Im forty years old now, and Ive twice come within a breath of marriage. It wasnt for lack of love; in both cases I realised that tying the knot would mean surrendering a part of myself.
I work as a solicitor specialising in international law. My life is a whirlwind of airports, hotels, virtual hearings, and client meetings scattered across countries. It took years of hard work to reach a point of stabilitya struggle marked by fourteen-hour days, continued study during flights, nights spent in airport lounges, and cancelled holidays. I dont come from wealth; everything I have, Ive built for myself.
I first met my fiancé when I was thirty-four. His name was Richard, an established surgeon in London with his own practice and a well-ordered life. Our early days were thrilling: late-night calls, weekend trips, monthly plans to see each other.
Eight months after we began dating, Richard proposed over dinner at a fancy restaurant. He slipped the ring out in front of everyone. I said yes, cried, hugged him, and rang my mother that evening. Reality set in soon enough. Richard started talking about when you move here, when you stop travelling, and when you find something less hectic. He never once asked if I wanted to relocate; he simply assumed Id adapt to his world.
One evening in his flat, as he checked his hospital rota, I sat on the sofa gazing at my calendarjam-packed with flights and meetings. It dawned on me that marriage would turn me into the doctors wife, rather than the woman whod built her own life. Two months later, I returned the ring. We both cried. It hurt, but I dont regret it.
The second time was different. I met Tom at thirty-sevenquite literally at Heathrow Airport. He was an airline pilot, and our first conversation about a delayed flight ended with dinner in another city. Tom was attentive, funny, and just as restless as me. After a year together, he proposed, this time in a hotel after a long journey. I accepted, feeling for the first time that someone understood my tempo.
But strange things emerged: mood swings, phones on silent, deleted texts, odd excuses for flights that didnt match his public schedule. One day, a woman texted me from an unknown number. She didnt say much, just hinted at details someone close would know. I lacked legal proofno photos, no evidencebut I started piecing together his absences, the small lies, and evasive answers.
One night in my flat, I confronted Tom. He denied everything, stared me in the eye, and swore I was imagining it. That night, I made my decision. I ended the engagement quietly, without drama. I told him I couldnt marry a man I no longer trusted.
Now, at forty, I know Im not in the easiest stage for having children. Even so, I dont live in panic. I have my career, my pace, my travels, my home, and tranquil evenings. I dont feel empty. I dont feel incomplete.
People sometimes ask if I regret never marrying. My reply is always the same: Id have regretted marrying out of compromise or for betrayal.
I dont know what the future holds, but Im at peace. Thats my lessonnever trade your self-worth for someone elses expectations or secrets.
