I came to understand my mistakes and wanted to return to my ex-wife after 30 years, but it was already too late…
My name is William Hartley, and I live in Canterbury, where the grey Kentish days stretch endlessly across the fields. Im 52 years old, and I have nothingno wife, no family, no children, no job. Only emptiness, like the cold wind howling through an abandoned house. I destroyed everything I had with my own hands, and now I stand amidst the ruins of my life, staring into the abyss I dug myself.
For 30 years, I was married to my wife, Eleanor. I was the providerworking long hours to support our family while she cared for our home. At first, I liked having her there, keeping her world small, just for us. But over time, I grew irritated by her kindness, her habits, even her voice. Love faded, worn away by routine. I told myself it was normal, that this was simply how marriage was meant to be. I was comfortable in that dull, stable monotony. Then fate threw a challenge my way, one I couldnt resist.
One evening, at the pub, I met Sophie. She was 32, twenty years younger than mebright-eyed, lively, full of energy. She seemed like a dream come true, a breath of fresh air in my stagnant life. We started meeting in secret, and within months, she became my mistress. For two years, I led a double life until I realisedI no longer wanted to go home to Eleanor. I was in love with Sophieor so I believed. I wanted her to be my wife, my new future.
I finally gathered the courage to tell Eleanor the truth. She didnt scream or throw platesshe just looked at me with hollow eyes and nodded. I thought she didnt care, that her feelings had died long ago. Only now do I see how deeply I hurt her. We divorced. We sold the house where our children, Thomas and James, 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 one-bedroom, and I didnt offer her a penny. I knew she had no income, no way to survive, but I didnt care. My sons called me a traitor and cut all ties. Back then, I didnt mindI 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 me. Friends whispered, my brother warned me, but I ignored them. Life with Sophie became a nightmare. I worked myself to exhaustion, paying for the house, the child, while she demanded money, vanished at night, came home drunk. The flat was a messno food, constant arguments over nothing. I lost my jobexhaustion and anger took their toll. I endured this hell for three years until my brother convinced me to take a paternity test. The result struck me like a hammerthe boy wasnt mine.
I divorced Sophie the same day I found out. She disappeared, taking everything she could carry. I was left aloneno wife, no family, no strength. So I decided to return to Eleanor. I bought flowers, wine, a cake, and went to her like a begging dog. But another man lived in her old flat nowhe gave me her new address. Trembling with hope, I went to her. A stranger opened the door. Eleanor had found work, married a colleague, and looked happier than Id ever seenradiant, alive. She had rebuilt her life without me.
Later, I found her in a café. I fell to my knees and begged her to come back. She looked at me like I was 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 did I trade my family for a younger woman who drained me and left me broken? For an illusion, for blind belief in love? Im 52 years old, and Im empty. My sons wont answer my calls, my job slipped through my fingers like sand. I lost everything I ever held dear, and the fault is mine alone.
Every night, I dream of Eleanorher quiet eyes, her voice, her warmth. I wake in the cold grip of solitude and realise: I pushed her away. She wont wait for me, wont forgive me, and I dont deserve forgiveness. My mistakea brand that sears my soul. I wish I could turn back time, but its too late. Far too late. Now I wander the streets of Canterbury like a ghost searching for what I destroyed. I have nothing leftonly regret, which will follow me to the end of my days. I ruined my family, my life, and I carry that weight alone, knowing nothing can ever be fixed.
The lesson is clear: love isnt just passionits loyalty, patience, and gratitude. Once lost, some things can never be reclaimed.
