My Husband Left for a Younger Woman. I Didn’t Cry. I Sat Down and Breathed: For the First Time in Years, I Felt a Sense of Relief

Diary, 12May

The husband walked out with a younger woman. I didnt break down. I simply sat down, breathed out, and for the first time in years felt a lift.

Peter and I had been married for thirtythree years. We wed when I was twentytwo and he was twentysix, fresh out of school. The early days were full of the usual buying a terraced house in Birmingham, a mortgage, the first baby, then the second, endless renovations, evenings of overtime. We lived normally, just like everyone else. No great passions, but no catastrophes either.

Gradually we began to drift. He would come home late from the engineering firm, always with an excuse about a new project. I settled into my routine a shift at the local library, grocery shopping, cooking, doing the laundry, helping the grandchildren with their homework, chatting with Mrs. Patel next door. At night we watched television, each in our own corner of the sofa.

We stopped touching. I cant even recall the last time he held me. I didnt complain; I told myself that this was what mature life looked like, that love simply changes its shape.

Two years ago Peter started acting oddly. He suddenly cared about his appearance. He shed a belly, dusted off shirts that had hung untouched in the wardrobe for years, even began wearing cologne again. Excuses of business trips and offsite meetings appeared, even though he had never travelled for work before. I pretended not to notice.

I was scared to ask. Deep down I knew something was wrong, but I told myself, Maybe its just a phase. Maybe hell get bored of it.

One evening he came home, didnt eat his dinner something that never happened and said:

Blythe, we need to talk.

He sat opposite me, looked straight into my eyes and said, Ive met someone. Shes younger. I feel good with her. Im leaving.

That was it. No shouting, no hesitation.

I looked at him. He was fiftynine; I was fiftyfive. And I felt relief. Real relief.

There were no tears, no drama. I went to the kitchen with a mug of tea and a sudden, deep quiet settled over the house a quiet I hadnt known in decades. For once no one complained that the tea was too sweet, no one slurped at dinner, no one slammed doors because the remote had been misplaced.

I didnt sleep that night, but not from pain from relief. For the first time I could think only of myself. Peter moved out a week later, taking a suitcase, a few shirts, his laptop. The rest, he claimed, was already mine anyway.

The children reacted in their own ways. My daughter was outraged. Dads gone mad, Mum, what does he think hes doing? she kept saying. My son stayed quiet; hed always been closer to his father. I didnt need their support. I felt free.

I finally started doing the things Id always put off. I signed up for a painting class, even though Id never held a brush before. I took Mrs. Patel on a weekend trip to York the first time in twenty years I travelled without a plan or the fear that someone would be waiting at home with a sour look.

I began to go to bed whenever I wanted. I ate dinner in bed. I rearranged the livingroom furniture. I bought a new, colourful tablecloth with giant flowers something Peter would have despised, but I adored.

People around me reacted oddly. Some whispered, How are you coping? Its sad at your age Others, perhaps more quietly, seemed pleased that Peter got what he deserved. I didnt care for their opinions.

For many years I lived in a marriage where I was invisible. I was the cook, the accountant, the nurse, the cleaner not the wife, not the woman. When Peter left, I didnt lose love; I lost a weight.

I know it may sound as if Im taking pleasure in someone elses misfortune. It isnt. I simply rejoice in the life I have reclaimed.

I have no idea how long his fling with the younger woman will last. It could be long, it could end quickly. Thats no longer my concern.

My concerns now are a cup of tea with a spoonful of honey, reading late into the night, long walks without any guilt. My concerns are just me.

And for the first time in thirty years I truly feel at home with myself.