**What About Me? Am I the Odd One Out?**
“I can’t take this anymore. Goodbye, Nicholas,” I wrote the note without any exclamation marks, completely calm. Nicholas will never read it. After a moment of thought, I burned it.
…A long time ago, Nicholas and I had a love that was all-consumingintense, aching, and unstoppable. We were racing toward the abyss without a second thought.
…Nicholas had a wife and three young children. I had two sons and a husband. Everyone we knew thought wed lost our minds. *Have you two gone mad? Wake up! Your families are suffering.* But Nicholas and I noticed nothing and no one around us. On planet Earth, we were alone. No obstacles, no interruptions.
When I came to my senses after our reckless passion, I caught myself thinking Id never want children with Nicholas. Never.
He spoke of his kids like this:
“I dont burn with love for them. My wife always wanted a big family. What do I care?”
Honestly, his indifference unsettled me. But I wasnt planning to marry him! *Let them breed*, I thought. *Thats their family business.*
…Three years later, Nicholas and I got married. We were happy and content together. My sons stayed with me, of course.
When Nicholass children grew up, the endless troubles begana relentless cycle. They called in the middle of the night, showed up at his workplace, demanded he rush to their aid.
The reason? Money. Or rather, the lack of it. All three needed financial support. Nicholas helped as much as he could, weighed down by guilt. He couldnt deny them anything. I understood. And so did his childrenthey shamelessly took advantage of their remorseful father. Every whim was indulged. I pitied them, too, though I knew I was enemy number one in their eyes.
…Years passed. Grandchildren arrivedfive so far, with more likely. The eldest daughter fled an abusive husband, dragging along three little ones, desperate for help. The youngest lived on benefits, a single mother with champagne tastes on a lemonade budget.
The middle son? A hopeless drunk, perpetually soused. He paid child support to his ex-wife, but since he was unemployed, Nicholas handed over the moneyfrom *our* household budget. There was a granddaughter in the mix, the spitting image of Nicholas. He adored her most of all, his heart hopelessly attached.
What a colourful bouquet.
Nicholas himself was drowning in debt, though his children had no clue. Only I knew, along with my sons, who begged me to leave this “side project sponsor.” Once, I asked Nicholasjust onceto buy me perfume. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Darling, you know I have no sense of smell. Why waste the money? Ill get them for you soon.”
*Sure. In another decade or so.*
I stopped asking after that. I could already hear the excuses: *Marianne needs a private hospital room (why not a shared ward?); the granddaughter needs a designer coat (wont a regular puffer do?); the thirty-year-old son needs new shoes because his old ones are falling apart…*
When we argued, it was always about Nicholass grown children. Every fight ended with me saying, *”If we ever divorce, Nicholas, thank your precious kids for it!”* And yet, he swore he couldnt live without me.
But what about *me*? Im exhausted. I want my own life, not one dictated by Nicholass children. Their names echo through our home like a relentless alarm bell.
I remember a line from a famous film: *”Well, Im not an orphan either, thank God!”* I have my own children and grandchildren who need love and attention. *Why couldnt I stop myself twenty years ago?*
…The devil is a cunning playwright, scripting each of our fates. I wouldnt wish his sticky grasp on anyone. My fault, really. *You reap what you sow.* The fiery nights dried up. What was once bottomless love now feels like living with stolen misery.
My eldest son moved awaysettled with a family and a job. Hes been asking me to join him for ages.
Im going to him. For good. Decision made. I wrote Nicholas a farewell note. Burned it. I hope hell understand without it. And if he doesnt, a note wont change that.
P.S. I visited my children and grandchildren. Spent time with my younger son in Londonhes married to a proper English girl, stiff as a board. Their little one doesnt speak a word of Russian. *What does my son see in her?* They say love isnt logical.
Their lives are quiet, filled with love. And thats balm for my soul.
…A month later, I came back to Nicholas. I dont think he ever realized Id left for good. But he did buy me expensive French perfume.
