Husband. The man I spent eighteen years living with. Eighteen years! And somehow, despite all that time, I never truly figured him outnever managed to crack his code. When we were younger, any gripes vanished with the speed of a cuppa poured down the sinkjust a quick rinse and everything felt fresh again! But as the years rolled on, chinks appeared: greed, laziness, and an unhealthy devotion to lager. Even so, none of that would have made me kick him out. So what finally did? Lies. Badly disguised, cynical, and downright nasty lies.
Picture one. December 31st. My husband was working that day, while I basked in so-called holiday rest. My son and I waited for him until 6pm. Table set, telly on… Seven oclock. Eight… Eleven… Midnight… Big Ben chiming… The morning rolled around. Still no sign of my husband. Starting at six, I rang him around thirty times.
The first time he answered, Im on my way, love. Then he vanished, phone switched off and all. A glass of bubbly and New Years wishes from the telly didnt help, so I started phoning mutual friends, hospitals and the morgue. My mobile was as hot as a baked potato. My son grumbled, Normal families dont go through this, Mum, and retreated to his computer. New Years Eve? Completely ruined.
2nd of January, eveninghe finally appeared. Told me hed been detained at the station. A month later, I learned the truth: he spent New Years with some random mates. One of those random girls took him home and for nearly two days they celebrated New Years like it was an Olympic event.
Picture two. Family evening. We lived in a tiny two-storey house outside London. Downstairs, one big roomkitchen plus living room. Upstairs, two bedrooms. Most of our time was spent on the first floor: eating, watching telly, arguing over who left crumbs everywhere. One evening, I trundled upstairs late to bed. My husband said hed be up soon. I nodded off quickly. Was suddenly awoken by the sound of a car pulling away. My husband, driving off in the middle of the nightwhere was he going? I rang himphone off, again. Old tune… Wide awake and wound tightmy heart squeezed like a lemon. Why? What on earth was going through that mans mind? At seven a.m. he slunk back, silent as fog.
Picture three. The other phone. My son mentioned, by accident: Mum, I saw Dad with a fancy phone. He hides it in the garage for some reason. Saw it by chance. It’s really expensive. I’d recently asked my husband for money for new shoes. He said no, claimed we were skint. I sat down on the cold concrete garage floor and cried my eyes out. Once the tears dried up, it hit meI would NEVER live with this bloke again. Absolutely NEVER!
I’m not going to write about how I threw him out, his lame excuses, the barrage of late-night visits and calls, or the melodramatic divorce. Nor about everyone urging him to see sense. That man is no longer in my life. Hes still part of my sons world, but not mine. Gone, like a broken gadget you cant fix.
Now its just me and my son. I finally sleep well, heart free from vice-like anxiety. Do I want to get married again? Absolutely not. Not in this lifetime!
