[15 June 2010]

It's happened just as Malcolm warned me it would. Ruth has regained her memory and is absolutely livid. I went round to see her tonight after work for the first time since I returned to work on Monday, and as she opened the door, I could tell from her face that something was very wrong.

"How could you do that to me, Harry?" she demanded, her blue eyes on fire. "How could you lie and manipulate me like that?"

I was speechless for a moment in shock before I found my voice. "I can explain," I pleaded. "Please, Ruth, let me explain."

"Explain?!" she spat at me. "You asked me and I said no! What is there to explain? You created a fairytale, a fantasy, hiding all the bits that didn't fit and manipulating me into sharing it with you, and it turns out, it was all a lie. George and Nico - you never so much as mentioned them. And you know what, I'm not surprised. He was ten times the man you'll ever be, Harry. He would never have done this to me. He was all that was good in this world, and because of you and bloody MI-5,he's dead. So no! I'll not listen to you and your attempts to justify the unspeakable, unforgivable things you did. Fuck you, Harry. I never want to see you again." And with that she slammed the door in my face.

She couldn't have hurt me more if she'd stabbed me straight through the heart with a knife. In fact, perhaps that would have been preferable; the pain would not have lasted long. But this - this agony - it's unbearable.

George – smart, kind, honest, dark, handsome, a good father, a good husband, and a doctor - the perfect anti-Harry. No wonder she chose him.

A lie. All of it a lie.

How could I have been so stupid?

[18 June 2010]

It's been three days and I still haven't heard from Ruth. I've tried to contact her, but she won't answer the phone or the door. Yesterday, I resorted to asking Beth to call on her, just to make sure she's all right, I was so worried.

She's fine apparently. She just doesn't want to speak to me. And I can't really blame her. What I did is unforgivable and the knowledge that I've brought this on myself makes it all so much harder to bear. If only I hadn't been so weak.

But at least now I know it wasn't a lie. Our feelings were real; I'm sure of it. And though perhaps Ruth wishes that this wasn't the case, that she didn't love me, I know better. She does love me though I can't blame her for trying to hurt me. All I ever seem to do is cause her pain though it's never my intention. Except these past few weeks. She was happy then. I made her happy.

And now it's over.

My house is empty, my life is empty and all that I have now is work.

Again.

Work and whisky.

Time for another drink. How many is it now? I've lost count.