I was in that relationship for five yearstwo of those were as a married man, the three before that living together. When we were engaged, most of our relationship was long-distance. Wed see each other once every three months, and there was even a year we managed only two visits because of his work. It never struck me as a problem. In fact, I thought our love was perfect, possibly even stronger for it. We missed each other deeply, cried during our calls, poured our hearts out in messages and video chats. Arguments were nearly non-existent. Neither of us was jealous. We respected each others space. Hed go out for supper with mates, Id grab a pint with friends or head to a party, and neither of us minded. He even used to help me pick out clothesnot even anything particularly flashy. Hed say, That jumpers a bit snug, mate, isnt it? Try the other one, it suits you better. Never controlling, not at all. If anything, he seemed proud of me and, honestly, proud of how I looked. Everything about it just felt steady, healthy, and exactly right.
One December was especially tough because we both knew we wouldnt be together for Christmas or New Years. We were gutted and disappointed about it. That was when he suggested I move in with himleave London behind and come live in Manchester with him. I thought about it, talked it through with my family, and they said, If thats whatll make you happy, you should go. So, I quit my job and made the move north.
The first few months were golden. That first year was all about adaptingdiscovering our little ticks, how we woke up, what we were like when hungry, finding what wound each other up and what didnt. Since I was between jobs, I kept the house running. It all felt easy.
The second year turned out even better. We really felt like a team and fell into a deeper kind of love. We wanted to do everything together, and, when he wasnt off at work, we were inseparablejust like newlyweds. It made me feel sure Id made the right decision.
But by the third year, things began to shift. He started coming home late. Wed always had our phone locations on, it just made us feel connected, but one day he simply switched his offno explanation. Hed arrive home at five, six in the morning, when he was due at work by eight. Hed just shower, grab some toast and leave again. I got barely a word about where hed been. Rows started cropping up more often.
One day, something happened that left a mark on me. I found makeup on one of his white shirtsfoundation and lipstick, on the collar and sleeve, and not just a tiny mark either. It was impossible to miss. I asked him about it. Thats when he said something Ill never be able to forget: hed had to look elsewhere for what I no longer gave him because, apparently, Id become boring and obsessed with tidying and cleaning the house. He didnt say, Yes, Im cheating, but he didnt deny it either. It was answer enough.
I felt completely crushed. I cried constantly. My chest physically hurt. I had no idea what to do or how to pick myself up. So, I thought I needed something for myself. I went back to the gym. Id stopped training after moving in with him, but Id always loved working out. There, I met a man. We talked, and it felt good to be noticed again. One day, he invited me for a drink. It was me that suggested we go to his flat next. He agreed. Wed planned to meet that afternoon, and we both knew what it was about.
That morning, after Id seen him at the gym, I couldnt stop thinking about itThis cant be real. Im going to cheat. He deserves it. Then, just as quickly, I thought, No. Im not going to become like him. I decided to end it properly first.
I waited for my husband to come home for lunch. I didnt let him set foot in our bedroom; we sat in the dining room. I told him that the relationship no longer worked, that hed cheated, and I didnt need to know who or when. This was it; I was done. He tried to brush it offsaid I was making too much of it, that the other woman didnt matter, that she was nothing like me, and that we could sort things out. I told him I wasnt interested in fixing anything.
I didnt say Id met someone or that I wanted to be with someone elseI just said I was leaving. Id already packed my bags. He asked where I was going and if someone was waiting for me. I told him it didnt matterId figure something out.
I left the flat, bags in hand, and went to the other man. When he saw me arrive with all my things, he panicked a bit. I told him Id just left my husband and would be heading back to London the next day. I only wanted to spend that one night with him. He agreed.
That night was the most intense experience of my life. I dont know whether it was anger, pain, or just the years of everything piling up, but it felt utterly unlike anything Id known, even with my ex-husband.
Next morning, I bought a train ticket and went home to London. I didnt have anywhere to stay except my parents, so thats where I went. I wanted nothing more to do with my ex. That was two years ago, and now Im on my own, working again, renting a place, and I havent regretted a second of the choice I made. I nearly crossed that line, but I managed to stop myself, to end things first, and not become the same sort of person hed shown himself to be. The lesson? Sometimes, the hardest thing is to put yourself first and walk away with your self-respect intact.
