The Diary 750 Word Project

When I first married Katie, I was as happy as a man can be. Katie was, to me, a vision of the perfect woman. She was sweet, kind, very smart, and an absolute vision of beauty. She was a little shorter than average at 5'3", and was small at barely 90 pounds, but her smile could light my soul and her laugh filled my heart with joy.

In the "asset" category, she was petit with small breasts and ass, but very toned and shapely legs and the features of a goddess.

But what really got to me was her vibrant personality. She was smarter than me, and would regularly dominate any conversation about current events or about politics. She was both passionate and knowledgeable. I usually ignore those subjects, but I loved watching her dominate our friends whenever those topics came up, and they always seemed to come up.

She also had a number of idiosyncrasies that I found especially endearing. The way she made the bed every morning while I was in the shower; the way she always kissed me before leaving the room, or the house; and her diary.

From our first night together in her bed, after our second date, she always kept a diary. It was a cute little volume, clearly something she found in a specialty store for such things. Every night, from our first night together until well into our five-year marriage, she would take out her little diary and jot her daily notes just before turning the light out.

If I ever asked her about it, she would just give me her radiant smile and tell me that she wanted to keep track of details and wouldn't say anything more. I never pried. It wasn't something that bothered me, it was just another thing that made her special and that I loved about her.

Then about a year ago, things began to change. The first thing I noticed was that her diary disappeared. One evening she didn't take it out, and I was stunned. I didn't say anything. Maybe she didn't have any details to record for that day? But it didn't reappear. The change made a lump begin to form in my gut. I didn't know why, but I knew that there was a problem.

I also realized that that she wasn't giving me kisses as she left the room. It wasn't a complete cessation, but it was unquestionably less consistent.

Obviously, these aren't glaring red flags. In other ways she was her same old self. Still perky and chatty. Still dominating our friends in conversations. Still acting mostly normal.

But it wasn't normal. Not for her. As times passed, I tried to bring these things up. For some reason I didn't mention the diary, because that felt too obvious. But I asked about her changing demeanor, and she laughed me off, saying that it was all my imagination.

I pondered if perhaps it was, really, all in my head. But I couldn't shake my worries. I decided that I needed to find her diary.

I was convinced that she wouldn't have given it up. She might have stopped writing in it in our bedroom, but for her, a lifetime of habit wouldn't just stop. She must still be writing in it, and keeping it hidden somewhere less obvious.

One day while she was at the store, I ransacked the bedroom, the living room, her home office, and finally the bathroom vanity. I was very careful not to leave anything obviously disturbed, but I was very thorough. It was in the very back of the bottom drawer of the bathroom vanity, under a box of tampons.

His name was Phil Samson. Apparently, Katie had been having an affair with him for more than a year. He was married too, with a three year old son. Katie was torn between Phil and me. According to her diary, she still loved me, but she also loved Phil. Based on what she had written, if he had been single she might have left me for him.

There were too many details in her diary to think that it was a simple dalliance or a fling. She had fucked Phil at least as often as she had me for the past year. My heart was broken.

I would dearly miss her, her smile, and her laugh. When she got home from the store, my ring was sitting atop her diary, in the middle of our bed.