*Diary Entry – October 15th*
A bitter autumn rain drummed against the rooftops of Manchester, as if mourning the faded warmth of summer. The sound clawed Katy from her restless sleep. Outside, the world was still dark despite the clock nearing seven. She lay there, watching the downpour smudge the outlines of houses and trees into a watercolour blur.
How was she meant to send Lily to school in this? Perhaps let her sleep? The girl had coughed lightly the day before.
“Bloody freezing,” Katy muttered, curling tighter under the duvet.
She’d grown used to morning chatter with her husband. Now there was only silence, but the habit lingered. The heating hadn’t kicked in yet, and the cold gnawed at her bones. She tugged the blankets higher, willing sleep to return. Half an hour passed. It wouldn’t. Guilt won—Lily had to be up.
With a sigh, she flicked the kettle on, roused her daughter, and went to make breakfast. The fridge was nearly empty—no cheese, no ham for sandwiches. Just jam on toast. Lately, she couldn’t be bothered with shopping. The fridge had been “widowed” for weeks.
Once she’d bundled Lily into a thick coat, Katy shut the door behind her and hunted for her favourite scarf, the one with magnolia blooms. Gone. She retreated under the covers.
The rain amplified the sadness that had clung to her for three months. Since Tom left. First, they’d met over divorce papers, then not at all. He sent child support on time, called Lily, took her out. But Katy avoided him, afraid one glance might shatter the fragile wall she’d built.
She told herself she was fine. Smiled at colleagues, got a haircut, even dyed it. But was she?
At first, she’d wanted to purge the flat of anything that reminded her of Tom. Yet his things remained—souvenirs, his cologne, that stupid “World’s Best Dad” mug. Packing them away hurt, but the ache brought a strange relief. Self-pity had become ritual.
Every chore unearthed memories. A bracelet from Brighton, bought after they’d climbed the pier only to find a tacky gift shop. The headphones he’d given her for Mother’s Day, joking, “Women love music more than diamonds, and these won’t bankrupt me.”
And the smell. His cologne haunted her—on clothes, scarves. For a breath, she’d be back: family, dreams, laughter. Then the scent would fade, and reality returned. No family. No dreams. Just routine: work, home, Lily.
She avoided friends. They’d been shared with Tom, and without him, their pity was unbearable.
“Such a shame—you two were perfect.”
She knew how perfect they’d been. Past tense.
Tom had someone new. That’s why they’d split. His offshore work—once a blessing, paying the mortgage, the car—had stolen him.
She still remembered the call. A woman’s voice, dripping with false sympathy: “I’m sorry, but your husband’s been unfaithful.” Tom hadn’t denied it. Just sat on the sofa, face in his hands, then left for his parents’.
The next day, while Lily was at school, he returned.
“Katy, I can’t live without you. It was a mistake. If we start over—”
“No, Tom.” Her voice was steady, tears locked away. “We promised honesty. You broke that. Go.”
It was quiet, almost clinical. He explained things to Lily, moved his belongings out, and returned to his rig. Probably to *her*. Katy didn’t want details. The other woman tried to message; Katy blocked her. Why invite more pain?
Four months she’d spent proving she could manage alone. She never asked about Tom’s life. Surely he was happy.
But her in-laws were solid—especially Geoff. When she’d first met them, young and shy, he’d folded her into the family, made her feel welcome. Understood her better than most.
She suspected he’d told his wife not to meddle, not to beg forgiveness. They’d accepted the divorce but still treated Katy and Lily as family.
That rainy afternoon, a knock came. Katy opened the door to find Geoff on the step, dripping.
“Alright, love?”
“Geoff! Come in—let me get changed, put the kettle on.”
He waved her off. “Sit. Got a story for you. Tom was six when Linda and I split.”
“Split? But you’re—”
“Together now, aye. Even remarried. But back then? I fancied a lass at the docks. Left. Couldn’t hack it without my family. And your Tom? He’s the same. Lost without you.”
Katy scoffed. “He’s got his *lass*.”
“Has he hell,” Geoff grunted. “Quit that rig straight off. Lives with us, but he’s a ghost. Walks past your window every night. And your scarf—the magnolia one? Found it in his pocket. Lad’s drowning, Katy. Loves you. Linda’s beside herself—thinks he’ll hit the bottle.”
He drained his tea, shoulders heavy. Not one to interfere, but this was his boy.
“Right, I’m off. Up to you, love. Forgiving’s hard. Near impossible. But a man who messes up once? He learns. Guards what’s his. Tom’s that sort. Don’t tell him I came, eh?”
She nodded.
After he left, she stared at the ceiling. Forgive betrayal? How? Once a cheat… Yet the longer she thought, the clearer it became: she couldn’t. Couldn’t live with him, either. Too much pain.
That evening, the rain lashed harder, vengeful. Katy helped Lily with homework but kept slipping.
“Mum, what’s wrong?”
“Need air, love.”
“You’re mad—it’s pouring!”
“I’ll take an umbrella.”
By the playground, an old oak stood nearly bare. Beneath it, a man hunched against the trunk, soaked to the skin. His car idled nearby, but he didn’t move. Clutched in his fist, half-hidden under his jacket—a magnolia-patterned scarf.
“Tom!”
At first, he thought the rain whispered his name.
“*Tom!*”
He turned. Katy stood there. Months of rehearsed words evaporated.
“Come home. Let’s have tea. You’ll catch your death.”
“Katy, I— Your scarf. Took it by mistake.” He fumbled, tongue-tied.
“Good it’s found,” she said softly. “I’ve decided, Tom. Let’s try again.”
He wasn’t good with apologies, but the look in his eyes—raw hope, regret—made forgiveness feel possible.
“I love you, Katy. Both of you. Thank you.”
Let the scarf be their truce. Let the rain wash the rest away.
*Lesson learned: Some wounds don’t heal clean, but that doesn’t mean they’re meant to bleed forever.*