I was nineteen years old when a bloke named Oliver, who Id been seeing for a year, asked me to marry him. I knew full well it was a bit quick, and worried Id no longer go out with my friends or just let my hair down. But Oliver seemed so dependable, so solid, a genuinely good sort. Afraid I wouldnt find anyone better, I agreed to be his wife.
Soon after, we moved in with his folks. My parents had a sprawling detached house just outside Oxford. They gave us the upstairs, and I should mention Olivers family werent hard up at all. When we married, Oliver had a decent job and I was able to focus on my studies at university without worrying about money.
Two years later, we had our first child, a little girl. Oliver was over the moon. But then trouble quietly found us. He lost his job. His parents offered him a place in the family business, but Oliver, being fiercely independent, was determined to make his own way. Out of the blue, a friend persuaded him to try his luck working abroad. So Oliver decided to go.
We agreed hed only be gone a year, just long enough to get some savings together, give us a fresh startmaybe even buy something of our own. But once hed got a taste for bigger earnings, Oliver returned after a year, only to announce he was going abroad again, this time for two years. He wanted to buy us our own flat in the city, so we wouldnt have to depend on either set of parents. Admirable, really. But what about me, and our daughter? Oliver promised to pop home a few times each year, and he kept his word. But, before we knew it, this routine dragged on for five years. I was so desperate for a partner by my side that I couldnt think straight anymore.
Then one day, on Facebook, a man a bit older than me sent me a message. He flooded me with compliments, told me I was the most beautiful, the most wanted. Truthfully, I hadnt had anything like that from Oliver in years. We chatted for a month, and then finally met up. That night, everything happenedI was unfaithful. I felt so alive I ended up seeing him a few more times. But then, as luck would have it, two months later, Oliver came home for good. He said the sweetest things, bought me a flat outright. I was wracked with guilt. I couldnt keep it in, and admitted to him that Id cheatedmore than once. What happened next?
He threw me out. In a panic, I thought Id turn to the other man, but he immediately backed awaysaid he was busy, came up with every excuse under the sun. Turns out Id just been a bit of fun for him. Now Olivers gone ahead with the divorce, and my daughter is living with me at Mums, though Olivers threatening to fight for her. Im so ashamedI cant forgive myself for not waiting, for betraying him like that.
