I first met him years ago, in secondary school. We were both fifteen, and after a few months, we became sweethearts. During our penultimate school year, a new girl arrived. At the end of that year, owing to his carelessness, he had left his mobile behind, and I stumbled across messages between them. Thats when things began to make sense in my mind: when something troubled her, she would run to him in tears, and I naïvely believed it was simply friendship.
I was very young, and, out of fear that I might lose the only person I thought truly loved me, I said nothing. So our relationship limped on, right through to the middle of our last school year. Just as I began to gather the courage to leave, I found out I was with child. The news broke me; I shed bitter tears, knowing full well that hard days were ahead postponed studies, my familys disappointment, and worse. And so it was.
We finished school and our daughter was born. He went off to university straightaway, visiting only once a fortnight, while I was left feeling lonely and lost outside my role as a mother.
I believed that, once we graduated, whatever there was with that other girl would end. But, even ten years later, she remained a source of distress. She would always find ways to contact him, and, to make matters worse, he invariably responded always attentive. When there were events, graduations, or celebrations, he would go without me, offering up the excuse that there was no one to look after our daughter, though it was just his means of feeling free and seeing her. I know there was never anything physical between them not for lack of desire, but because she delighted in drawing his attention only to ignore him when he became too enthralled.
Eventually, I grew tired of finding their conversations, confronting him, and listening to empty promises that it would never happen again. In 2021, I decided to end the relationship. I began therapy, took up work from home, and spent more time with our daughter than Id ever managed before. When I left him, I truly felt it was over. I told him Id closed that chapter. Yet, he became relentless, determined to win me back. After six difficult months for him, I agreed to give things another try but only if we lived together to see if he could truly commit. He agreed. We saved our pennies and bought everything wed need.
At first, I was happy the three of us together, finally, in a more settled home. But in February 2025, one night I felt a dreadful unease. I couldnt say why, as all seemed in order, but sleep refused to come. On a sudden whim, I picked up his phone and had a look.
I think that was the most painful thing Ive ever experienced. Quite by chance, I came across a restricted chat. I hadnt been looking for her, specifically; I just pressed a button and there it was. A hollow grew in my stomach. When I opened their messages, I saw theyd been writing for months and he was the one pleading to meet.
One by one, all the painful pieces came together. I learned that, two months before we moved in together, at a school reunion, hed danced with her the entire night, walked her home, and even asked her for a kiss, which shed refused. Hed written to his best mate, admitting she was desire and an impossibility, while I was love and family. But the worst was a letter he sent her in December 2024 a letter I doubt he could have written even to me.
In it, he told her his school years were wonderful because of her, that out of 3,000 nights, hed spent more than 2,000 thinking of her; that he wished they were together as a real couple, sharing intimacy, her clothes strewn on his floor, making love. He confessed nothing had happened only because hed chosen to step up and be a father, and to stay with me, the mother for the first time.
Reading all of this, I went into shock. I couldnt stop shaking; I was cold all over and felt utterly replaceable the woman he settled for, not the one he truly wanted. There were nearly fifteen minutes of voice notes beside that letter, but I couldnt listen. The trembling woke me up entirely, and I told him to leave at midnight.
In the days that followed, I went about my duties, worked, minded our nine-year-old daughter, while he wandered about in a daze, like an automaton. He apologised again and again, starting therapy, and I forgave him we decided to weather the storm together. I confronted many things, and though the pain lingered, some aspects did improve. Yet, what happened left wounds that still havent healed. My confidence was shattered. When I look in the mirror, I scarcely recognise the woman staring back.
Now, we go on dates more than ever, and some of it feels lovely, but something inside me remains broken. I dont know if its caution or fear I dont dare to hope. That inner spark I once possessed doesnt return, and I fear he doesnt even see it as a problem. While we live together and rarely quarrel, and when we do its lazily resolved, that old feeling refuses to be rekindled.
Now, we are a steady, attentive, and caring couple, but within me theres still a hollowness. For eleven years, I felt that fire now, its been gone a year, and I feel truly lost.
He works exceedingly hard. Hes ambitious, has his goals, and is gentle with our daughter, nurturing her little heart, listening to her, playing with her, inviting us on outings, making us laugh, sharing proper family time. We share the bills, and when theres a bit extra to be had, we treat ourselves.
