Things were different then. People… No… Society was different. I met him in university. He was sweet and I, well, I was troubled. He pulled me, from my sorrows; saved me from my stupidity; carried my baggage.
We are newly-weds now. Stealing away, burning with youthful passion. Candle light dinners; family feuds. Warm embraces; petty arguments. Every month exciting, frightening. Absorbed with the creation of Us.
We have a child. We have two. The passion has cooled. I’m settled as Wife/Mother: tender and supporting; cunning and cruel. Life highlights – birthdays, anniversaries, family days out.
Eventually love is gone. I am left with my role. Kids to raise, laundry to do. Sometimes we argue, sometimes we don’t. I call work, he’s not there; but I don’t query… I don’t want to know.
He stays out often. I find the wedding band by the bedside, by the sink. Rumours circulate. The kids swear they’ve seen him with someone. We row, I slap him. It’s all glossed over by Christmas.
We’ve separated now. His partner has moved in. He’s much younger then I am. I can’t say I’m happy. I still have my role but I don’t like what we’ve become. We reconcile anew as friends.
We’ve had many years together but I wonder if we were happy. I realised I was a cover; evidence of denial; a victim of changing times. Hurt, I step aside. Looking back, despite the pain, I was irrevocably indebted to his sweetness. So I forgave.