I understood my mistakes and wanted to return to my ex-wife after 30 years, but it was already too late
I realised the error I had made and wished to go back to the woman I had spent three decades with, but the moment had long passed
My name is Oliver Whitmore, and I live in Whitby, where the dull Yorkshire skies stretch endlessly over the moors. I am 52 years old, and I have nothing. No wife, no family, no children, no jobonly emptiness, like the cold wind howling through an abandoned house. I destroyed everything I had, and now I stand amid the ruins of my life, staring into the abyss I dug with my own hands.
For 30 years, I was married to Eleanor. I was the providerworking, paying the bills, while she kept our home. I liked having her there, safe, belonging only to me. But with time, her care, her habits, her voice began to grate on me. Love faded, worn down by routine. I thought it was normal, that this was how things were meant to be. I grew comfortable in that grey stability. Then fate threw me a challenge I could not resist.
One evening at the pub, I met Sophie. She was 32, twenty years younger than mebeautiful, lively, with a spark in her eyes. She seemed like a dream come true, a breath of fresh air in my stagnant life. We started meeting, and before long, she became my mistress. For two months, I lived a double life, until I realised: I didnt want to go home to Eleanor anymore. I thought I was in love with Sophieor at least, thats what I told myself. I wanted her to be my wife, my new beginning.
I mustered the courage to tell Eleanor the truth. She didnt shout, didnt smash platesjust stared at me with hollow eyes and nodded. I thought she didnt care either, that her feelings had died long ago. Now I see how deeply I hurt her. We divorced. We sold the house where our children, James and Thomas, had grown up, where every corner held memories. Sophie insisted I leave Eleanor with nothing. I obeyedtook my share and bought a spacious flat for Sophie. Eleanor was left with a tiny bedsit, and I didnt even help her financially. I knew she had no way to support herself, no job, but I didnt care. The boys turned against mecalled me a traitor and cut me off completely. Back then, it didnt matter: I had Sophie, a new life, and I thought that was enough.
Sophie got pregnant, and I eagerly awaited our child. But when the boy was born, I noticed he looked nothing like menor her. Friends whispered, my brother warned me, but I ignored them. Life with Sophie became hell. I worked myself to exhaustion, paying for the flat, the child, while she demanded money, vanished at night, came home drunk, reeking of booze. The flat was a messno food, just endless arguments. I lost my jobexhaustion and anger took their toll. I endured this nightmare for three years, until my brother convinced me to take a DNA test. The result hit me like a hammer: the boy wasnt mine.
I divorced Sophie the same day I learned the truth. She vanished, taking everything she could carry. I was aloneno wife, no children, no strength left. I decided to go back to Eleanor. I bought flowers, wine, a cake, went to her like a grovelling dog. But her bedsit had a new tenant, who gave me her new address. I went there, trembling with hope. A man opened the door. Eleanor had found work, remarried a colleague, looked happyalive, glowing, as I had never seen her. She had rebuilt her life without me.
Later, I saw her at a café. I fell to my knees, begged her to come back. She looked at me as if I were a pitiful fool and walked away without a word. Now I see the idiot I was. Why did I leave the woman I spent 30 years with? Why trade my family for a girl who drained me and left me broken? For an illusion, for blind faith in love? Im 52, and I am nothing. My sons wont answer my calls, my job slipped through my fingers like sand. I lost everything I held dear, and I have only myself to blame.
Every night, I dream of Eleanorher calm eyes, her voice, her warmth. I wake in the cold grip of loneliness and realise: I was the one who pushed her away. She wont wait for me, wont forgive me, and I dont deserve forgiveness. My mistakea brand that burns my soul. I wish I could turn back time, but its too late. Far too late. Now I wander the streets of Whitby like a ghost searching for what I destroyed. I have nothingonly regret, which will follow me to the end of my days. I ruined my family, my life, and I carry that weight alone, knowing theres nothing left to fix.
