My life changed forever: I was missing out on my children’s childhood, but one day everything turned around.
At thirty-two, I found myself at a crossroads. On the surface, life seemed perfect: a cozy home on the outskirts of Manchester, a good job in the banking sector, two wonderful children—five-year-old Daniel and three-year-old Alice—and expecting a third child, a girl. But deep inside, a storm was brewing, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
I grew up in a small village in Suffolk, where my parents ran a farm. My childhood was spent among wheat fields, cows, and chickens, surrounded by the scent of hay and the sound of milking buckets. I loved being with my parents, helping them, petting calves, and feeding chicks. My father often said, “Kate will be a vet, you’ll see.” And I believed it until life took me in a different direction.
At 21, I moved to the city and started a career in banking. I forgot about farming—caught up in a whirlwind of numbers, charts, clients, and KPIs. Everything seemed right until reality hit: I hardly saw my children anymore. I’d come home at eight, exhausted, with an aching back and an empty soul. Daniel was already asleep, Alice clung to me with sleepy arms, begging me to stay for just five minutes… yet all I wanted was to switch off and escape from everything.
My second husband was kind and caring. He became a father to my children, even if not biologically. He managed the household, cooked, took the kids to nursery, did the laundry, and even read them bedtime stories. He did his best, but I could see—it wasn’t easy for him either. We were both running around like hamsters on a wheel.
When I requested part-time hours at work, my employers refused. “You’re irreplaceable,” they said. But something inside me broke. I knew it was time.
One day, while brushing our dog—a big, fluffy, eternally happy Max—I had a sudden flashback of my childhood. I remembered my dreams of healing animals, my love of cats, and taking my kids to the zoo whenever possible. My passion for animals hadn’t faded. It was just waiting for its moment. I looked up and thought, “What if…”
I called my husband:
“Alex, how would you feel about opening a pet hotel?”
There was silence on his end, followed by warm laughter:
“I’ve dreamt of that for ages but didn’t know how to suggest it to you.”
We were building a house, which included two garages and a workshop for him. Everything changed. We revised the plans: now it featured a cozy pet hotel area—with separate pens, heating, and a play area.
I took on the papers, consultations, permissions. It was a long journey, fraught with sleepless nights and doubts. But in six months, we welcomed our first guest—Buster the cat, whose owner was going on holiday. It marked the beginning of a new chapter.
I resigned from the bank without looking back. Instead of office drudgery, I now had early morning walks with dogs, cats purring, and the sounds of children’s laughter outside. My kids were with me again—we had breakfast together, they helped care for the animals during the day, and at night, I tucked them in, listening to their enthusiastic tales of their day.
My husband continued to support me—emotionally, physically, and financially. We became a true team. Our home was organized, the fridge stocked with fresh food, and our hearts filled with peace.
Our business thrived. People can tell when you work passionately. They see their pets happy to return. Some say, “It’s like an animal spa here!” And I smile, grateful for their trust.
Now I feel alive again. My family is happy. I regret nothing, because following your heart is always the right choice—even if it takes courage.
Life is unpredictable. I once thought a banking career was my destiny. Now, I’m proud to say: I own a pet hotel. And I’m a mother who’s back where she belongs—with her children.
