My husband, John Whitaker, up and left me for another woman a year ago. He simply said hed met someone he loved, that hed had enough of me and probably never truly loved me at all. Now, according to him, hes found real feelings and a proper family.
He didnt bother to think about the fact that I still couldnt get back to work our youngest son, Max, was only eighteen months old. Our older lad, Luke, was in nursery, and we were scraping the bottom of the barrel. My only close relative is my sister, who lives up in Manchester.
Dont worry, youll manage, my motherinlaw, Margaret, said. The flat is yours, so at least youve got a roof over your head. Be glad my son is still paying you maintenance.
Yes, he was exactly a quarter of his declared salary, paid in pounds, of course.
John never filed for divorce and I simply didnt have the time. Two toddlers, a freelance job just to keep the lights on it was all a right circus.
Margaret would pop round once a month to see the grandkids, sometimes bringing a bag of apples or a couple of oranges.
The boys father never bothered with their upbringing. He kept telling me he was off to have new kids with someone else.
So we muddled through a whole year me, the kids, and a mountain of bills just trying to stay afloat.
At the end of that year a spot opened up at Lukes nursery, and Max was taken in. I could finally get back to work, and things started to look a little less grim.
My John will be a dad soon, Margaret announced over the phone one bright morning, her voice bubbling with excitement. Get the divorce sorted quickly I dont want my grandchild to be born out of wedlock.
Turns out Johns new girlfriend was already eight weeks pregnant, so I filed for divorce straightaway.
A week later John was in a car crash. He loved speed and daring overtakes and this time Lady Luck had packed her bags.
The car wed bought together during the marriage was a total writeoff, and John ended up in hospital with a litany of injuries. The worst part? The doctors said there was little hope hed ever walk again.
Margaret was sobbing on the phone. I felt a pang of pity for her after all, John was still technically my husband. Then she dropped a bombshell:
You have to get John out of the hospital and look after him, she said.
Me? Why me? I asked, stunned.
Youre his wife; youre not divorced yet, she replied. His girlfriend had an abortion yesterday. She doesnt want a child with a disabled dad. And you as his wife are responsible!
The divorce wasnt final because the court hearing had been postponed due to his hospital stay.
I told Margaret that my duties as a wife ended the moment her son walked out on us without a second thought. Hed spent a year ignoring me and the kids.
He left me, cheated on me, and abandoned our children, I said. Its a cruel coincidence that were not legally split yet, but Ill sort that soon. John still has his mother, who dotes on him.
You expect me to look after my own son? Margaret snapped. I stopped caring when he was a child. Now its the wifes job! Youre heartless and ungrateful. Ill tell my grandchildren that their mother dumped their father when he got disabled.
Now it looks as if Im the one who walked away not he a year ago!
Margaret eventually hauled John out of the hospital. Hes recovering slowly, and the doctors are a shade less pessimistic. Our divorce finally went through.
Meanwhile, my former motherinlaw is spreading the story all over Bristol:
Now I have to care for my sick son in my old age! His wife left him, the kids ditched him! What kind of women are these nowadays? As long as a man is fit and making money, hes welcome. The moment hes disabled, hes shown the door!
And you know what? Plenty of people nod in agreement, shaking their heads with faux sympathy. All the while it was John who walked out on me and the kids while he was still healthy.
My friend, Poppy, has been urging me to sell the flat and move somewhere far off. My sister in Manchester has offered me a place to stay. I think Ill take her up on it.
What would you tell me to do?
