I finally understood what I had done. I longed to return to my ex-wife, with whom I had spent thirty years, but by then, it was far too late
Now, at fifty-two, I have nothing. No wife, no family, no children, no jobnothing at all.
My name is Edward. For three decades, I shared my life with my wife. I worked hard to provide for our family, while she tended to our home. I never wanted her to workI was content knowing she was there, keeping everything in order. But as the years passed, her presence began to vex me.
We lived together civilly, with mutual respect, but the love between us had faded. I assumed it was the natural course of things, and it suited me well enough. Then, everything changed. One evening, in a pub, I met Abigail. She was twenty years my juniorbeautiful, kind, and full of laughter. She seemed like a dream come true.
We began seeing each other, and soon, she became my mistress. After two months, I could no longer bear lying to my wife. I dreaded returning home after work. I convinced myself that I loved Abigail and wanted her as my wife.
Days later, I confessed the truth to my wife. She did not scream or weepshe remained eerily calm. At the time, I mistook her silence for indifference, believing she no longer loved me either. Only now do I realise how deeply I wounded Margaret.
We divorced. We sold the cottage where we had spent so many years together. Abigail insisted I not leave it to my ex-wife, and so I didnt. Margaret bought a small flat, while I used my savings to purchase a two-bedroom house for Abigail.
I gave Margaret nothingnot a single pound. I knew she had no money of her own and would struggle to find work, but back then, I didnt care. Our sons refused to speak to me. They believed I had betrayed their mother and could not forgive me.
At the time, it didnt trouble me. Abigail was pregnant, and I eagerly awaited the birth of our child. Soon, a son was bornbut he looked nothing like me or Abigail. Friends whispered doubts, but I ignored them.
Life with Abigail grew unbearable. I worked tirelessly, cared for the house, and tended to the child while she did nothing but demand money and vanish for hours. The house was always a mess, meals were never prepared, and she staggered home at dawn reeking of gin, picking fights over nothing.
Eventually, I lost my jobexhausted, bitter, and careless in my work. Three years passed this way. Then my brother, who had never trusted Abigail and doubted the child was mine, pressured me into a paternity test. It proved the boy was not my son.
We divorced the moment the truth came out. By then, I had no contact with Margaret or my sons. After parting ways with Abigail, I resolved to return to my first wife. I bought flowers, wine, and a cake, and went to her old homeonly to find she no longer lived there. The new owner gave me her address.
When I arrived, a man answered the door. Margaret had found a good position and married a colleague. She was happy, content.
Some time later, I spotted her in a tearoom. I begged her to take me back. She looked at me as though I were a fool, then walked away. Now, I see the folly of my choices. What did I want? What had I gained? Why had I cast aside my wife for a younger woman?
I am fifty-two now, and I have nothing. No wife, no job, not even my sons will speak to me. I lost everything that ever truly matteredand it is all my own doing. Sadly, some mistakes can never be undone.
