**Diary Entry**
I cant believe what just happened. My husband walked out on me and our baby at Heathrow, deciding hed take our family holiday alone. Little did he know his relaxing getaway was about to become a waking nightmareand coming home would be far worse.
There I was, holding little Emily as she wailed, my arms stiff and a headache creeping in. Where on earth was James?
I rocked her gently, whispering, Shh, love. Its alright. Daddy will be back soon.
Except he wasnt. My phone buzzeda selfie of James, grinning like a fool on the plane.
*”Couldnt wait any longer. Needed this break. Ive been working my fingers to the bone. Catch the next flight,”* the message read.
My stomach dropped. Hed just left us?
You absolute berk, I muttered, staring at the screen.
Emilys cries sharpened, as if sensing my fury. I cradled her tighter, my mind spinning.
Come on, poppet, I murmured, more to steady myself than her. Were going home.
The taxi ride was a haze. I kept replaying his message, each time feeling fresh anger boil up.
Once home, I settled Emily for her nap and snatched up my phone. My thumb hovered over Jamess numberbut no. I needed a plan first.
Pacing the lounge, an idea struck. Perfect revenge.
With a grim smile, I rang his hotelThe Crown Inn.
Good afternoon, how may I assist? chirped the receptionist.
Yes, Im calling about my husbands booking. James W
After explaining, she was all too eager to help. Understood, madam. What would you like arranged?
I laid out my scheme, satisfaction curling in my chest.
Three wake-up callsdawn, 5 AM, and 7 AM? Of course. Random room service? Certainly. And every local tour booked? Consider it sorted.
Hanging up, I felt a flicker of guiltbut it didnt stop me.
I stormed into our room and began boxing up Jamess treasureshis PlayStation, his limited-edition vinyls, his Savile Row suits.
If he wants a solo holiday, he can have a solo life, I grunted, heaving the lot into the boot.
At the storage unit, I nearly laughed at the absurditya new mum, dumping her husbands things like some jilted teen.
Back home, I rang a locksmith. How quickly can you come? Its urgent.
While waiting, I checked my phone. More photos from Jameson Brighton Pier, in some posh bistro, at Stonehenge. But with each snap, he looked more ragged.
*Good. Let him squirm.*
The locksmith arrived, swapping the bolts in minutes. A twinge of doubt pricked mewas this too far?
Then I remembered that smug airport selfie, and my resolve stiffened.
—
The week crawled byEmilys routines, Jamess frantic messages pinging nonstop.
*”Lydia, whats going on? The hotel wont let me sleep!”*
*”Love, why am I signed up for bloody Morris dancing lessons?”*
I ignored every one. Let him rot in it.
Finally, his return day came. I collected him at arrivals, Emily gurgling in her car seat.
Hey, James said, shuffling into the car. Missed you both.
I kept my voice flat. Enjoy your holiday?
He sighed. It was eventful. Look, Im sorry about
Well talk at home, I cut in.
The drive was pure silence. Pulling up to the house, James frowned.
Did you do something to the door?
I unbuckled Emily, shrugging. Try your key and see.
He jiggled the lock, brow furrowing. Its not working. Lydia, whats this about?
I adjusted Emily on my hip, meeting his gaze coldly. Oh, your keys no good anymore. Must be what happens when you swan off alone. Hope it was worth ityoull need somewhere else to kip.
James paled. What? Lyd, come off it! It was just a lapse. I didnt think youd
Didnt think Id mind? I scoffed. You ditched your wife and baby at Heathrow!
I know, I know. It was selfish, he groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. But can we talk inside?
I shook my head. Nope. Your things are in storage. Youll get them back when you learn priorities.
His jaw slackened. My things? Lydia, be reasonable. Where am I meant to go?
Not my problem, I said, turning to unlock the door. You needed a break so badlyfigure it out.
As I stepped inside, James blurted, Wait! Justjust talk to me.
I paused. Part of me wanted to slam the door forever. But the part that still loved him hesitated.
I cracked it open. Five minutes.
We sat on the front steps, Emily babbling between us.
James exhaled roughly. I messed up. Properly. Work stress, the babyI panicked. But thats no excuse. Im sorry. To both of you.
I studied him for any false notes. Do you have any idea how it felt? Stranded with her?
He winced. Ive been sick over it since takeoff.
Then why not turn back? I pressed.
His shoulders slumped. Too ashamed. Scared of facing what Id done.
A flicker of pity stirred, but I wasnt done. And all those holiday snaps?
He cringed. Trying to convince myself it was fine. Truth? I was miserable without you.
Emily reached for him, and instinct made me pass her over. He cuddled her close, eyes glistening.
Sorry, sweetheart, he whispered. Daddy was a proper wally.
Watching them, my anger dulled. James, how do I trust you wont bolt again?
He looked up, earnest. Ill do anythingcounselling, whatever. I swear on my life, never again.
I sighed, the weeks weight pressing down. This wont be fixed overnight.
He nodded. Ill put in the work if youll have me.
Standing, I took Emily back. Alright. You can come in. But youre on the sofa, and we start therapy Monday.
Relief washed over his face. Ta, Lyd. Ill make this right.
As we stepped inside, I added, Oh, and check your bank. Those tours werent cheap.
James groaned, but smirked. Fair play.
—
Months of therapy chipped away at years of buried issues. Hard graft, but bit by bit, we rebuilt.
One evening, tucking Emily in, James turned to me. Cheers for giving me another shot. I know I didnt earn it.
I squeezed his hand. Everyone mucks up. Its what you do after that counts.
He pulled me into a hug. Love you, Lyd. Both of you. Next holiday, I swearperfect.
I chuckled. Lets start small. Picnic in Hyde Park?
As we stood there, watching our girl sleep, it hit mesometimes the worst betrayals, if youre willing to mend them, can knit you tighter than before.
