You Simply Don’t Know What Happiness Is – A Story of Half a Million Pounds, a Mother-in-Law’s Interference, and Escaping a Controlling Marriage for a Second Chance at Love in London

You Just Dont Realise Your Own Luck

Half a million? I read the notification on my phone three times before the number made sense. You took out a loan for half a million pounds?

David was slouched on the sofa, eyes glued to his own phone, and didnt even look up.

Oh, that… yeah, its nothing, just a bit for Mums house. You know her pipes are leaking, the parquets warped, the wallpaper is coming away from damp…

Wait. I sat down on the edge of the armchair; my legs felt too weak to stand. You took out a loan. For half a million pounds. And gave all of it to your mother. Without mentioning it to me?

David finally tore his gaze from the screen. Genuine confusion clouded his face, as if Id asked something ridiculously obvious.

Cassie, it’s Mum. She lives on her own, her pension barely covers the essentials. Who else is going to help her?

And maybe talk to me about it? My voice started to rise, but I couldnt stop. Ask my opinion? At least warn me?

Youd only have argued, David shrugged. And Mum needed it urgently.

Four years. Four years I put up with his mother ringing at dinner every night just to find out what David had eaten. Shed show up unannounced and criticise our cleaning. At every family meal, shed orchestrate the seating so Id end up at the far end of the table.

Dont make a mountain out of a molehill, David continued, voice calm as ever. Well sort it. Well pay it off quickly, its not that much. Its family.

Hot, angry tears spilled down my cheeks and I scrubbed at them with the backs of my hands, smudging mascara everywhere.

Family? And meam I not family? Or am I just an afterthought? Remember when your mother decided it was time to change the car and you sold ours without asking? How she threw away my things from the guest room because its uncomfortable sleeping with someone elses clutter about? How on my birthday you both went fridge shopping for her?

Its all trivial stuff, David brushed my words away. Youre just tired, you need a break.

I looked at himthe tall man with soft features, those dimples Id once found so endearing. Now all I saw was a thirty-year-old child, still unable to cut the apron strings.

Well manage, he repeated like a mantra. Love conquers all.

I silently got up and walked to the bedroom. Two large duffel bags sat on top of the wardrobethe ones Id brought when I moved in. I hauled them down, tossed them on the bed, and started opening cupboards.

David turned up at the door twenty minutes later, as the first bag was already full to the brim.

What are you doing? Cassie, dont be ridiculous. Youre not serious, are you?

I didnt answer. Folded my jumpers, jeans, underwear carefully. Took down the box of jewellerygifts from my parents and friends; nothing from him.

Where will you go? To your mums? Shes in York!

Fastened the second bag, checked my handbagpassport, debit card, keys to Mums flat, always kept just in case.

Cassie, say something! You cant just leave. I love you!

I looked at him for a long moment. Then picked up my bags and walked out.

…Next morning, I was standing in line at the registry office, clutching the divorce application. Outside, thin rain pattered onto the pavement, clouds hanging low above the townhouses, but I felt an odd calmness flooding me. The decision was made.

The first call woke me at half past two in the morning. I started upright on Lenas sofa, not quite remembering where I was.

We need to talk, Davids breath was ragged in my ear, words tumbling over each other. Ive realised everything. Ill change. Give me a chance.

I hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again.

Cassie, I cant live without you. Youre the meaning of my life.

By morning, forty-three messages had arrived. Long ones, heavy with tearful confessions, promises, threats.

If you dont come back, I dont know what Ill do.

Mum says youre just being contrary.

Ill wait for you forever.

A week later he started popping up at my office. Whenever I went for lunch, Id spot him by the sandwich shop. Walking to the Tube after workthere hed be across the road.

Just passing by, hed smile when I demanded an explanation. Wanted to see you.

One evening there was a knock at Lenas flat. I opened without even checking the peephole, thinking it was the pizza delivery.

David stood in the doorway holding a bunch of red roses.

Just one chance, he whispered. Thats all Im asking.

I shut the door without a word. He stayed outside for two hours, until the neighbours threatened to call the police.

I learnt to live with itthe way you learn to live with a chronic ache. Not checking unknown messages, ignoring the calls, never looking over my shoulder on the street. Changed jobs for a remote one, moved to a suburb where David would never accidentally show up.

The divorce was final three months later. I walked out of the courthouse, legal papers in hand, and burst into tears right on the stepsnot from sadness, but relief.

The first months of freedom were a frightening, echoing emptiness. Id grown used to second-guessing every decision, even though hed always do things his way in the end. Now I could buy any yoghurt I wanted without worrying about Mrs Wilkinsons opinion. I could watch any film without being lectured on what proper women ought to watch. I could finally breathe.

I signed up for English classesa long-held wish, something David had called a waste of money. Started going to yoga in the pre-dawn, while the city was still waking. Took a weekend trip to Canterbury, no plan, just wandered the quiet lanes eating fudge.

After six months, the calls stopped. Eventually the messages did too. For a month, I waited for the other shoe to drop, and then another, and then I realised it was actually over. Got a job at a marketing agencya bright office, young team, interesting projects. Life began to work again.

I met Andrew at our work party, dragged along by my colleague Mary.

Hes our head programmer, Mary said, introducing a tall man in slim glasses. Andrew, meet Cassie from marketing.

He shook my handfirmly, gently. Smiledsimple, no airs or attempts to impress.

Dodging the karaoke as well? he asked, nodding toward the stage where the finance director was butchering Wonderwall.

Saving my nerves, I grinned.

We chatted till the end of the nightabout books, travel, the oddities of life. Andrew listened more than talked. Asked questions, waited for answers, never interrupted or tried to lecture. When he learned I was divorced, he just nodded and moved the conversation on.

…Six months later we moved in together, choosing a flat in the centre. Small, airy, high ceilings, view of a peaceful courtyard.

Are you sure you like this place? I asked as we went to sign the lease. Should we look at others?

Do you like it? Andrew turned to me.

Yes. Very much.

Then lets take it.

Little thingsmy opinion matteringfelt more important than any flowery declarations of love.

He proposed on the rooftop at sunset, the city bathed in pink and gold. He took out a little box, opened ita glittering diamond ring inside.

Im not great at speeches, Andrew admitted. But I want to wake up beside you every day. If you can bear my snoring and terrible coffee.

I laughed through tears and nodded

That May evening started out ordinary. Andrew was working latea looming deadline, some urgent bug in the code. I was making pasta, singing along to the radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding.

I looked through the peepholeand stumbled back.

David was on the landing. Pale, dark circles under his eyes, crumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silenceand now he was here.

Cassie, open up! his fist thudded against the door. I know youre in there! We have to talk!

I grabbed my phone and dialled Andrew. Engaged.

We love each other! David shouted. You cant be with someone else! Its wrong!

The door shudderedhe threw himself against it, trying to force it open. I pressed my back against it, feet bracing hard.

Leave! I yelled. Ill call the police!

Youre my wife! His voice went shrill. You were mine and youll always be! Two years Ive waited for you to come to your senses! Two years!

Were divorced! Its over!

Nothings over! he shoved the door again; it nearly came open. Ive changed! Mum says you just dont understand your own luck! Open up, lets talk!

His face was twisted in the peephole, obsessed, unrecognisable from the man I once shared a bed with.

I hit 999.

David! One press and the police will be here. Go. Now.

He froze. A moments silence. Then he spun on his heel and stormed down the stairs. The street door slammed below.

I slid down the wall to the floor, ears ringing. It took half an hour before I could stand and call Andrew.

I filed the report the next day. The officera kindly older bloke with a moustachetook notes, listened to me, nodded.

Well sort it. Ill go have a word.

What he said to David, Ill never know. But after that, my ex-husband vanished. Not a single call, not a text, not a chance encounter.

…The wedding was that June, at a little country inntwenty guests, just our close friends. No pretence, no relatives from his side insisting on tradition.

I stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands in mine. Outside, birch trees whispered, the air ripe with flowers and cut grass.

Do you began the celebrant.

I do, I interrupted, and everyone laughed.

Andrew slipped the ring on my fingerslender gold, engraved inside with three words: Always with you.

I looked at the man Id married. Not a mummys boy, not an obsessive stalker. Just a man who could listen, who could respect and love. Ahead of us lay a life where my voice truly mattered.