ARE YOU REALLY MY HAPPINESS? To be honest, marriage was never part of my plans. If it hadn’t been for my future husband’s relentless wooing, I’d still be flying free as a bird. Artem was like a lovesick butterfly — fluttering endlessly around me, never letting me out of his sight, doing his best to please, treating me like I was made of glass… Eventually, I gave in. We got married. Artem instantly felt like home — comfortable, familiar, like a favourite pair of slippers. A year later, our son Stanley was born. Artem worked in another city, coming home only once a week, always bringing tasty treats for little Stan. During one visit, I prepared to wash his clothes, routinely checking all his pockets (I’d once washed his driving licence by accident!). This time, a folded paper slipped out of his trousers — a lengthy list of school supplies (it was August), with a childlike scrawl at the bottom: “Dad, please come home soon.” So, that’s how my husband entertains himself elsewhere! Bigamist! I didn’t make a scene — just packed a bag, took Stan (not yet three) by the hand, and went off to my mum’s for an extended stay. Mum gave us a spare room: “Live here till you make up.” Vengeful thoughts emerged against my thankless husband. I remembered my old schoolmate Rob — why not have a “romance” with him! Rob never gave me a moment’s peace, back in school or after. I phoned him. “Hi, Rob! Not married yet?” I began, playing it cool. “Nadine? Hey! Does it matter? Married, divorced… Shall we meet?” My unscheduled fling with Rob lasted half a year. Artem delivered child support to my mum in silence every month, then left. I knew he was living with Cathy Yates now. She had a daughter from a previous marriage. Cathy made her call Artem “Dad.” They all lived in Artem’s flat. When Cathy found out I’d left, she moved in with her daughter from another city straight away. Cathy worshipped Artem — knitted him woolly socks and warm jumpers, cooked fancy meals. I learnt about all this later, and I’ll forever tease my husband about Cathy Yates. Back then, though, it felt like our marriage was done — like it had hit a dead end and crashed. But when Artem and I met for coffee to discuss the upcoming divorce, warm memories swept over us both. Artem confessed his undying love and remorse, admitting he had no idea how to get rid of clingy Cathy. I felt unbearably sorry for him. We got back together. For the record, Artem never found out about Rob. Cathy and her daughter left town for good. Seven blissful years passed. Then Artem got into a car accident — operations, rehab, walking with a stick. The recovery took two years, left him drained, and he began drinking heavily. He completely withdrew from life. It was torture watching it all. Trying to talk him round didn’t help — he wore himself and us down and refused all help. But at work, I found a shoulder to cry on — Paul. He listened to me during smoke breaks, strolled with me after work, offered comfort and encouragement. Paul was married, with his wife expecting their second child. I can’t fathom how we ended up in bed together. Madness. He was a head shorter than me, not my type at all! Still, Paul whisked me off to exhibitions, concerts, ballets. When his wife gave birth to a daughter, he stopped all amusements, quit our company, found another job. Maybe he thought — “out of sight, out of mind”? I never laid claim to him, so let him go easily. Paul had only dulled my pain for a while; I never meant to interfere in someone else’s love. Meanwhile, my husband drank himself senseless. Five years later, I’d bump into Paul by chance — he’d seriously propose marriage. I found it funny. Artem rallied briefly, left for work in the Czech Republic. I became the model wife and doting mum, heart focused solely on my family. He returned half a year later. We renovated the flat, splurged on new appliances. Artem finally fixed his car. Life should’ve been peachy. But no — he lost control and started drinking again. The cycle of hell repeated. His mates had to carry him home; he couldn’t walk by himself, only crawl at best. I scoured our neighbourhood looking for my errant husband, usually finding him asleep on a bench, pockets turned out. I’d drag him home. It was always something. One spring, I stood sadly at the bus stop as birds sang and the sun smiled. Suddenly, a suave voice whispered in my ear: “Perhaps I can ease your troubles?” I turned. My word — what a handsome, fragrant gent! And I was 45! Could I become a rose again? But I blushed like a schoolgirl. Thankfully, my bus arrived, and I hopped on, far away from temptation. He waved as I left. All day, I could only think about him. I played hard to get for two weeks… to keep up appearances. But Egor (the mysterious stranger) pressed his advantage — waiting every morning at the same bus stop. Soon, I was checking from afar if my charmer was there. Egor would beam and blow air kisses when he saw me. One day, he brought a huge bunch of red tulips. “Where am I supposed to take flowers to work?” I laughed. “I’ll be exposed in no time — guilty with nothing I’ve done!” Egor grinned: “Didn’t consider the ‘terrible’ consequences.” He handed the bouquet to an old lady watching our drama closely. Her eyes sparkled! “Thank you, love! May you find a passionate girlfriend!” I blushed. At least she didn’t wish him a young girlfriend — I’d have vanished into thin air with shame! Egor turned to me: “How about we share the blame, Nadine? You won’t regret it.” Honestly, the idea was tempting and timely. There was nothing left of my marriage then anyway. Artem was an immovable log, lost in a drunken stupor. Egor was a tee-total, ex-athlete (57) and a captivating conversationalist. Divorced. He had a magnetic charm! I plunged headlong into a love affair — a whirlpool of passion, for three years torn between home and Egor. My soul was in turmoil. When I finally wanted to end it, I couldn’t find the strength. Egor had a hold on me — mind, body, and soul! He’d stand next to me and I’d lose my breath — it was madness! Still, I knew it wouldn’t last. It wasn’t love. After heated rendezvous, I’d come home longing to cuddle my husband — even drunk, unkempt, but so familiar and dear. My own crust seemed sweeter than any stranger’s cake. That was my truth. Passion? It comes from “to suffer.” I wanted to finish suffering, leave Egor behind and return to my family, not just drift along in pleasure. My mind thought so, but my body kept falling into the sweet abyss. My son found out about Egor when he saw us in a restaurant with his girlfriend. I introduced them. They shook hands politely. Later, Stan looked at me over dinner, expecting an explanation. I joked it was a colleague meeting about a new project. “Uh-huh… in a restaurant,” Stan nodded knowingly. He didn’t judge, but begged me not to divorce his dad. “Don’t rush — maybe Dad will come to his senses.” I felt lost, astray, a black sheep. My divorced friend insisted: “Dump those scruffy lovers and settle down!” I listened. After all, she was working on her third husband. But I only managed to break it off when Egor tried to strike me. That was it. Just like my friend warned — “The sea is calm until you leave the shore…” The scales fell from my eyes. I was free. Three years of torment! At last, peace. Egor chased after me for ages everywhere, begging on his knees for forgiveness. I never wavered. My wise friend gifted me a mug: “You did the right thing!” As for Artem, he knew everything about my wild escapades. Egor phoned and told him. Egor believed I’d leave my family. Artem admitted: “When I listened to your admirer’s tales, I wanted to quietly die. It was all my fault! I lost my wife to the bottle. Idiot. What could I say to you?” Ten years have passed since then. Now we’ve two granddaughters. One day, Artem and I sat at the table drinking coffee. I gazed out the window. Artem gently took my hand: “Nadine, stop looking elsewhere. I am your happiness! Do you believe it?” “Of course I do, my one and only…”

ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS?

If Im honest, marriage was never really on my to-do list. And if it hadnt been for my future husbands relentless persistence, Id probably still be flitting about like a free spirit. Tom, bless him, was like a moth in a lampshade always circling, never letting me out of his sight, forever trying to make me laugh and pander to my every whim. Eventually, I gave in. We tied the knot.

Tom instantly felt like home the sort of person you slip into comfort with, like a good pair of slippers. Life with him was just easy. And then, after about a year our son Edward arrived. Toms job meant he had to work out of town; hed make it home once a week without fail, always bringing back some lovely treats for me and Eddy.

One weekend, as usual, I was getting ready to pop Toms clothes in the wash. I went through his pockets habit, really, ever since I accidentally washed his driving licence once. Now its standard procedure: check every little lump or bump in those trousers. That day, a bit of paper fell out, folded four ways. Opened it up, had a read and there it was, a long list of school supplies (happened in August). At the bottom, in a childs hand, it said: Dad, come back soon!

Oh, so thats what Toms getting up to elsewhere! Thought hed found himself a second family!

I didnt kick off just packed my bags, took Edward (not quite three at the time) by the hand, and headed off to mums for a visit that turned into a long stay. Mum gave us her box room: Stick around here until you two patch things up, she told me.

A flicker of revenge started to form in my head. I remembered my old classmate, Rob. Hed fancied me since I wore pigtails, and frankly, never let up once. So, I called him.

Hi, Rob! You ever tied the knot?
Ellie, is that you? Hey! Does it matter, married, divorced Fancy meeting up? Rob was all in.

My impulsive affair with Rob flickered on for six months. Tom, meanwhile, would bring Edward his child maintenance every month, quietly hand it to my mum, and then vanish.

Id heard Tom was living with Kate Evans now. She had a daughter from her first marriage. Apparently, Kate insisted her daughter call Tom Dad. Theyd all moved into Toms flat as soon as Kate clocked Id gone. Kate doted on Tom knitted him winter socks, thick jumpers, cooked him good meals. I found all this out much later. I spent ages needling Tom about Saint Kate Evans, but back then, I figured our marriage had simply run its course total shipwreck.

But then one day, Tom and I met for coffee to catch up and talk about the upcoming divorce, and suddenly, all these fond memories just rushed in. Tom confessed hed always loved me, said he felt lost, and admitted he had no clue how to get Kate out of his flat.

I honestly felt sorry for him. We got back together, and, just so you know, Tom never learned about Rob. Kate and her daughter left for another city and never looked back.

Fast forward seven happy family years. Then Tom was in a car accident. Surgery on his leg, heaps of rehab, months walking with a stick. It took two years for him to recover, and it properly exhausted him. Tom started drinking heavily, withdrew from life, became almost unrecognisable. No amount of pleading made any difference. He refused all help, and frankly, he wore himself and Edward and me to the bone.

On the bright side, my work brought me the perfect shoulder to cry on Paul. Hed listen to my woes in the smoking area, walk me home after work, cheer me up. Paul was married, wife expecting their second baby any week. Honestly, dont know how it happened, but Paul and I ended up in bed together. It boggled my mind. Hes way shorter than me and not really my type to begin with!

Then he started whisking me off to exhibitions, concerts, ballets you name it. When his wife gave birth to their daughter, Paul dialled it down. He left the office and found another job. Maybe he thought, out of sight, out of mind. I didnt want any claims from him either, so when he faded back into his family, I didnt chase him. He was just a distraction, did nothing but mask my misery for a while. I had no plan to muscle in on anyones marriage.

Tom kept drinking.

Five years later, I randomly bumped into Paul. With a straight face, he asked me to marry him. I burst out laughing.

Tom tried to pull himself together for a bit, heading off to the Czech Republic for work. I, meanwhile, was playing the perfect wife and caring mum. All my thoughts were for the family.

Tom returned after six months we redid the flat, got new appliances, he finally patched up his old motor. Life ought to have been bliss. But nope Tom relapsed, started drinking again, and all hell broke loose. His best mates ended up dragging him home because he couldnt manage it himself sometimes, hed only just manage to crawl. I was always racing around the neighbourhood searching for my temporarily unstable husband often found him fast asleep on a bench, pockets turned inside out, and would haul him back home. It was something else.

One spring, I was waiting at the bus stop, feeling low. Birds were singing, sun streaming down, and I couldnt summon any joy. Suddenly, someone whispered softly in my ear, Maybe I can help with your troubles?

I turned around. Good Lord what a handsome, well-put-together bloke! I was forty-five at the time, but could I really feel young again? I blushed like a schoolgirl. Thank goodness, the bus turned up and I hopped on, escaping temptation. The chap waved me off as I left. All day at work, my thoughts kept returning to him. For a couple of weeks, I played hard to get. Just for forms sake.

But George that was his name was relentless. Every morning, hed be waiting for me at the same bus stop. I made sure not to be late, kept an eye out for him. The minute he saw me, hed flash a grin and blow me air kisses.

One morning he turned up with a huge bunch of red tulips. I laughed, What do you expect me to do with flowers at work first thing? My lot will suss me out in seconds!

George chuckled, Oh, I never thought about those dire consequences. He immediately handed the bouquet to an old dear whod been eyeing us up for ages. She beamed, Thank you, love! Hope you find a passionate mistress! I went bright red. Thank heaven she didnt wish him a young one, or Id have vanished into thin air!

George turned to me, Ellie, why dont we both get in trouble together? You wont regret it.

Honestly, it was tempting and perfect timing. By then, Tom was a lost cause, flat on his back most days, utterly lost to the drink.

George was a non-smoker, a teetotaller, ex-athlete (he was fifty-seven), and had the gift of the gab. Divorced, an air of charisma about him. I fell headlong into the affair; it swept me away. For three years, I was torn between home and George. My soul was muddled.

I couldnt stop nor did I want to. When the urge to leave finally awoke, I found I didnt have the strength. Chasing off your lover isnt as easy as your mind thinks, as the saying goes. George had me, heart and soul. When he was close, my breath caught and my mind went blank. Madness, really! But I knew this passion would lead nowhere I never loved George.

After the drama, coming home exhausted from time with George, Id crave nothing more than curling up next to Tom. Had to be him, drunk, smelly, but so familiar and dear. Stale breads better than anothers pie thats the truth! Seemed like reality. Passion really does make you suffer. I wanted it over, to hurt and finish with George, and get back to my family. My head knew it, but my body kept running for the thrill. I was still caught in a blaze of desire.

Edward found out about George. Saw us in a restaurant one night while dining with his girlfriend. I had no choice but to introduce them. The two shook hands and nodded. Later at dinner, Edward gave me questioning looks, waiting for an explanation. I joked, claiming a colleague wanted advice about a new project. Sure in a restaurant, Edward nodded knowingly. He didnt judge, just asked me not to split up with Dad. You never know, Mum. Dad might come round eventually.

I felt like a lost sheep, veering off course. My divorced friend was firm: Dump those lovers and settle down! I took her words to heart. She was onto husband number three at the time lots of life experience there. But really, I only found the strength to stop after George tried to raise a hand at me.

That was my limit. My friend had warned me, The waters calm while youre safe on shore The fog lifted no, it burned away. Suddenly, life was in colour again! Three years of torment and finally, peace.

George chased after me a long time, lurking everywhere. Loudly begging forgiveness on bended knee I stood firm. My friend hugged me, gifted me a mug that said, Youre in the right!

As for Tom, he knew about my affair. George used to ring him up and tell him everything. Thought Id leave my family for him. Tom told me, Listening to your admirer, I just wanted to crawl away and die quietly. Its all my fault I lost my wife to the bottle. Nothing left to say, really.

Its been a decade since. Tom and I now have two wonderful granddaughters. One afternoon, were sat at the kitchen table having coffee. Im gazing out the window. Tom takes my hand gently and says,
Ellie, stop looking elsewhere. Im your happiness, you know that?
Of course I do, my one and only.We sat in companionable silence, sunlight warming the faded kitchen curtains, the familiar scent of coffee curling between us like an invisible thread. Outside, laughter rang from the gardenEdward and the girls weaving daisy chains, their voices impossibly sweet. I squeezed Toms hand, feeling every wrinkle and callus, every year wed survived and struggled through.

For a moment, the years fell away. Not the regrets or the wandering, not the ache of choices made or the joy of forgivenessjust us, woven together by so many thick and tangled threads. The world outside could change a hundred times, and people would come and go, but thisour little kitchen, our battered hearts, our imperfect loveendured.

Tom leaned in, his gruff voice softer than Id ever heard it. Were lucky, arent we?

We are, I whispered, and meant it nowevery word, every breath.

The kettle hummed, the girls shrieked in delight, and I finally understood: happiness wasnt something to chase or capture. Sometimes it just sat quietly beside you, waiting for you to notice. And, at last, I had.