My Wife's Secret

It's been a rough six months for me. That was how long ago my wife of 26 years passed due to cancer. The only love of my life, we were together since grade school. Always my best friend, it was her greatest worry that I could not live well without her; and she was right.

Oh, our daughter was a godsend, but she had her own life to lead and I wouldn't think of her spending time to mend mine. I spent the last six months buried in work, not because I liked it, but it eased the pain and loneliness. Now I've retired and the time goes by ever so slowly. I sold the house we lived in and bought a condo, first to live smaller and second, I did not want work or worries, like painting or mowing. I had a pension, savings, no bills, and a new car, everything we all strive for, except the being alone part.

Friends tried to help, though in most cases I was not overly receptive. The couples we knew together, now made me feel uneasy as they still had one another and I did not. My male widow or divorced friends were always trying to cheer me up by offering to party with me or regaling me with stories of their sexual or lack of, adventures. But the worst were the women friends of my late wife. If they were divorced or widowed themselves, it came across as them trying to make me the next conquest. Oh, it would start simply enough, let me drop off a casserole, your probably eating lousy. Or stop by for a full homemade dinner, or maybe we can go out and reminisce. The last thing I wanted was to go over stories of my wife with other people; it was way too personal and painful.

My one and only true friend was my daughter. Together with my wife we were a triad, strong when we were arm in arm in every way. She lived with my wife and me for the final year of her existence, and without her help I would not have survived. She reminded me so much of my wife, the way she walked and presented herself, her looks, even her attitude on life, if it makes you stumble, you just get up again and keep moving forward. I was different; I moped and fretted over little things, I made mountains out of mole hills, in other words, mostly the complete opposite of my girls. My wife's illness sapped us both, I noticed the aging of my daughter who looked 10 years older than she was, the forfeiture of her time and life, no dating, a lesser job for better hours, near home. So when my wife did die, it was for my daughter's benefit that I told her to go on with her life, even though she wanted to stay and help me regain my balance.

When I was finally alone, I decided to sort out the boxes of my wife's stuff before my move. My daughter had done the heavy lifting, which is the clothes, jewelry, and such. What I had were the knickknack stuff one accumulates over time. It was taking me a lot of time to sort, mostly as I picked things up; I recalled the time and event of when we got that object. The pictures were tough. Happy times with a smiling, gorgeous woman.

It was then that I found the diary. I never knew she used one, but I did recall her often writing things down in some kind of shorthand scribble, just not in this book. The key was taped on the bottom and after looking at it, I placed the book off to the side.

Curiosity got to me, and I retrieved the book and opened it. To my surprise, it started when she was a young child and relayed events during those times. Family holidays, vacations, birthdays etc. Then there was the first entry of me, seeing me in school, how cute I was and how she planned to drop her books in front of me, so I would pick them up and walk her home. Tears started to fall with the memory. I read her comments up thru high school and college, many including me, before I put the book up for the night.

I continued the next morning going thru stuff and didn't read the diary for the next several days. I started again where I left off, we finished school, and both got jobs and married. Her job was with an insurance firm that doesn't exist anymore, but she did have various entries in there. Mostly were of the friends she made and some reference to her work.

One notation was however somewhat odd. She described a male employee flirting as well as harassing her. This continued till she quit the firm, which was also the time she became pregnant. Turning to the next page, a folded piece of paper fell out which I retrieved from the floor. Opening it up and reading for the first time my breath and heart rate became rapid. The paper was from a lab which had her name, my name as well as our daughters, DNA profiles. Getting thru some of the jargon, it was apparent that the DNA's did not match. It became obviously clear that my daughter and wife were blood related but the sperm was of unknown origin. I was not the birth father.

The diary and note fell to the ground; I was in complete shock as this information sunk in. A major part of my life was a lie. My wife had cheated and lied to me, even taking it to the grave.

How could someone do that to a person you love? At this point I was physically sick and rushed into the bathroom to vomit.

Feeling somewhat better, I went back into the room, picked up the note and book and placed it on the chest of drawers. I quickly left the room and closed the door behind me.

Hitting the liquor cabinet, I poured myself a tall glass of Jack. Chugging it down, it was rapidly followed by one and then another. My mind was in constant turmoil and I felt like my world as well as my memories were under attack. Never once did my wife ever hint that our daughter was not mine or that she had anyone else in her life at that time. Trying to quell my anger, I went back into the room with the diary to see if there was or could be an explanation to this emotional crisis

.

Reading further along it was becoming evident that this was a dark chapter in my wife's life; the written words reflected despair, horror and turmoil.

She got pregnant; she knew it was not mine; should she terminate; should she go to term and adopt out. These were all spelled out in her journal. None of these words subjugated my anger; it just solidified my belief that I never really knew this woman at all.

Turning more pages while reading further, I received another jolt. There on the page was the explanation. While working in the insurance firm, the man that had been pestering her had requested her to stay late one night to complete a project. When all were gone, he came on to her, she rejected him, he became angry and he raped her.

Upon reading that, my anger dissipated and was replaced by remorse and pain for my wife.

She was a compassionate woman and after the rape, when the man apologized, and how it would hurt his family, she told him she would not report it if he would just leave her alone. The pages just dripped of her violation and how or could she even tell me. She knew that I would hunt this man down and kill him before I would ever report it to the police. She feared for our relationship as well as for my understanding for not reporting it. She detailed that whatever decision she would make would be rooted in love, both for the child and me.

I did get a sense of relief when reading further, the man who raped her, committed suicide a month later. She had not informed him of the pregnancy. The official view of the office was that he had emotional issues as well as financial ones. I felt relief that I would not have to hunt him down now, and happiness that he got what he deserved.

My attention focused again on my wife. Her journal revealed her struggles to what and how to do things. She wrote of taking pain killers and sleeping pills, all in a feeble try to help her cope. Thinking back to those times, I had thought that she struggled with the loss of her job and the unexpected pregnancy were playing havoc with her hormones. She had an extended period where she just was not herself. She did however seem pleased with my joy; we spoke often of children and how we felt we would be excellent parents. Her obvious pain was hidden behind the facade of my happiness.

Even though it was years later, her diary revealed that she never really came to grips with the rape, and when her cancer struck she felt it was retribution for her failures. I could not image the angst of her life at the point, believing that you were being punished for a sin you did not commit.

Her last entry, several weeks before her death when she was highly sedated and in hospice at home, was of her love for her child and me. How without our help and love, suicide was always in her mind, and only our belief in her sustained her from this bitter ending.

She also made a reference to dispose of her diary, so that its contents remained secure.

I replaced the diary in the box I first discovered it in.

A few days later our daughter called and I could recognize in her voice, distress and weariness. She asked if she could come over to talk and maybe she could cook something for us, or we could out. I so wanted to see her again and readily agreed. The diary still lay heavy on my heart, but I knew it would be something I could not discuss with my child. We both had been thru to much pain and heartache to endure anymore.

When my daughter arrived it was evident on her beautiful face, the stress that the past had caused. She asked for her benefit it she could move back in and try to get her life back in balance. Looking at her, I saw my wife at her age and somehow thought this could be a second life for my wife thru our child. I agreed that she was most welcome to stay as long as she wanted, this was her home also.

So over the last several weeks, my daughter and I have enjoyed each others company and shared mostly our joyous memories. We have begun to laugh and joke again. I have witnessed the age and solemn look leave my daughters face and a rebirth of her beauty and vitality. I made it my mission to restore this lovely young woman back to health.

Without any sexual relations, I feel I have both my wife and daughter back and feel truly blessed. My dark despair and own thought of ending it have been replaced by a desire to see my daughter emerge from the shadows.

Today I took a step further in our recovery. I had burned the diary as homage to my wife and took the ashes to the cemetery and placed them in a small urn on her grave.

Rest in peace my love, I will always love you. You made the right choice, our daughter is my gift and I thank you for it.