I met him at secondary school, both of us just fifteen, our worlds still so wide open. A few months passed, and we became a coupletypical teenage lovers, shy and full of hope. In our penultimate year, a new girl arrived in our form. By the end of the academic year, one careless forgotten mobile later, I ended up reading through his messages to her. Suddenly, so many little things started clicking into place: the way shed sob in his arms whenever life seemed too much, and I, naïvely, chalked it all up to friendship.
Back then, I was far too young, too afraid to lose the only person I thought could ever love me. I kept quiet about far too much. Time passed, and by the middle of our final year, just as I was working up the strength to leave, I found out I was pregnant. I cried until I ached. I saw storm clouds on the horizon: my studies delayed, my familys disappointment brewing, my world narrowing before my eyesand I was right.
We finished school, and our daughter was born. He went straight off to university, visits reduced to once every fortnight, and I felt so alone, trapped in the endless monotony of nappy changes and bottle feeds, my identity shrinking down to just mum.
I had hoped things with that girl would fade away after school, but even now, a decade on, she remained a constant shadow. She messaged him all the time and, even worse, he always replied with warmth. When there were parties, graduations, or holidays, he never brought meclaiming we couldnt get a babysitterhis ready-made excuse to see her. Deep down, I knew there was never an actual affair; not through lack of want, but because she preferred the cat-and-mouse of drawing him in and then dismissing him. It drained me, finding their messages, confronting him, hearing promises it would never happen again. After years of this cycle, in 2021 I finally said enough was enough.
I threw myself into therapy and remote work, spent more time with my daughtertime Id long craved. When I left him, I genuinely believed the chapter was over. I told him, firmly, that my mind was made up. But he wouldnt let go, growing even more persistent in his attempts to win me back. After half a year of his efforts, I offered him another chance, proposing we move in together as proof of his commitment. He agreed. We saved every penny, bought everything we needed.
For a time, I was happy. At last, the three of us together, building something that felt real. But one night in February 2025, I went to bed with a heaviness I couldnt explain, a whisper in my gut. Unable to sleep, I reached for his phone.
What I saw was gut-wrenching. By chance, I stumbled on a hidden chatnot even searching for herand in a single swipe, I found months worth of messages. Him begging her to see him. With each message, my heart broke further. I learned that two months before we moved in together, at an old classmates reunion, hed danced with her the whole evening, walked her home and asked for a kiss, only for her to turn him down. Hed written to his best mate, describing her as his impossible dream, while I was love and family. But the worst was a letter from December 2024words hed never written even for me.
In it, he told her that his school years were golden because of her, that out of 3,000 nights in the past decade, hed thought of her for more than 2,000. He wished they could have been a proper coupletracing the line of her neck, seeing her clothes on the floor, making love. None of it had happened, he said, only because he chose to step into his role as a father and partner for the first time.
After reading everything, I was left shell-shocked, shaking violently, teeth chattering with cold, feeling like nothing but a substitutethe one he settled for, not the one he wanted. Beside the letter were nearly 15 minutes of audio notes I couldnt bring myself to listen to. That night, as I trembled, I woke him and told him to leave. It was just past midnight.
The days that followed, I kept functioningwork, housework, caring for our nine-year-old girlwhile he moved about like an automaton. He apologised endlessly, started his own therapy. I forgave him, and against all odds, we faced the storm together. I demanded answers, and through the pain, certain things genuinely improved. Still, the scars remained, raw and deep. My confidence was in tatters. Some days I couldnt bear my own reflection, as if the woman I was had faded away.
We go on more dates now than ever, and there are moments I almost feel normal. But something inside me just wont settle. Is it caution? Is it fear? I cant quite sayI just know I cant rekindle the spark I once had, and it doesnt seem to bother him in the same way. We rarely argue anymore, and when we do, we talk straight away, both eager to fix it. But it doesnt bring back that lost fire.
On the outside, were the picture of a steady, loving partnership: supportive, affectionate, caring. But I still feel this hollowness. For eleven years, I felt alive with passion. Now, for a whole year, nothing. I feel adrift.
He works tremendously hard, driven and ambitious. Hes attentive with our daughter, genuinely tuned in to her feelings, always there to listen, play, invite us out, make us laugh, and create good memories. We share all the bills, treat ourselves now and then. To the world, everything looks just rightexcept, deep down, something in me is lost.
