I was 19 when James, the bloke Id been seeing for a year, asked me to marry him. I knew deep down it was rather soon, and that tying the knot would mean saying goodbye to all those carefree nights out with friends. Still, James always struck me as steadfast and dependable, the sort of chap you could build a life with. Frightened I might never find someone better, I agreed and became his wife.
We moved in with his parents. My mum and dad have a sprawling detached house just outside Oxford, and we were given the upstairs to ourselves. I should mention that Jamess parents werent exactly short of money, and at the time, James had a solid job, too. It meant I could continue with my studies at university without any worries.
Two years later, I had my first child a daughter. James was over the moon, utterly delighted. But then came trouble we never saw coming. James lost his job. His parents were quick to offer him a spot in the family business, but Jamess pride wouldnt allow it; he insisted hed find his own way. As it happened, a mate of his suggested James head abroad to make some decent money. And so, off he went.
We agreed itd only be for a year just long enough to set us up a bit, maybe even allow us to buy a place. But once he got a taste for the high wages over there, James came back after a year, only to say he was leaving again this time, for two years. He wanted to save enough to buy us a flat in London and finally break free from relying on our families. Admirable, yes, but what about me and our little girl? James promised hed visit a couple of times a year, and he did. Long story short, this work trip of his stretched on, and ended up lasting five years. By then, I was so desperate for companionship that I could barely think straight.
Then, out of the blue, a man a few years older than me messaged me on Facebook. He piled on the compliments, kept saying how beautiful and desirable I was things I hadnt heard from James in ages. We chatted online for a month, and eventually agreed to meet. That night, everything happened. I betrayed James. It felt so good at the time that I went out with him a couple more times. Then, fate worked its hand: two months later, James finally came home for good. He was loving, said all the right things, even bought me a flat. But my guilt ate away at me. I owned up that Id been unfaithful, more than once. What followed was inevitable.
James threw me out. For a brief moment, I thought about turning to that other man, but he quickly made it clear he wouldnt have me claimed he was too busy with work, came up with all sorts of excuses. Clearly, I was just a passing fancy for him. Now James has already filed for divorce; I live at my mums with my daughter, but hes threatening to try and take her from me. I feel utterly ashamed of myself for not waiting for my husband. How could I have betrayed him like that?
This whole ordeal has taught me the hard way: sometimes, impatience and loneliness can lead you down a path youll regret for the rest of your days. If Id only held on a little longer, maybe things could have been different.
