On my husbands birthday, my son pointed at the guests and suddenly cried out, “Thats her! Shes wearing that skirt!”
I couldnt refuse him.
“Please, Mum,” he pleaded. “I promised my friends Id bring the blanket and the juice boxes. And I told them youd make those caramel chocolate biscuits too.”
So, being the good mother I was, I started searching. Old suitcases, tangled cables, broken fans from summers long gone. And then, tucked away in a corner, I spotted it.
A black boxelegant, square, hidden like a secret. I wasnt usually nosy, but I couldnt resist. I pulled it out, sat on the carpet, and slowly lifted the lid.
My breath caught.
Inside was a satin skirtdeep violet, soft as a whisper, with delicate embroidery along the hem. Sophisticated. Beautiful.
And familiar.
Id shown it to my husband, James, months earlier while strolling through town. Wed passed a boutique, and Id pointed at it in the window. “Too extravagant,” Id said, though deep down, Id hoped hed remember.
“You deserve something luxurious now and then,” hed chuckled.
So, when I saw the skirt, carefully folded in tissue paper inside that box, I knew. It had to be my birthday gift. A quiet joy settled over me. Maybe things were still good between us.
Not wanting to ruin the surprise, I closed the box, put it back, and handed my son, Oliver, an old blanket. I even bought a blouse to match the skirt, tucking it away in my drawer, waiting for the right moment.
My birthday arrived. Family gathered. James handed me a wrapped gift with a boyish grin.
Books.
A lovely stack of carefully chosen novelsbut no sign of the skirt. Not a word about it.
I waited. Maybe he was saving it for a special dinner, just the two of us.
That moment never came.
Days later, I sneaked back into the cupboard for another look. But the box was gone. Just like that. Without a trace.
Still, I said nothing. I didnt want to be the wife who doubted, who jumped to conclusions.
Hope keeps us standing, even when we know better.
Three months passed. No sign of the skirt. No word. Just silence.
Then one afternoon, as I baked lemon cakes for a wedding order, Oliver walked into the kitchen. His eyes darted nervously, shoulders tense.
“Mum?” he said quietly. “I have to tell you something. About that skirt.”
I set the spatula down.
“I know Dad bought it,” he began. “When we went to the shopping centre for my football boots, he told me to wait outside. Said he had something to pick up.”
My stomach twisted.
“Then one day,” he continued, “I skipped school for a bit. Came home early to grab my skateboard but I heard voices upstairs. Thought it was you and Dad.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“But youre never home at that time. I got scared. Hid under the bed.”
My heart ached for him.
“She laughed, Mum. It wasnt you. I saw her legs. She was wearing the skirt.”
I froze, the room tilting around me.
Then I pulled him into my arms.
No child should carry such a secret.
Days later, I hosted Jamess birthday party. I cooked, cleaned, smiled.
I wore a navy-blue dress and red lipstick. I put on the heels I always regret after an hour. And I played the partthe gracious wife, the warm host, the steady pillar.
Inside, I was crumbling.
The party buzzed with chatter and music until Oliver tugged my sleeve.
“Mum,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Its her. The skirt. Shes wearing it.”
I followed his gaze.
Emily.
Jamess assistant. She stood by the wine table, glowing, confident in that unmistakable violet satin skirt.
The one hed hidden.
The one Id thought was for me.
She stood beside her husband, Daniel, glass in hand, beaming.
I picked up a tray of canapés and walked toward them with a smile.
“Emily! That skirt suits you beautifully. Where did you find it?”
She blinked, surprised. “Oh thank you. It was a gift.”
“How lovely,” I said sweetly. “FunnyI had one just like it. Found it in the house once. Then it vanished.”
Her smile faltered.
Across the room, James watched, frozen.
“Daniel!” I called. “Come join us! We were admiring Emilys skirt. You too, James!”
The four of us stood in an awkward circle. Emilys hand trembled on her glass. Daniel looked confused. James seemed shattered.
“I loved that skirt,” I said softly. “I thought it was meant for me. But now I see it was meant for someone else.”
James cleared his throat. “I gave it to Emily. As a bonus. For her excellent work.”
“How thoughtful,” I replied calmly. “For her work performance or for her lunchtime visits to our bedroom?”
Silence.
Daniel stepped back from Emily. Her eyes filled with shame, and I stood there, knowing my life would now be mine alone.
Some things are never truly lostjust misplaced, until the moment they reveal the truth we always feared.
