My name is Natalie Taylor, and I live in Henley-on-Thames, where Oxfordshire’s charm meets the banks of the River Thames. I often hear men accusing us women of using them, cheating, or being various other things. But why don’t they take a look in the mirror? What are they, if not pitiable, insignificant creatures? That’s why I’m writing, to release this pain that burns in my soul like hot coal.
Andrew and I spent 27 happy years together. We built our home, raised our two sons, and now have grandchildren. We always understood each other, shared the joys and sorrows of life. But when he turned 53, it was like he became a different person. He started staying late after work, spending hours in front of the mirror, and I wouldn’t see him at all on weekends. Soon, it all came out: he had fallen head over heels for a young lover. I was ready to forgive him if he would just come to his senses and return to us. But no, he threw it in my face that I had aged, unlike him, and that I didn’t understand him. He said he was in love with her, craving her youth and passion. And her? What did she want from him – his aging body, his wrinkled skin? She couldn’t care less about him; she was only after his money. And when that ran out, she’d toss him aside like rubbish.
Our sons, Alex and James, tried to talk some sense into him, telling him he was embarrassing them and that they were ashamed in front of others. But he didn’t listen to them either and looked at them like strangers, with emptiness in his eyes. I reached my limit and threatened him with divorce, thinking it would wake him up. But he agreed, as if he’d been waiting for it. In our later years, we separated. Now he lives with that girl, feeding her child instead of cherishing his own grandchildren and enjoying their laughter. I’m alone in our house, filled with memories of the past, while he’s off with her, living in the illusion of a new life.
I don’t blame her, this young woman. She spun her web cleverly to survive, to grab a bigger slice. And my ex-husband is just a fool, blinded by a midlife crisis. Does he really think he can build a new family at his age? That this young woman will bear his children and care for him? Let him delude himself! I’m not searching for a new man — I’ve had enough of their lies and betrayals. I don’t need sympathy, nor tears from strangers. Don’t offer advice or judgments — I won’t read them. Yes, I went through hell: despair burned me, anger strangled me like a noose. He ruined my life when I least expected a blow. But I survived, endured, and let the pain go.
Now, I have my children and grandchildren — my light, my support. What does he have? Soon, he’ll realise how gravely he erred. This girl won’t ask if he’s taken his blood pressure pills, won’t wash his socks, or cook a hot meal for his return. She lives for herself, and he, to her, is just a wallet with legs. And when he knocks on my door again — and I know that day will come — he’ll find a cold reception. Neither I nor our sons will forgive him this betrayal. He left us for a fleeting thrill, for cheap passion, but we remain a family — without him. Let him go to hell with his lover!
I see him in my dreams — young, as he once was, with a smile that warmed my heart. Then I wake up and remember what he’s become: a selfish man who traded his loved ones for a fantasy. It’s bitter, but I haven’t broken. Every day, I look at my grandchildren and think: they are why I go on. But him? He’ll reap what he sowed — loneliness, emptiness, scorn from those who loved him. He thought youth could be bought, but love isn’t for sale. And when she drains him of every last penny, he’ll have nothing — a pathetic, abandoned old man with no one waiting for him. Meanwhile, we’ll carry on, without him, but together. And that is my revenge — not spite, but the strength he couldn’t take from me.
