My beloved is still married to his wife and has a daughter with her.
It feels like an age ago now. I loved my husband very much. We had been together for over seven years, and our son, William, had just turned six. My husband always found time for William, taking him along to the car repair shop or out on little adventures. He also cared for me in ways both small and grand bringing home fresh flowers for no reason, or planning a romantic night out in the city. We lived an ordinary life; in our own way, we were a happy family. Family games filled our evenings and laughter echoed in our home.
Not long before, we had borrowed a modest sum from our parents and purchased our first flat. I took pride in keeping house, loving the feeling of comfort and the scent of freshly baked cake drifting through the rooms. Though I worked quietly on the side doing hairdressing and private appointments, I earned enough to keep us comfortable. I dreamed of all the things we would do to this flat, determined to make them a reality.
I worked at a beauty parlour, juggling several private clients as well. My husband brought in a good wage. We didnt live lavishly, but if we set our minds on something a special purchase or a holiday in Cornwall we managed to save for it. Wed thought about buying a little cottage in the countryside, but decided, for now, to wait.
I truly enjoyed life, and our relationship felt sure and steady. We had met later in life, but I always said to friends it was worth the wait for such a man.
Yet, my beloved maintained a close relationship with his daughter, offering financial support and keeping in touch with his wifes parents, as his daughter lived with them. I never troubled myself asking about his wife or her whereabouts.
I had not pulled him away from another family; he had been on his own, living a single mans life when we met. But as time passed, a concern began to grow inside me: he had yet to formally divorce his wife. At work, when someone inquired about when we might get married, I would simply answer that were waiting a bit. It seemed trivial; after all, marriage is only a matter of paperwork.
Recently, my mother grew insistent, urging me to give him an ultimatum: that if we were to remain together, he must officially propose soon. She found it odd that he kept the formal tie to another woman. According to her, his wife still held all the rights and privileges, while I shouldered the responsibilities. Even though we had just moved into a new flat, technically, it belonged to his wife. What do you call such a matrimonial triangle, I sometimes wonder?
