My husband never cheated on me, but years ago he quietly stopped being my husband. Seventeen years wed
I’m 38 and for years I thought I was the problem — that I was a bad mother, a bad wife, and that something was wrong with me, because even though I kept everything running at home and at work, inside I felt empty and had nothing left to give. I woke up every day at 5:00am, packed school lunches, ironed uniforms, got the kids ready, tidied the house, and went to work, sticking to schedules and always smiling, so no one noticed the exhaustion and invisible pain. At home, I cooked, helped with homework, mediated squabbles, and made sure everything looked fine on the outside, while inside I was desperate and afraid I was failing everyone, thinking perhaps my children would be better off without me. Even my partner didn’t notice, brushing off my fatigue—so I stopped talking. Nights alone in the bathroom became my refuge. And when the day came when I finally couldn’t function—I sat on the kitchen floor unable to move—nobody came to help. It wasn’t until therapy that someone finally told me: this doesn’t mean you’re a bad mum. Asking for help was slow, awkward, and guilt-ridden, but it saved me. Now, I still raise my children and work, but I’ve stopped pretending to be perfect, and I know I was never a bad mother—I was just utterly exhausted. I’m 38 now, and for the longest time, I thought the problem was me. I believed I was a terrible
You Can’t Turn Back the Clock:
When Tanya Showed Off Her Wedding Photos, She’d Laugh and Say,
“Oh, I suffered in that dress! So beautiful, but heavy and clumsy! Next time I get married, it’ll be in something light and airy.”
Everyone thought she was joking—after all, Tanya and her husband had married for love.
It began as a classic holiday romance: Tanya, 21; Alex, 28.
August on the English coast, sparkling wine, starlit skies, seaside romance… ending with papers at the registry office.
In the decade that followed, ‘London–Brighton–London’ became Tanya’s well-worn path—her second home.
But that came later. At first, they had to find a place to live.
Alex gifted his flat to his dramatic second wife (who had threatened outlandish revenge if left), and Tanya moved to Brighton with him.
Tanya’s life seemed charmed: bouquets of flowers, three fur coats, a new pair of shoes for every day, trips to Paris and the Lake District… All preparing to welcome their first child.
Daughter Molly was born, and Alex lovingly set up a cosy home for his girls.
Tanya, however, longed for her old life in London—her friends, her mum, and the city’s comforting lime trees.
While she studied psychology at university, Molly was left with her adoring grandmother. Tanya’s returns home became ever more frequent—and Alex became suspicious and jealous.
Eventually, Tanya confessed: she was bored and yearned for freedom. Despite Alex’s pleas, she left—chasing her dreams, her freedom, and even starting her own tailoring business.
Alex, desperate to save his family, moved with Molly to London—but Tanya’s mind was made up. Their marriage ended.
Years passed. Alex found quiet happiness with a down-to-earth woman and became stepdad to her boys, finally welcoming another daughter. No Parisian trips, no designer shoes—just rubber boots, a warm coat, and a simple life.
Tanya, meanwhile, lived with her mum again. Her business failed, her admirers vanished—but her studies paid off; she became a school psychologist. Regrets? Maybe, in the silent depths of her soul.
And Molly? All grown up, she married in Odessa—wearing a light, airy bridal dress, just as her mother once dreamed. WHAT YOU CUT AWAY, YOU CAN’T PUT BACK When Alice showed her wedding photos to friends, shed always
Once, I Received a Call from a Distant Aunt Inviting Me to Her Daughter’s Wedding—My Long-Lost Cousin Whom I Last Saw at Age Six. Not One for Family Gatherings, I Tried to Make My Excuses, but My Aunt Declared, “Once in Twenty Years—Don’t You Dare Not Come!” An Invite Adorned with Doves and Roses from Svetlana and Anatoly Arrived, with Reminders, So Off I Went, Grumbling About My Lost Saturday. Arriving at the Reception with a Bouquet, Foul Mood, and Plans to Slip Out Early, I Was Seated Among the Groom’s Jovial Friends, Who, After a Few Drinks, Began Praising Me as the Bride’s Stunning Aunt—and Suggesting We All Get to Know Each Other Better. I Didn’t Recognize the Bride, Who’d Gone from Mousy Kid to Glamorous Blonde, and Felt the Whole Affair—Full of Grumpy Aunts, a Nervous Groom, and a Bride Enamored with Her Own Beauty—Was Rather Gloomy, Saved Only by Our Lively Table. I Missed the First Round of Toasts, but Was Next Up, When the MC Announced, “Now a Word from the Bride’s Young and Beautiful Aunt!” As I Began, All Fell Silent—Only for an Aunt in Pink to Hiss That the Bride’s Name Was Actually Lucy, and the Groom Was Oliver. Realization: I’d Crashed the Wrong Wedding! My Invitation Clearly Said Svetlana and Anatoly, Hall So-and-So—But Apparently, There Was Another Banquet Hall Upstairs. Despite Savage Glares and Accusations from the Real Family, Salvation Came in the Form of a Waiter, Who Redirected Me to the Correct Party, Where My Real Aunt—After Some Odd Winking—Reunited Me with the Actual Bride and Groom. I Was Spared from Handing Over My Gift at the Wrong Wedding, But the Best Part? I Was Still Bidden Farewell by the Groom’s Friends from the First Wedding! A little while ago, my distant aunt rang me unexpectedly and invited me to her daughters weddingmy distant
The cat used to sleep with my wife. He would press his back against her and push me away with all four paws.
The cat used to sleep with my wife. He would press his back against her and push me away with all four paws.
Adam, I promise you, my dear, I dont ever want to hurt you. Adam sat perched on the window sill, gazing
I agreed to look after my best friends child, having no idea he was actually my husbands son.
All my friends are out buying flats and spending their money on renovations, while my girlfriend has
Oh, come on, Ellie, dont make a fuss! My husband Pauls voice boomed over the shouts of three burly blokes
