I had been in that relationship for five years. We were married for two, and wed lived together for three. For much of our engagement, we were long distance; wed see each other only once every three months, and one year, because of his work, we only managed to meet twice. Back then, I didnt see this as a problem. If anything, it felt ideala kind of romance made for postcards and daydreams. We missed each other bitterly, often crying during our calls, pouring out all our love through messages and video chats. We never argued. Neither of us were jealous. We respected each others space. He could go out for drinks with mates, I could go to a party, and it didnt matter. He even helped me pick out outfits. And it wasnt like they were anything provocativehe would often say, That dress is a bit snug, maybe wear something that suits you better. He wasnt controlling, far from it. He always seemed proud of me and the way I looked. Everything felt healthy, calm, almost perfect.
That December was particularly tough, because we knew we wouldnt see each other for either Christmas or New Years. We were both desperately sad and disappointed. Thats when he suggested we finally move in together, that I should relocate to his city. I thought about it, talked with my family, and they told me that if it was what I wanted, I should go for it. So I quit my job and moved to Manchester to live with him.
The first few months passed smoothly. The first year was a time of getting to know each others quirkshow we woke up, what we were like when we were hungry, what annoyed us and what didnt. As I was out of work, I looked after the flat. Life felt easy and gentle.
The second year was even better. We became a true team and fell into a phase of deep, intense love. We wanted to be together all the time. When he wasnt at work, we were inseparable. We looked like newlyweds still on their honeymoon. Everything seemed to work. I knew Id made the right decision.
But in the third year, something changed. He started coming home late. We always had location sharing on our phones, and one day he just turned his off without saying a word. Hed come back at five or six in the morning, then leave for work at eight. He would just shower, have breakfast, and gooffering no explanation. The arguments became endless.
Then something happened that I can never forget. I found makeup on his white shirtfoundation and lipstick, all down the collar and sleeve. It wasnt a little smudge, it was obvious. I asked him to explain, and he told me something Ill never be able to erasehe said he had to look outside to find what he no longer got from me, because Id become boring, obsessed with tidying and cleaning the flat. It was more than enough. He didnt say, Yes, Ive been unfaithful, but he didnt deny it either. He confirmed it without saying the words.
I was devastated. I cried day and night, a physical pain pressing on my chest. I didnt know what to do, or how to climb out of that dark well. So I decided I had to do something for myself. I went back to the gymsomething Id given up when I moved in with him. There I met a man. We started talking. He was kind. One day, he asked me out for a drink, and I was the one who suggested we go to his instead. He agreed. We planned to meet that afternoon, both of us knowing what would happen.
That same day, back home, after seeing him at the gym that morning, a thought haunted me: This cant be. Im about to cheat. He deserves it. But suddenly I told myself, No. I wont become him. I decided to end things before anything could happen.
I waited for my husband to come home for lunch. I didnt even let him go upstairs. We sat at the dining table and I told him it was overthat our relationship didnt work, he had cheated, and I didnt care with whom or since when. It ended now, in that instant. He insisted I was overreacting, that she meant nothing, that she was nothing like me, that we could still fix things. I told him I didnt want to go on.
I never mentioned meeting someone else, or wanting anyone else. I just told him I was leaving. My suitcases were already packed. He asked where I would go, if there was someone waiting for me. I told him it didnt matter, Id figure it out.
I walked out of that house with my cases and went straight to the other man. When he saw me with my luggage, he looked startled. I explained that Id just left my husband and Id be taking a train back to London in the morning. I just wanted to be with him for one night. He understood.
That night was the most intense experience of my life. I dont know if it was anger, pain, years of bottled-up emotions, but it was unlike anything Id ever felt, even with my ex-husband.
The next day I bought my ticket and returned home to London. I had nowhere to stay except my parents, so thats where I went. I didnt want to know anything about my ex ever again. Its been two years since. Now, I live on my own, working again, renting a small flat. I dont regret the decision I made. I came close to cheating. But I knew how to stop myself, how to end things first, and not become what he was to me.
