Why!

My darling Joyce had a few strange,maybe just odd,ideas.We had a friendship that blossomed into love,then became an affair.My marriage had ended,hers had almost died.I'd given her a key to my flat and even though we might go days without seeing each other I always knew when she had been there.We both smoked yet there was never a dirty ashtray,drank coffee,but never a cup left for me to wash.My bed was always as I left it,but as a poet put it,and better than I ever could."The lily she held,in her hands as she passed by,left her fragrance here."
She,at times,might leave a note,I a letter or a poem,usually written in the early hours of that morning.Maybe foolishly,she kept these romantic ramblings in her purse,where one day Alf found them.It must have been weeks later when,during an argument or after some harsh words,I don't know which,he told her that he had found and read them.She was having the affair yet,"how dare he read her private letters!"
Things must have become more awkward between them after that because a few weeks later Alf told her that she had to make a decision,him or me.But why,couldn't he see that she still loved him.Alright,she needed me or what we had,but that didn't alter how she felt about him.Why couldn't she have both of us,she had enough love for both.
A couple of days later she phoned to ask me to come and bring her home,and that evening was the first we shared a bed,knowing that the next morning she would still be there.
The strange thing was that Alf had flu,and next morning Joyce showered,dressed,kissed me,then went round to see how he was.She remade his bed,made some hot lemon drink and some soup,and continued  doing this until he was better.A couple of years later when Alf remarried,she made sure their son was up,scrubbed,dressed,with a tie,and at the church in time.
Joyce was one wonderful woman,and its lucky this isn't on paper.