I froze. For a moment, I wondered if I had heard him right. I felt panic grip me by the throat, choking the oxygen out my brain. It didn't occur to me to lie.

He was sitting on our sofa, very still, expectant, waiting for an answer.

"I haven't told anyone who wasn't involved," I stammered. "I - I'm not very proud of it. In fact, I'm quite ashamed of it." I took a gulp of air. I had to ask. "How did you find out?"

He tossed a battered black notebook at my feet. It landed on its spine, and the pages swung open to reveal my untidy scrawl. It was a diary, one of many I had started years ago, scribbled in devotedly for a couple of months, then abandoned as life's events overtook my interest in writing them down. We had parted in a hurry, my confidante stuffed under my mattress as the new object of my affections slid unannounced through my bedroom door. I remembered a vague feeling of guilt, which was qu...

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