A Husband Worth More Than Bitter Grudges: My Turbulent Journey from Heartbreak and Hardship to Risking It All for a Second Chance at Love

MY HUSBAND MATTERS MORE THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES

James, thats the last straw! Im done, were getting a divorce! Dont bother dropping to your knees like you always doit wont work this time! I put a definitive end to our marriage.

James, of course, didnt believe me. He was certain everything would go according to our usual pattern: hed beg, make a show of remorse, buy me yet another ring, and Id forgive him. It had worked before, more than once. But this time, I was determined to shatter the bonds of matrimony once and for all. My fingers were weighed down with rings, but my life was empty. James drank himself into a stupor night after night.

And yet it all began so romantically.

My first husband, Edward, went missing. It was in the early nineties, when things in England were difficult for many. Edward wasnt an easy man to live withalways looking for a fight, never backing down. As the saying goes, bold as brass but soft as butter. If anything didnt suit him, he made his displeasure known, usually at top volume. Im certain Edward got himself killed in one of his scuffles. I never heard another word from him. I was left raising our two daughters alone: Lucy was five, Emily just two. Five years passed after his disappearance.

I nearly lost my mind. Despite Edwards fiery nature, I loved him dearly. Wed once been inseparable. When he vanished, I decided my life was over; Id devote myself to bringing up the girls. I completely wrote off any future happiness for myself. But fate had other plans.

Those years were tough. I worked in a factory, and instead of money, I was paid in toasters. I had to sell them at the local market just to afford groceries. Every weekend I braved the cold and set up shop. It was winter, and my hands were blue from the chill when a man walked up to me. He looked at me with pity.

Freezing, are you? the stranger asked gently.

Howd you guess? I quipped, trying to joke though my teeth chattered. But something about him radiated warmth.

I know, silly question. Maybe we could warm up in a café? I can help you carry the toasters.

All right, lets go, or I might freeze to death out here, I managed to reply.

We didnt make it to the café. Instead, I dragged the stranger back towards my flat, asked him to wait outside with the bag of toasters while I ran to collect the girls from nursery. My legs felt like ice, but my heart had thawed a bit from his kindness. As I approached my building with the girls, I spotted him waitingJames, as he introduced himselfsmoking and shifting from foot to foot. I thought to myself, Ill invite him in for a cuppa, and see what happens.

James helped me lug the toasters up to my flat on the sixth floorthe lift was, of course, out of order. By the time the girls and I reached the third floor, James was already coming back down.

Hold on, my rescueryoure not leaving before a hot cup of tea! I grabbed his coat sleeve with a freezing hand.

Well, I dont want to intrude, he glanced at the kids.

Not at all! You can walk the girls up while I dash ahead and put the kettle on, I said, taking a leap of faith.

I didnt want to lose him; he already felt like part of the family. Over tea, James offered me a job as his assistant, at wages better than a years worth of factory toasters.

Of course, I said yes. I could have kissed his hands for such an offer.

James was going through a divorce from his second wife and had a son from his first marriage.

And so, life took off…

Soon after, James and I married. He adopted the girls. Everything was cheerful and full of promise. We bought a four-bedroom flat, furnished it with expensive furniture and appliances, and built a lovely garden. Every summer, we took the girls on holiday to the seaside. Life was truly rosy.

Seven blissful years rolled by. But perhaps living so comfortably, having achieved everything hed ever wanted, James began slipping into the bottle. At first, I tried to ignore it. I knew he worked hard and needed to relax. But when he started drinking at work, I got worried. Nothing I said made a difference.

I must admit, Ive got a wildly adventurous streak. Hoping to distract my husband from his drinking, I decided to have another child. By then, I was thirty-nine. None of my friends were surprised when I told them.

Go for it, Alice! Maybe well decide to have a go at becoming mums at forty ourselves! the girls would laugh.

And Id always say, If you ever get rid of a child before its born, youll end up regretting it terribly. But if you keep them, even if it wasnt planned, youll never regret having them.

James and I were blessed with twins. Now we were raising four daughters! But Jamess drinking didnt stop. I tolerated it as long as I could, then decided that getting away to the countryside might helphave a bit of land, some animals. Good for the girls health, and maybe it would keep James too busy for drinking.

We sold the flat and garden, bought a house in a market town, and opened a charming café. James took up hunting, bought himself a shotgun and all the trimmings. The woods were teeming with game.

It went well enough until one night James really lost it. I couldnt tell you what hed been drinking, but it turned him into a madman! He smashed crockery, wrecked the furniture, and finally took the gun and fired into the ceiling.

I fled with the girls to our neighbours, terrified.

The next morning, it was quiet. We crept back, only to find our home in ruinshardly anything was left intact, and James was sprawled out cold on the floor.

I gathered what I could and marched out with the girls to my mums houseshe lived nearby, in the same town.

Oh, Alice, what shall I do with all these girls? Mum fretted. Go back to your husband. Families have rows, but they get over it.

Mum always believed in looking presentable and sticking with your man.

A few days later, James turned up. That was when I put my foot down for good. James couldnt remember any of his performance. He didnt believe my stories. But Id had enough. There was no going back for me. All ties severed, bridges burned.

I honestly had no idea how wed get by, but I figured better to go hungry and stay alive than be killed by a drunken husband.

We had to sell the café for next to nothing, as I needed to move us away fast. We ended up renting a tiny house in a village nearby.

The older girls found work, and laterthank Godboth married. The twins were in Year 5 at school. All the girls kept in touch with James, their dad, so I always knew how he was doing through them. Through the girls, James begged me to take him back. The girls chimed in: Oh, Mum, stop being so stubborn. Dads changed. Hes apologised a hundred times! Think of yourselfyoure not twenty-five, you know. But I remained firm. I wanted a life of calm, without drama or disasters.

Two years passed.

In the evenings, I found myself missing James. Loneliness gnawed at me. I had to pawn all the rings hed given mecouldnt afford to buy them back. A shame. I started remembering the old times. Our house was always filled with love; James truly loved all the girls, he cared for me, he always apologised when he was wrong. We were a proper family. Happiness is different for everyoneyou cant compare yours to anyone elses. What more could I possibly want?

The older girls no longer visited, just called now and then. I understoodthey had their own lives. Soon, my twins would also leave the nest, and Id be left rattling around on my own. Daughters are like goslings: as soon as their feathers are fully grown, off they go.

In the end, I persuaded the twins to sound James outfind out how he was living, and whether another woman had entered the picture. The girls dug out the details. Turns out James had moved to another town, was working, sober, and hadnt so much as touched a drop. He was completely alone, left his address for the girlsjust in case.

So, here we are, five years back together.

I told you, Ive always been something of a risk-taker.