You read about yourself in your brother/sister, girlfriend/boyfriend’s diary. What did you read?
He knew he shouldn’t read it. It was private, her own personal diary. She was always scribbling away in it, telling her secrets to it’s pages. It was rare that she left it, but there it was, sitting on the dresser beside their bed. She must have forgotten to put it in her bag when she left. He picked it up without really thinking, just quickly flipping through the pages. He didn’t intend to read it, but something caught his eye as he flicked past a page. His name. Curiosity got the better of him and he scanned the page for where he saw it.
Peter can never know.
His stomach lurched. What was he not supposed to know? What wasn’t she telling him? His eyes jumped to the top of the page. It was dated last Sunday.
I made a mistake last night, the entry started, or I think I did. It should be a mistake, but I’m not sure. You’re supposed to regret a mistake, but I don’t think I do regret it. It felt so completely right, exactly like I imagined it would. His lips, his hands, his skin, it was all so perfect. Peter can never know. It would kill him. I know it was wrong and I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not sure I can stop myself from doing it again.
Peter stopped reading. He felt sick. Was this a joke? It had to be. Had she left the diary here, knowing he would read it and wanted to punish him for it? He hoped so with every fibre of his being, because if it wasn’t, if it was real, then his life was going to collapse around him. Had she slept with someone else? It seemed so to him from the way she wrote. He didn’t even know who the guy could be, she hadn’t mentioned a name. He looked back on other entries and saw her writing about a man she knew, about how he looked, how happy she was when she saw him, how she thought about him, how he could turn her on with only a smile, but no name. She had been thinking about him for weeks. He couldn’t read too much, her fantasies about this mystery man made him nauseous. He couldn’t believe his perfect wife, the woman he loved more than he thought was possible, had been having these thoughts about someone else, and had acted on them. What was he going to do? Confront her?
He jumped when he heard her keys in the front door. He placed the diary back on the dresser and prepared himself to greet her.