Monday, 11 February 2019

A difficult Conversation

This is a work of fiction

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One of the most difficult conversation I had with my wife has something to do with her hen’s night party.

Her last night out with her girl-friends.

We are all young once and knowing full well what I did on my stag night, I always wondered what my wife did for hers.



There was an unspoken agreement between us before we got married.

Whatever happens on that night belongs to each of us and us only. Neither of us shall ever ask the other what happened.

Sure, the initial years were good. The honeymoon period even better. Sex was amazing and we chose not to have kids, spending our time and money travelling around the world.

Eventually by the 6th year of our marriage, things started to get a little monotonous. By then, everything had settled more or less into a routine.



I love my wife Grace very much and I have no doubt of her feelings for me.

During these 6 years, we shared countless conversation ranging from retirement to starting a family and even the possibility of relocating to another country.

Both of us have a very rational school of thoughts when it comes to major decisions, more often than not, we embark on a very fact base line of reasoning.
People around us might think we are quarrelling but we’re not.
It’s just us having an engaging conversation.


There is no taboo topic, nothing too sensitive, and nothing is out of bounds except that faithful night of course.

It happened during a short holiday we took to a neighbouring country.


Grace and I packed for a beachfront and relaxing resort holiday like the many we’ve been to. This one is no exception.

I plan to slowly broach the subject and get a gauge on her reaction before pressing further.

Why ?

Why would I want to do that especially it’s something in the past ?

What can you do even if you do know what happened ?

That’s true on many counts but it’s that itch of curiosity. That small itch that slowly grows on you when you don’t scratch it.

Now, I’ve mentioned earlier that Grace and I are very rational people. We don’t do things without a reason and there surely must be something that pique my curiosity why I would be interested to find out more on what happened.



There must be a trigger.

Something that tells me that something happened that night.

Something other than the gathering with her sisters, the spa treatment, the nice dinner and drinks at the pub. All of which are proudly documented on social media.

All up until 1am that faithful night.

Everything went dark after that.


You might think I’m reading a lot into it but when a series of curious incident  all happen at the same time, you know something is up.


A friend of mine who works in a private hospital in town told me he saw my then fiancé, Grace at the hospital with her parents the day after the party.

My in laws have some health issues, I wouldn’t read much into it.



However when having dinner the day after Grace’s hens night, my mother in law to be showed me her new smart phone, asking about some new functions. I chanced upon something in the call log.

There was a call log for 5am in the morning.

Again, nothing wrong with a daughter calling her mother but 5 calls has to mean something.

Nevermind. It could mean anything.

Then I saw another number, or rather, another name. Christine, Bridesmaid to be on the call log, I knew something is up.



Not only did Grace call her mum, her friend is also calling her.
3 missed calls there.

Fine. It’s my imagination.
I’m just thinking too much into this.

The final nail in the coffin came when I had a chance to see at Grace’s phone a week later.


You see, with the multitude of messaging apps available nowadays, we forgot something a lot more primitive. The SMS. Text messages.

The exact content of the message sent from my father in law to Grace is as follows ;


“ Ok. Calm down….. we’ll go pick you up…. Tell no one…. Not even James “


That was it.



Exactly what happened on her hen’s night that warrant that number of missed calls, I don’t know.
It has to be something big.


Something big enough for my future in laws to want to hide it from me 6 weeks before our wedding.




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