Honestly, I never planned to get married. If it hadnt been for my future husbands relentless pursuit, Id still be a free spirit, flitting about like a bird. Thomas was like a love-struck moth, fluttering around me, never letting me out of his sight, bending over backward to please meyou get the picture. Long story short, I gave in. We got married.
Thomas settled into domestic life straight away. He became familiar, comfortinglike a pair of well-worn slippers. A year later, our son Oliver was born. Thomas had a job in another town and only came home once a week, always bringing little treats for Oliver and me. One visit, as I was preparing to do the laundry, I checked all his pocketsforce of habit after accidentally washing his drivers license once. This time, a folded piece of paper fell out of his trousers. I unfolded it and read: a long list of school supplies (this was August). At the bottom, in a childs handwriting: *”Daddy, come home soon.”*
So thats how my husband spends his time away! A two-timer!
I didnt make a scene. I grabbed my bag, took Oliver (not even three yet) by the hand, and went to stay with Mum. For a long while. She gave us a little room: *”Stay here until you sort things out.”*
Revenge crossed my mind. I remembered an old schoolmate, Mark. Oh, Id give him a proper *romance*! Mark had never left me alone, not in school, not after. I called him.
*”Hi, Marky! Still single?”* I started casually.
*”Natalie? Blimey! Married, divorcedwhats the difference? Fancy meeting up?”* he perked up.
My little fling lasted six months. Thomas still brought child support every month, handing it to Mum in silence before leaving.
I knew he was living with Emma Carter. She had a daughter from a previous marriage and insisted the girl call Thomas “Daddy.” They all lived in his flat. The second Emma heard Id left, she packed up and moved in from another town. She adored himknitted him socks, sweaters, cooked him hearty meals. I found out later. Id spend the rest of my life throwing Emma in his face, but at the time, I thought our marriage was over, kaput.
Then, over coffee (discussing the divorce), Thomas and I were suddenly swamped by old memories. He confessed his undying love, admitted he had no clue how to get rid of clingy Emma. My heart broke for him. We reconciled. For the record, he never knew about Mark. Emma and her daughter left town for good.
Seven happy years passed. Then Thomas had a car accident. Surgeries, rehab, walking with a canetwo years of recovery that left him shattered. He started drinking heavily, became a shell of himself. My pleas fell on deaf ears. He refused help, dragging us all down.
Meanwhile, at work, I found a shoulder to cry onPaul. He listened to me in the break room, walked me home, comforted me. Paul was married, his wife expecting their second. I still dont know how we ended up in bed together. Madness! He was a head shorter, scrawnynot my type at all!
But off we wentgalleries, concerts, ballet. When his daughter was born, Paul cooled it, quit our company, and moved jobs. Out of sight, out of mind? I didnt cling; I let him go. He was just a Band-Aid for my heartache.
Thomas kept drinking.
Five years later, Paul and I bumped into each other. He seriously proposed. I laughed.
Thomas briefly pulled himself together, went to work in Ireland. I played the dutiful wife and mother, focused solely on family. He returned after six months. We renovated the flat, bought new gadgets, fixed his car. Life was gooduntil he relapsed. Hell began again. His mates carried him home; he couldnt walk. Id scour the neighborhood, finding him passed out on benches, pockets emptied, dragging him back.
Then one spring day, I stood glumly at the bus stop. Birds chirped, sun shonetypical April joy, but I wasnt feeling it. A whisper in my ear: *”Maybe I can help with your troubles?”*
I turned. Bloody hella gorgeous, well-dressed man! And me at 45! Was I still a catch? I blushed like a schoolgirl. Thank God the bus came; I hopped on and fled. He waved as we drove off.
For weeks, I played hard to getfor appearances. But Henry (his name) was relentless, meeting me at that stop every morning. Id hurry, scanning for him. Hed blow kisses when he spotted me. Once, he brought red tulips.
*”Where am I supposed to take these to work?”* I groaned. *”The girls will gossip!”*
He laughed, *”Didnt think of that!”* and handed them to an old lady eavesdropping. She beamed: *”Thanks, love! May you find a fiery mistress!”* I flushedthankfully she didnt say *young* mistress.
Henry whispered, *”How about we be guilty together, Natalie? You wont regret it.”*
Tempting. Thomas was barely conscious most days, lost in booze.
Henry was a teetotaler, ex-athlete (57), divorcedmagnetic. I plunged headfirst into the affair. Three years of torn between home and him. My soul was a mess.
I wanted out but couldnt stop. Henry owned me. When he stood close, I couldnt breathemadness! But I knew it wouldnt end well. No love, just lust.
Returning home, exhausted, Id cling to Thomasdrunk, reeking, but *mine*. Better my stale bread than anothers feast. Passion? More like suffering. I wanted to purge Henry, return to my family. My mind knew it; my body didnt.
Oliver knew. He spotted us at a restaurant with his girlfriend. I introduced Henry lamely. That evening, Oliver eyed me over dinner. *”Colleague. Work talk,”* I lied. He nodded*”Right. At a restaurant.”* He didnt judge, just begged me not to divorce Thomas. *”Give Dad time.”*
I felt like a lost sheep. My divorced mate urged: *”Ditch these no-good lovers and settle down.”* Shed had three husbands; I listened. But logic didnt stop meuntil Henry raised his hand at me.
That was it. *”Calm seas until youre ashore,”* my friend had warned. The scales fell. Three years of tormentover! Freedom!
Henry begged, waited everywhere, groveled. I stood firm. My friend kissed me, gifted a mug: *”You Did the Right Thing!”*
Thomas knew everything. Henry had called, bragging, sure Id leave. Thomas confessed: *”Hearing that blokes voice, I wanted to die. Its my fault. I traded you for the bottle.”*
Ten years on, we have two granddaughters. Over coffee, Thomas took my hand: *”Natalie, dont look elsewhere. Im your happiness. Believe me?”*
*”Of course, my love.”*
