I was in that relationship for five years. Wed been married for two, and before that, we lived together for three years. The whole time we were engaged, our relationship was pretty much long-distance. We saw each other once every three months, and there was even a year where we only met up twice, thanks to his work. Back then, it didn’t feel like an issueactually, it seemed perfect to me. We missed each other a lot, cried during our phone calls, and gushed with love through texts and FaceTime. We never argued. He wasnt jealous, and neither was I. We both respected each others space. He could go out for dinner with his mates, I could go to a party, and it didnt matter. He would even help me pick out outfits. Not that any of them were especially racyhed often tell me if a dress was a bit too tight and suggest something that looked better on me. He was never controlling. Quite the oppositehe seemed proud of me and the way I looked. Everything felt healthy, calm, even ideal.
One December was especially tough, as we knew we wouldnt see each other for either Christmas or New Years. We were both glum and disappointed. Thats when he suggested moving in together and asked me to move to his city, Manchester. I thought it over, spoke to my family, and they said as long as it was what I wanted, I should go for it. So, I quit my job and moved in with him.
The first few months were good. The first year was really about getting used to each otherlearning our odd habits, how we woke up, what we were like when hungry, what annoyed us. Since I didnt have a job at the time, I took charge of the house. Everything was easy-going.
The second year was even better. We ended up functioning as a real team, falling in love all over again. We wanted to spend all our time together. When he wasnt at work, wed hardly spend a moment apart. We looked like newlyweds. It all seemed to work perfectly. I felt like Id made exactly the right choice.
But in our third year, something started to change. He began coming home late. We always had our locations shared with each other, but one day he turned it off without saying anything. Sometimes hed come home at five or six in the morning when he was supposed to be at work at eight. Hed just shower, grab breakfast, and leave againno explanations anymore. Arguments became constant.
Then one day, something happened that marked me. I found makeup stains on his white shirt. Foundation and lipstickon the collar and down one sleeve. It wasnt a small mark; it was glaringly obvious. I asked him for an explanation. Thats when he told me something Ill never forgetthat hed had to look elsewhere for what I wasnt giving him anymore, as Id become dull, always thinking of nothing but tidying and cleaning the house. That was more than enough for me. He didnt exactly say, Yes, Im cheating, but he didnt deny it either. He confirmed it without spelling it out.
It broke me completely. I couldnt stop crying. I felt a physical ache in my chest. I had no idea what to do next, or how to get through it all. So I decided to do something for myself. I went back to the gym. I used to train, but after moving in with him, Id given it up. There, I met a man. We started chatting. It was nice. One day, he invited me for a drink, and I suggested we go to his place. He agreed. We arranged to meet in the afternoon. We both knew exactly what it meant.
That same day, back at home, after seeing him at the gym that morning, I couldnt get the thought out of my head: This cant be happening. Im about to cheat on him. He deserves it. And then, in the very next moment, I told myself, No. Im not going to be like him. So I made the decision to end it first.
I waited for my husband to come home for lunch. I didnt even let him into the bedroom. We sat down in the dining room, and I told him the relationship wasnt working, that hed cheated, and that I didnt need to know with whom or for how long. That it was over, right there and then. He told me I was blowing things out of proportion, that the woman wasnt important, that she wasnt like me, and that we could fix things. I told him I wanted none of it.
I didnt say Id met someone else or that I wanted to be with another man. I simply told him I was leaving. My bags were already packed. He asked where Id go, if there was someone waiting for me there. I told him it didnt matter, Id figure it out.
I walked out of that house with my suitcases and headed to the other mans flat. When he saw me with my luggage, he was startled. I explained that Id just left my husband and that Id be heading back to my hometown, Bristol, the next day. I just wanted to be with him that night. He agreed.
That night was the most intense experience of my life. I dont know if it was the anger, the pain, the years of build-up, but it was nothing like anything Id felt before, not even with my ex-husband.
The following day, I bought a train ticket and returned to Bristol. I had nowhere else to go, so I moved back in with my parents. I didnt want anything more to do with my ex. That all happened two years ago now. Im single these days, back in work, renting a place of my own, and I dont regret the decision I made. I came close to cheating, but I knew when to stop, how to end it first, and I refused to become what hed been to me.
