**My Happiness?**
Honestly, I never planned to marry. If not for my future husbands relentless courtship, Id still be as free as a bird. Thomas fluttered around me like a lovesick butterflyalways attentive, doting, treating me like a queen. In the end, I surrendered. We married.
Thomas quickly became my comfort, my home. Being with him was as easy as slipping into well-worn slippers.
A year later, our son William was born. Thomas worked in another city, visiting us once a week, always bringing treats for me and Will. One visit, as I prepared to wash his clothes, I checked his pocketsa habit after once accidentally laundering his drivers license. This time, a folded paper slipped from his trousers. Unraveled, it revealed a long list of school supplies (it was August). At the bottom, in a childs handwriting: *»Daddy, please come home soon.»*
So, this was how my husband amused himself while away! A bigamist!
No screaming fitsjust my bag under my arm, little Wills hand in mine, and off to Mums. For good. She gave us a room: *»Stay until you patch things up.»*
Revenge simmered in my mind. I remembered an old schoolmate, Robert. *Him*, Id have my «affair» with! Robert had never left me alone, even after school. I called.
«Robert! Still unmarried?» I began casually.
«Emily? Blimey! Married, divorcedwhats the difference? Fancy meeting up?»
My unplanned fling lasted six months. Thomas delivered child support monthly, handed it silently to Mum, and left.
I knew he lived with Catherine Evans and her daughter from a previous marriage. Catherine insisted the girl call him *Dad*. Once I left, Catherine swooped inknitting him jumpers, cooking hearty meals. I learned all this later. Id spend years throwing Catherine in Thomass face, but back then, our marriage seemed beyond repair.
Then, over coffee (discussing divorce), memories flooded us. Thomas confessed undying love, admitting he didnt know how to rid himself of clingy Catherine.
Pity swallowed me. We reconciled. (He never knew about Robert.) Catherine vanished from town.
Seven blissful years passeduntil Thomas crashed his car. Surgeries, rehab, a cane. Two grueling years left him a shell. He drank heavily, withdrew. Pleas fell on deaf ears.
Enter Paul from workmy «shoulder to cry on.» Married, with another child on the way. I still dont know how we ended up in bed. Absurd! He was shorter, scrawnynot my type.
Yet off we wentgalleries, concerts, ballets. When his daughter was born, Paul vanished, switching jobs. Out of sight, out of mind? I didnt cling. Hed been a Band-Aid for my pain.
Thomas kept drinking.
Five years later, Paul reappeared, proposing marriage. I laughed.
Thomas briefly sobered up, left for work in Germany. I played the dutiful wife, devoted to family. He returned after six months. We renovated, bought gadgets, fixed his car. Life seemed sweetuntil he relapsed. Hell resumed. Friends carried him home, barely conscious. Id scour the neighbourhood, finding him slumped on benches, pockets emptied.
One spring morning, I stood glumly at the bus stop. Birds chirped, sun beamedI barely noticed. Then a whisper:
«Maybe I can ease your troubles?»
I turned. *Good Lord.* A handsome strangersilver-haired, magnetic. At 45, was I still desirable? Flustered, I boarded the bus just in time.
But Henry (his name) persisted. Every morning, he waited at that stop, blowing kisses, once bringing tulips.
«Where am I supposed to take these?» I scolded. «My colleagues will gossip!»
He grinned, handing them to a watching granny, who chimed: *»Bless you, lad! May you find a fiery mistress!»* My cheeks burned.
Henry murmured: *»Lets be guilty together, Emily. You wont regret it.»*
Tempting. With Thomas lost to drink, I succumbed.
Henry was a teetotal ex-athlete (57), divorced, spellbinding. For three years, I ricocheted between home and hima haze of passion without love.
My son knew. He spotted us at a restaurant, nodded grimly at my flimsy excuse: *»Work discussion.»* Will begged me not to divorce. *»Dad might recover.»*
I felt like a stray sheep. A twice-divorced friend warned: *»Ditch these toyboys before they wreck you.»*
I finally woke when Henry raised his hand to me. *Done.*
*»Calm seas deceive from shore,»* my friend had said. The fog lifted. Three years of follyover!
Henry begged, grovelled. I stood firm. My friend gifted me a mug: *»You Did Right.»*
Thomas knew. Henry had called, boasting Id leave. Thomas admitted: *»Hearing his gloating, I wanted to die. I drove you awaychoosing drink over you.»*
Ten years on, we dote on two granddaughters. Over coffee, Thomas squeezes my hand:
*»Emily, stop looking sideways. Im your happiness. Believe me?»*
*»Always, my love.»*
**Lesson:** Love isnt the absence of stormsbut knowing whom youd brave them with.
