**Diary Entry – A House Divided**
Living in a quiet town along the River Thames, where life moves at a steady pace and family dramas unfold behind closed doors, my heart aches over the mess I’ve made with my ex-wife and my new one. I, James, thought I’d made the right choice leaving behind the endless arguments, but now, the past haunts me.
My ex-wife, Charlotte, always had a reason to pick a fight. I’m no saint—I’ve got my flaws—but her nitpicking drove me mad. She berated me for everything: being tired after work, not spending enough time with our ten-year-old son, Oliver. It irked her when I took him to football matches or the local fair—to me, it was joy, not just duty. Yet Charlotte would complain that I got to be the fun parent while she had to be the disciplinarian. The control, the accusations—I couldn’t take it anymore.
One day, I snapped. After yet another row, I packed my things and left. I rented a flat nearby so Oliver could visit whenever he liked. It felt like the only way out—Charlotte and I couldn’t understand each other, and living together had become unbearable. Three months later, she filed for divorce. I tried to adjust, savouring the silence, free from shouts and jabs. It was like fresh air after suffocating for years.
Six months passed. Oliver mentioned in passing that some “bloke” had been visiting his mum. I brushed it off, but unease nagged at me. Deciding it was time to move on, I dated a few women, but nothing stuck. I wanted stability, a family. Then came Emily—young, lovely, no children, no baggage. She didn’t boss me around or make scenes. I thought, with her, life would be easier.
We married quietly—no fuss. Been there, done that. Life with Emily was peaceful; I even considered having children. Sometimes, I admit, I wanted to prove to Charlotte that I could be happy without her, that I’d found someone better.
But everything changed when Charlotte called—Oliver had been hit in the nose during football practice. I rushed to the hospital and saw her properly for the first time in ages. She looked stunning, just like when we first met. Calm, no accusations. The scent of her perfume lingered in my car afterwards, and suddenly, my chest tightened.
Oliver’s nose wasn’t just bruised—he needed surgery. I saw Charlotte more often, discussing his care. One evening, out of habit, I stepped into their home, kicked off my shoes, put the kettle on. Only when I couldn’t find my old mug did it hit me—this wasn’t my home anymore. I was just giving them a lift.
Emily was nothing like Charlotte. Serene, tidy, she cooked lovely dinners. We never fought, and in bed, everything was perfect. But her detachment chilled me. She never laughed at my jokes, never shared my excitement over films. Her emotions felt locked away—untouchable. Life with her was like a showroom: flawless, but lifeless.
I caught myself texting Charlotte constantly, excusing it as concern for Oliver. But the truth? I missed her. Missed our home, her sharp laugh, the way she’d match my sarcasm and argue until she was hoarse. The fights faded from memory—only the good remained.
One day, dropping Oliver off, I ran into her new man. Older than me, slightly greying. I nodded at his greeting, but inside, I seethed. This stranger was in my house, sleeping in my bed! I lost it, shouting at Charlotte to keep him away from my son.
“What, should I drag Oliver to his place instead?” she snapped. “Or send him to you so he can sleep between you and Emily? Buy him a proper bed first, then lecture me on who I see!”
We yelled like old times. Oliver, overwhelmed, slammed his bedroom door. Charlotte stormed off muttering. I followed, and before I knew it, I pulled her close, my lips brushing her neck. She gasped—then shoved me away.
“What’s wrong with you? Go home to your wife!” Her eyes blazed.
I left, my world tilting. At home, Emily waited—perfect, polished, but a stranger. She’d done nothing wrong, yet I couldn’t pretend anymore. I ached for Charlotte, for her fire that once drove me mad, for mornings in her stolen shirts, evenings waiting for our favourite show.
I left Charlotte thinking it was for the best. Now I know—my home is where she and Oliver are. I want to go back, but how? I’ve a wife who doesn’t deserve betrayal, and an ex whose flame still burns me alive. I’m lost, but my heart pulls me back—to what’s real, to where I belong.
