

Gradually the tears ebbed, and a strange clarity settled. James hadnt cheated in the physical sense; he had tried to ease a dying womans final days, albeit through deception.

She dialed James.

Hello? he answered immediately.

Come over, she said. We need to talk. Properly.

He arrived twenty minutes later. They sat side by side on the couch, hands intertwined.

I read the last entry of Megans diary, the one she wrote before she died, Evelyn said.

I never read it, James admitted. I was afraid, I hid it.

She wanted you to be happy. And to look after your wife.

James stayed silent, squeezing her hand.

I cant say I fully forgive you, she continued. It hurts. It still hurts. But I understand why you did it. That doesnt excuse it, but it explains it.

Evelyn he began.

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

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

They sat in lingering silence, hands clasped. Finally Evelyn 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 the cemetery. Lay it with her. Let it belong to her, not to us.

James looked at the box, then nodded.

Good idea.

On Saturday they drove to the small graveyard, found Megans modest stone marked with a simple cross. James placed the box at the foot of the headstone, stood and whispered:

Im sorry. For everything.

Evelyn stood beside him, hand in his. The ache softened. Megan was part of his past, not their future. Their future lay ahead.

Back home life settled slowly. James became more attentive, open, honest. Evelyn learned, step by step, to trust again.

One evening, at the kitchen table with tea between them, James said:

Thank you for staying. For giving us another chance.

Thank you for finally being honest, even if it was late, Evelyn replied, smiling faintly.

They shared a quiet laugh, realizing they could survive. The box once hidden under the bed had become a lesson: the past cannot be hidden forever; it must be faced, released, and then life can move forward.