My Husband Meant More to Me Than Any Bitter Grievance “Igor, that was the last straw! That’s it, we’re getting divorced! Don’t bother dropping to your knees like you always do—it won’t work this time!” With those words, I drew a firm line under our marriage. Of course, Igor didn’t believe me. He was convinced it would all follow the usual script: he’d kneel, apologise, buy me another ring, and I’d forgive him, just like always. But this time, I was truly determined to break the chains of our matrimony. My fingers, right down to the pinkies, glittered with rings—yet I had no life. Igor drank himself into a stupor, day after day. And yet, it all started so romantically. My first husband, Eddie, went missing back in the 1990s—those were frightening times to be alive. Eddie was never easy to live with, always rushing headfirst into every scuffle as if he were invincible. Just as they say: eagle’s eyes, mosquito’s wings. If anything rubbed him the wrong way, he’d kick off a right dance—always trouble. I’m convinced today that Eddie got killed in some dodgy row; there was never a word from him again. I was left alone with two little girls—Lizzie, five, and Rosie, only two. Another five years went by after his mysterious disappearance. I thought I’d lose my mind. I truly loved Eddie, despite his explosive temper. We were as thick as thieves, two halves of one whole. I resigned myself: life was over, I’d just raise my girls alone. Gave up on myself. But then… It wasn’t easy in those turbulent times. I worked at a factory and got my pay in… irons, which I’d have to flog at the market for money to buy food. That was my weekend routine. One winter, numb with cold while selling irons, a man approached. He was concerned for me. “Cold out, miss?” he asked gently. “How could you tell?” I tried to joke, but my teeth chattered. Still, his presence brought a feeling of warmth. “Right, silly question. Maybe we can warm up in a café? I’ll help with those irons you didn’t sell.” “Well, lead the way, or I’ll die of frost here,” I croaked out. We never made it to a café. I led him close to home, asked him to watch the bag of irons while I dashed to fetch the kids from nursery. By then, my legs were stone-cold, but my heart felt warm again. Returning with the girls, I saw Igor (that’s how he introduced himself) waiting outside, shifting from foot to foot, smoking. I thought, “I’ll offer him tea, and then—who knows what’s next!” Igor helped me lug the bag to my sixth-floor flat (of course, the lift didn’t work). While I got the girls up to the third floor, he was already coming back down to leave. “Wait, my hero! You’re not leaving before you have some hot tea!” I caught his coat sleeve with my icy fingers. “Well, I don’t know—am I intruding?” Igor eyed the kids. “Don’t be silly! Take the girls’ hands, I’ll dash ahead and put the kettle on,” I said with no hesitation. I didn’t want to let this man slip away—he already felt familiar somehow. Over tea, Igor offered me a job as his assistant, with a better wage than years at the factory could bring. Naturally, I nodded my obedience, itching to thank him a hundred times over… Igor was on his second divorce, with a son by his first marriage. And so it began. Soon after, we married—Igor adopted my girls. It was as if we danced through life. We bought a four-bedroom flat, filled it with sharp furniture and gadgets. We built a lovely cottage. Every year, we holidayed by the sea. Life was a bowl of cherries… Seven years of cloudless happiness passed. Then, as if reaching the summit of bliss, Igor started hitting the bottle hard. At first, I didn’t react—it’s stressful work, I thought, everyone needs to unwind. But when Igor started drinking at work, I grew uneasy. Persuasion didn’t help. I should mention—there’s an adventurer in me. To distract him from his drinking, I decided… to give him a child. By then, I was nearly thirty-nine. My friends were shocked—but supportive. “Go on, Tanya! Maybe we’ll decide to be young mums at forty too!” they laughed. I always say, “If you end a pregnancy, you might regret it bitterly later, but if you have the baby—even if it was unplanned—you’ll never be sorry.” Igor and I had twins. So now, we were raising four girls in total! Igor’s drinking didn’t stop. I put up with it for a time, but then I craved country living—a farm, some animals, fresh air for the kids. And maybe, with work to do, Igor wouldn’t have time for drink. We sold our flat and our cottage. We bought a house in a small English town and opened a lovely café. Igor took up shooting—bought a shotgun and hunting kit. Lots of game in the woods. Things rolled on, more or less fine, until Igor got drunk one night. I don’t know what poison he drank, but he went wild—smashed everything, even pulled his rifle and fired into the ceiling! The children and I ran to the neighbours, terrified. The next morning, all was still. We tiptoed home to carnage—everything broken, nothing to sit, eat, or sleep on. Igor lay on the floor in a drunken stupor. I gathered what little was left and, with the children filed out to Mum’s, who lived nearby. “Tanya, what am I supposed to do with this gaggle of girls? Go back to your husband—families go through things, it’ll all come out in the wash!” Mum said. She always believed “grin and bear it, at least your man’s handsome.” A few days later, Igor showed up. That’s when I finally drew the line. For what it’s worth, he didn’t even remember his wild rampage. He didn’t believe a word of it. But I was beyond caring. I broke all ties—burned all bridges. What to do next, I didn’t know. But I decided: better to starve and live than be killed by a drunken husband. We sold the café for peanuts, just to get away, and settled in a tiny house in a nearby village. The older girls eventually married. The twins were in year five at school. All the girls loved their “Daddy Igor” and kept in touch. Through them, I heard Igor was begging for me to come back. The girls pleaded too: “Mum, stop being so stubborn. Dad’s changed, he’s apologised a hundred times!” But I wanted a quiet life, free from drama. Two years went by. Loneliness gnawed at me. All the rings Igor gave me were pawned and never bought back. I missed what we had—our house was always full of love, Igor loved all the girls, was never cruel to me, always tried to make amends. We were exemplary, really. What more did I want? Now even the older daughters just called; no time to visit. I understood—they were young and busy. Soon, the twins would fly the nest too, and I’d be left all alone. Girls are like ducklings—they feather up and then they’re gone. So I asked the twins to find out how their dad was getting on—maybe someone else was in the picture? They asked everything. Turned out he lived and worked in another city, hadn’t touched a drop, and was single—no one in his life. He left the girls his address, just in case… Long story short, we’ve been back together for five years now. I did tell you, I’m an adventurer at heart…

MY HUSBAND IS WORTH MORE THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES

Robert, that was the last straw! Thats it, were getting a divorce! And dont even think about kneeling it wont work this time! I finally drew a firm line under our marriage.

Of course, Robert didnt take me seriously. He was convinced everything would follow the usual script: hed fall to his knees, apologise, buy me another ring, and Id forgive him. It had happened more than once. But this time I was really set on breaking the knot for good. My fingers, right down to the pinkies, were covered in rings, but my life felt empty. Robert was always drinking, well past the point of reason.

And yet, it had all begun so romantically.

My first husband, Edward, disappeared without a trace in the 1990s. Life was frightening during those times you never knew what might happen. Edward wasnt the easiest man to live with; hed charge straight into trouble with no second thoughts. As the saying goes, eyes of an eagle, but wings of a sparrow. If anything crossed him, thered be fireworks. I was sure he got himself mixed up in something dangerous and paid the price. We never heard anything again. Suddenly I was alone, with two little girls: Emma was five, Rachel just two.

Five years trickled by after Edwards mysterious vanishing. I thought Id go mad from missing him, despite his explosive temperament. Wed been inseparable, a true pair. I decided my life was finished Id simply raise my girls and put myself last. But life had other ideas…

Those were hard years. I worked at a factory, receiving my wages in kettles instead of money. I had to sell them just to put food on the table. Thats how I spent my weekends. One winter, blue with cold selling kettles at the market, a stranger approached me with concern in his eyes.

Chilly out, miss? he asked gently.

Is it that obvious? I tried to joke, though my teeth chattered constantly. Yet, as soon as he stood near, I felt warmth.

Well, I suppose its a silly question. Would you care to warm up somewhere? I could help you with your unsold kettles.

Alright, lets go. Otherwise Ill end up frozen stiff right here, I stammered.

In the end, we didnt go to a café instead, I dragged the stranger near my flat, asked him to wait at the entrance and please keep an eye on my shopping bags. I had to dash off and collect the girls from nursery. My legs were numb from the cold, but I felt an unexplainable comfort within.

Heading back with the girls, I saw Robert (thats what he called himself) standing there smoking, shifting from foot to foot. I thought, Ill offer him tea, and lets see what happens.

Robert helped me haul the bags right up six flights of stairs. Of course, sods law the lift was out again. By the time I struggled to the third floor with my daughters, Robert was already on his way down.

Wait, my saviour! Are you leaving? I wont let you go until youve had a nice, hot cup of tea! I blurted, clutching his sleeve with my freezing hand.

Im not sure, wouldnt want to be a bother, Robert said, eyeing the children warily.

Nonsense! Take the girls by the hand, Ill dash ahead and put the kettle on, I insisted.

I didnt want to let him slip away he already felt familiar. Over tea, Robert offered me a job as his assistant, with a salary that far outstripped a year of kettles.

Naturally, I agreed, though I felt like kissing his hands in gratitude

Robert had been married before, currently tangled in a divorce. He had a son from his first marriage.

Thats how it all started…

Soon enough, Robert and I married. He formally adopted my girls. Life felt like a dance. We bought a four-bedroom flat, fitted it out with lovely furniture and appliances. Then we built a country house. Every summer we holidayed by the seaside. It was a dream…

Seven years drifted by in blissful happiness. Perhaps Robert, having achieved every comfort and joy, began to drink more. At first I ignored it understood he worked hard, needed to unwind. But when he started drinking more and more at work, I grew worried. Pleas and lectures didnt help.

I should mention, Im quite the daredevil. To distract Robert from the drink, I hatched a plan to have another baby. I was thirty-nine at the time. None of my friends batted an eyelid.

Go on, Susan, maybe well all wind up young mums at forty, theyd laugh.

And Id always say, If you get rid of a child, you might bitterly regret it later. If you have a baby, even if unplanned, you never will.

We had twin girls. Now we were raising four daughters! But Robert didnt stop drinking. Eventually, I longed for the countryside, to keep animals, start a proper home farm, give the children some healthy fresh air, and hopefully leave Robert less time for drinking.

We sold the flat, sold the country house, and bought a house in a small village. We opened a charming café. Robert took enthusiastically to country life, became mad for hunting, bought guns and all those bits of kit. There was plenty of game about, after all.

Things went smoothly enough, until Robert had another epic drinking session. Ive no idea what he got into that time, but he turned wild he smashed up the crockery, the furniture, even threatened us. He grabbed the shotgun and fired it into the ceiling.

The girls and I fled to the neighbours. I have never been so scared.

In the morning, everything was quiet, so we crept home. It was a scene of devastation not for the faint-hearted. It broke my heart the girls saw it. Everything was broken, nothing to sit on, eat from, or sleep in. Robert lay comatose on the floor.

I gathered what was left, and with the girls, traipsed over to my mothers. She lived nearby, in the same village. Mum sighed, Oh, Susan, what am I to do with your gaggle of girls? Go back to your husband. Families get through. Everything grinds itself into flour in the end.

Mum always said, Keep your teeth in your apron but be proud your husband is handsome.

A few days later, Robert came round. That was when I firmly ended things. He honestly didnt remember anything he’d done. He didn’t believe my ‘tall tales’. But I didnt care I cut all ties. The bridges were truly burned.

I had no idea what the future held, but I decided it was better to go hungry than be killed by a husband in a drunken frenzy.

We had to sell the café for next to nothing, as I was desperate to leave that village. We landed in a neighbouring hamlet, in a tiny cottage.

The older girls found work and soon, thank goodness, married well.

The twins were still in year five at school. All the girls loved their Dad Robert was still their favourite, and they kept in touch. Through them I knew plenty about Roberts life. My ex would beg me to return, and the girls would plead, Mum, stop being so stubborn. Dads said sorry over and over; forgive him! Think of yourself, youre not twenty-five anymore But I stood firm. I wanted peace, not more drama.

Two years rolled by.

I started missing Robert. Loneliness gnawed at me. All those rings hed given me, I had to pawn, never managed to buy them back. That stung. I reminisced about our old life and wondered. There was love in our home. For all his faults, Robert loved all the girls the same, and he was always genuinely sorry. Wed been a model family, really. Everyone has their own happiness what more could you want?

Now, the older girls only called, never visited too busy. Fair enough, youth has its way. The twins too, would fly the nest soon, and then itd be just me sitting on my lonesome. Girls are like goslings: when their feathers come in, off they flutter.

So, I persuaded the twins to ask more about how their Dad was living. Maybe he had another woman? The girls quizzed him thoroughly. Turned out he lived and worked in another city, hadnt touched a drop in years, still single, and he gave the girls his exact address just in case.

Well, were back together now, five years and counting.

What did I say? Im nothing if not an adventurer.