28April2025 Diary
I always thought Id mastered the game called love, but life has a way of reminding you that every move carries a price, and sooner or later the bills have to be paid.
I married at twentyfive not too early, not too late. The thought of drifting back to my tiny hometown in the Midlands, where everyone watches every step you take, pushed me to stay in London. Here I could finally enjoy the anonymity Id long dreamed of, living on a modest flat and making ends meet with a modest salary in pounds.
The boy from my friends circle
Im talking about Stephen. Tall, darkeyed, he was the boyfriend of my school friend Olivia. Knowing he was taken only made the chase more tempting. It seemed Stephen didnt mind a little flirtation behind Olivias back either.
So, in a playful sort of way, we began seeing each other while he was still with Olivia. I never hid my other acquaintances; Stephen knew I wasnt the only one in his life, and he wasnt exactly free either, was he?
One afternoon Stephen caught sight of me stepping out of another mans car. After the driver drove off, he approached me and said we needed to talk. He claimed he couldnt stand sharing me with anyone else, that he couldnt picture himself with another woman, and suggested we both quit Olivia and start a life together. The idea appealed to me it solved my housing problem and gave me a chance to spite the haughty Olivia.
We moved in together, but after a few weeks the novelty wore off. I craved variety and a spark of excitement. I realised this when I ran into Ian, an old flame with whom Id shared some carefree evenings. We met for coffee, relaxed, and ended up in his flat. It was fun and refreshing. Two weeks later we repeated the encounter, and soon we were meeting for pleasure, without any strings attached.
Gradually I slipped back into my old pattern, seeing different men. Eventually I left Stephen, leaving a short note that simply read, I dont want to live together any more, with no explanation.
The unexpected turn
A month later I discovered I was pregnant. Terrified, I went back to Stephen. When he learned about the baby, he proposed marriage. I agreed, not because I was head over heels, but because it seemed the simplest, most sensible choice and it kept me from returning to that dull provincial town.
A year after our son was born, I became pregnant again another boy. Caring for two small children and keeping the house running consumed all my time. Stephen worked long hours, ambitious and often home late. Perhaps he simply didnt hurry back to an exhausted, irritable wife and noisy kids. I was far from pleasant company: tired, snappy, with no spare minute. I waited for Stephens return just to start complaining.
But a price had to be paid.
You might wonder who the father of my eldest son is Stephen or one of my former lovers? I never cared much. Maybe it was Stephen, maybe it wasnt. I kept telling myself, Everyone makes mistakes, I was young, it wasnt intentional
To this day I still dont know who fathered my first child, and I doubt I ever will. Everyone assumes its Stephen him, the son, our relatives alike.
Does it matter, though, now that Stephen has stopped caring for the children? Not because he doubts their paternity, but because he simply drifted away. One evening, when the kids were four and two, I came home to find a note on the kitchen table: Ive filed for divorce. Were not working out.
We divorced. I now raise the children alone. Stephen pays child support, which barely covers anything, but at least he left us the flat to live in until the kids are adults.
And Stephen? He eventually married Olivia, and theyre now expecting their first child.
