**FORGET IT ALL FOR ETERNITY**
“I never loved you,” my ex-wife confessed, her gaze sharp and mocking as it locked onto mine.
“I had my suspicions, Emily. I felt it,” I replied calmly.
“You’re strange. Were you really content with unrequited love? I dont understand,” she pressed.
“I loved you. Still do. Forgive me for making you suffer. You lived with a husband you despised. But I was happy with you.” The words stuck like a bitter lump in my throat.
“Happy with a bitch like me?” Emily scoffed.
“Enough. Goodbye. Visit Archie,” I said sharply, rising from the bench and walking away.
That meeting in the park happened after the divorceEmily, my once-beloved wife.
Before Emily, there had been plenty of women lining up to marry me. But they were all fleeting, temporary, forgettable. Then came Emily, who flipped my world upside down. I fell for her instantly, irrevocably.
I charged ahead, never once considering how she felt. And I should have.
We planned the wedding. She was ten years younger than me. I doubt Emily even understood how she ended up married. Meanwhile, I wanted to shout to the world: *Look at this stunning bride of mine!*
The ceremony was loud, crowded, joyous. I invited every relative, even those Id feuded with. A grand gesture of forgiveness, all in the name of my future happiness. “Happiness” was just eighteena silly girl, but breathtakingly beautiful.
The wedding march faded…
“Do you love me, Oliver?” my young wife would ask.
“Of course, darling! Youre my air, my light, my life!” I basked in my hard-won bliss.
It never crossed my mind to ask, *And how do you feel about me?*
Did it matter? I loved her. I was happy. What more could I want?
Maybe I was afraid to ask. What if she shrugged, shook her head, and murmured, *I dont know if I love you…*
I bent over backwards for Emilydressed her in designer labels, pampered her with spas and stylists. Every whim was indulged without hesitation.
I even bought her mothera sharp-tongued womana flat. Every year, “Mum” vacationed at a seaside resort.
She warned me endlessly: *Son-in-law, youve got a young wife. Watch out, or someone will steal her. Take care of my Emily.*
And I did. I cherished her, shielded her.
Emily blossomed, gliding into womanhood with a grace that turned heads. As her husband, the attention flattered me.
Then came our son, Archie.
I noticed Emilys indifference straight away. It was like he didnt exist. He drifted into his grandmothers care, and Emily barely glanced at him.
It broke my heart. The one person who should have adored him had rejected him.
Her mother doted on Archie, taking full responsibility. My role was just providing moneyI didnt know how to connect with a baby.
When Archie grew older, I tried to step in. His grandmother resisted fiercely: *Why do you need him? Youll have more children. Archies my joy. Dont take him.*
Emily never warmed to him. She never fought to bring him home. It suited herno hassle, just a child raised under her mothers watch.
Then, one day, Emily lost her head to passion.
I often lent her my company caralong with the driver, Ryan. And thats who she fell for. At first, I thought it was a phase. Surely shed come crawling back.
But this affair wasnt fleeting.
Ryan wasnt sharing. Not with anyoneleast of all her husband. He gave her an ultimatum: *Him, or no one.*
Emily wavered. Financial security or reckless love? She lied, deceived, played both sides. But you cant sit on two chairs forever. Sooner or later, you have to choose.
I fired Ryan, delivering a parting shot: *Emilys a high-maintenance bird. Shell fly before you know it. Can you really handle her?*
*She played around with you. With me, shell behave. Ill clip her wings,* Ryan sneered.
Thats when Emily and I met on that park bench, and I heard her confession. She never loved mejust endured, resented, raged.
Emily married Ryan and had a daughter. Hes roughhits her, drinks too much, barely makes ends meet. But she loves him desperately. Her eyes, swollen with tears, brim with bitter happiness.
They live with her mother nowin the flat I bought. Were neighbours. Archie stays with me.
I have the *privilege* of seeing my ex-wife dailyEmily, in oversized sunglasses, strolling with her daughter.
The world is vast, yet I feel suffocated, sickened by her presence.
Once, I “accidentally” approached her:
“How are you?”
“Wonderful. You?” she asked, indifferent.
“Fine,” I lied.
And we walked away.
How did I live without her? I existedtimeless, joyless, restless.
At first, I drank myself into oblivion. Lost track of everything.
Her mother would sigh, take Archie away, leaving me to my misery.
There were other womennone loved. Drifters, opportunists whispering about selling my flat…
“Dad, pour me some whiskey,” Archie once asked. He was eight.
“Why, son? Its bitter. You wont like it,” I slurred, hungover.
*You like it,* he countered.
I stopped drinking that day.
Years passed in solitude. Waiting for Emilys return, foolishly ready to take her backeven with another mans child. But shed erased me completely.
When Archie married and moved out, I considered starting over.
Emily still lived in my heartlodged there, impossible to evict.
But life had to go on, so I searched for *any* woman to numb the pain, to wake me from this stupor.
Brides dont walk in uninvited. I met her online.
Lydia was married, living in a remote village, a days train ride away. It didnt matter. I fell hard. Her husband was bedridden, ill.
She needed helpsomeone to tend the farm, fix the fence. A friend had nudged her: *Lyd, lets find you a decent bloke online. Plenty of single men out there. Hell lend a hand, maybe more…*
Reluctantly, Lydia agreed. The ad was simple, but one line hooked me: *”I can love a lonely man. Dont expect it in return.”*
Perfect. A woman whod give affection without demand. I packed in a rush, eager for sweetness.
We hit it off instantlyLydia, starved for a mans touch; me, aching for tenderness.
At first, we couldnt stop. Mad with lust.
Her husband lay just beyond the wall. It felt like he was in bed with us.
“Lyd… this feels wrong,” I muttered between kisses.
“Dont worry. Hes deaf,” she assured me.
Days in the fields, nights in reckless passion. Emily faded. My heart lightened.
I even praised myself*See? You can love again.*
But nothing was simple. Lydia was a witchliterally. Shed bound me to her, stripped me of will. I trailed her like a calf on a rope.
“Lyd, I want to visit home for a week,” I ventured one winter.
“No point, Oliver. No ones waiting. Just a waste of money,” she dismissed.
So I stayed. Too afraid to disobey.
She turned me against family, even Archie. I grew weary of this twisted bond.
Three years in a haze. Lydia festered in my heart like a splinter. I couldnt break freeeven tended her husband.
“You think Im deaf?” the bedridden man wheezed.
I recoiled. Imagined him lying there, hearing every moan, powerless.
I sensed the wrongness. The village scorned us*shameless*, they whispered.
Once, an old woman spat at me: *”Got no conscience, you mongrel? Her mans dying, and you rut like animals!”*
*”Took him in for warmth, now hes baptizing babies…”*
As they say, when theres a fight in the house, the whole street gathers.
Lydia had cursed him. *”She whispers spells. Dragging me to my grave,”* he gasped. *”Run, Oliver. Before its too late.”*
I fledno hesitation, straight to the station. A day later, I sipped coffee in my own flat.
What a messlove laced with witchcraft. Like sticky cobwebs. Recovery took time.
Then Lydia called:
“Ollie, whered you go? Come back. My poor husbands dead. Im alone…”
