Reader, I Married Him

Last night I cried in his arms.

I can't get anything right, I said. I'm so frustrated, I said. I'm so guilty that I'm so frustrated, I said. I'm losing my patience too many times a day. I adore her but...

You're tired, he said. You've been ill, he said. You've been tired since you were ill, he said.

Let's go to the seaside tomorrow, he said. Early. Before I go to work.

So we did.

And as they stood by the shore and threw stones, I turned to him: I need to walk. Just a few minutes, I said. Go, he said.

So I did.

Up onto the shore walk, past the beach huts, running into the wind. Passed an ageing woman, bent double with her metal detector to the pebble stones. What might she find, I wondered. What treasure? None compared to my two, big and small, chatting by the shore.

I went on, past a woman pushing a pram and another with her dogs. Smiled vaguely, pushing on, relishing my own company and the sharp, low, winter sun. There's nothing like a beach resort out of season.

I returned soon enough to my two. We found a hotel with leather sofas and ordered coffee and crumpets and early Christmas muffins spiced with ginger. I felt refreshed; truly alive for the first time in too long. It's nice to see that smile, said the Bim.

This day is why I married this man. To be this known, this seen.
Knocks the rest into a cocked hat.