I Thought I Was Taking Back My Life. Instead, I Lit the Match That Burned It Down.
Three weeks ago, I packed my bagsnot in secret, not in haste. I did it after standing before fifty of my husbands kin at their family gathering and declaring I was leaving him for a colleague.
It wasnt a rash choice. My husband had been out of work for eight months. Not made redundant. Sacked. For turning up drunk to his job at the warehouse. Again. He swore hed find something, but his days were spent gaming while I worked double shifts at the pub, barely keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table.
The barman had joined six months prior. Clever. Driven. Actually owned his own car instead of borrowing mine. Wed chat during quiet hours, then text, then meet after closing.
One evening, in his flat, he looked at me and said, “You deserve a man who can provide. Not some layabout glued to a screen.”
I believed him.
The reunion was at my mother-in-laws home in Kent. The garden was brimming with relatives, laughter, and fold-out chairs. My husband was boasting about some online game hed won. His uncle asked if hed had any luck finding work.
“Close,” he lied. “A few promising leads.”
Id had enough.
“Actually, he hasnt sent out a single application in three months,” I said, rising from my seat. “Im done covering for him. Im leaving for someone with proper ambitionand a proper job.”
The garden fell silent. My husband went pale.
“Whatre you on about?” he asked.
I didnt hold back.
“Im talking about how youre a waster who cant even pay for the shopping. Ive found someone better. Someone who earns his keep instead of living off me.”
His sister gasped. His gran dropped her plate. My mother-in-law stormed across the grass and struck me across the cheek.
“Get out. Now.”
“With pleasure,” I shot back, my face stinging. “Enjoy coddling your useless son.”
I left with only my handbag. That night, I moved in with the barman. Posted online about my fresh start with a “real man.”
It lasted eight weeks.
Turns out, my colleague was also seeing the new barmaid. And one of the kitchen girls. I walked in on them in his bed when I came home early from a shift.
“You knew I wasnt the settling type,” he said, as if I were daft for expecting more.
I had nowhere to turn. My husband had changed the locks. My family said Id made my choice. The barman kept my share of the deposit on the flat wed meant to share.
Now Im at a roadside burger van. Minimum wage. No tips.
My husband landed a job with his mates building firm last month. Posted photos of his new van just yesterday.
The slap mark faded, but sometimes I still feel it. That moment I thought I was so clever, so above it all. When I torched every bridge for a man who saw me as just another distraction.
Hes still pulling pints at the old pub. Already has a new lass. I flip burgers and wonder if this is my comeuppance.
But standing there, shaming my husband in front of them allwas it necessary? Or was I just heartless?
