What About Me? Am I Just an Afterthought?
I cant do this anymore. Goodbye, Nicholas, I wrote in the note, calmly, without exclamation marks. Nicholas will never read it. After a moments thought, I burned it.
…Years ago, Nicholas and I fell into a reckless, consuming lovehot, torturous, and unstoppable. We raced toward the edge of a cliff without a second thought.
…Nicholas had a wife and three young children. I had two sons and a husband. Everyone we knew thought wed lost our minds. Are you both mad? theyd say. Think of your families! But Nicholas and I noticed nothing else. To us, the world was emptyno obstacles, no interruptions.
Whenever I came to my senses after our stolen moments, I realised I never wanted children with Nicholas. Never.
He once said of his own kids:
I dont exactly dote on them. My wife always wanted more. What do I care?
Honestly, that attitude unsettled me. But I wasnt planning to marry him! Let them have more childrenthat was their business.
…Three years later, Nicholas and I married. We were happy, peaceful. My sons, of course, stayed with me.
When Nicholass children grew older, the endless trouble begana never-ending cycle. They called at midnight, showed up at his workplace, demanded he rush to their aid.
The reason? Moneyor rather, the lack of it. All three needed constant support. Nicholas helped as much as he could, weighed down by unshakable guilt. He couldnt refuse them anything. I understood. And so did they. They shamelessly exploited their fathers remorse, indulging every whim. I pitied them too, though I knew to them, I was the enemy.
…Years passed. Grandchildren arrivedfive so far, with more to come. His eldest daughter fled an abusive husband in little more than slippers, desperate for help with her three little ones. The youngest lived on benefits, a single mother who spent recklessly, never quite making ends meet. The middle son? A hopeless drunk, always soused, paying child support to his exmoney Nicholas handed over from our own pockets.
Nicholas himself was drowning in debt, though his children had no idea. Only I knewand my sons, who begged me to leave this side-lined sponsor. Once, I asked Nicholas for perfumejust once. He frowned.
Darling, you know Ive no sense of smell. Why waste money? Ill buy it soon enough.
Yes, in another eight years, I sighed.
Truthfully, I stopped asking. The excuses were predictable: VIP maternity care for Emily (why not a shared ward?), a fancy winter coat for little Sophie (would a regular one do?), new shoes for his thirty-year-old son (were the old ones truly ruined?).
Our fights were always about his grown children. Every argument ended with me saying, If we divorce, Nicholas, blame your kids. Yet he swore he couldnt live without me. And me? Exhausted. I want my own life, not one ruled by Nicholass children. Their names echo through our home like funeral bells.
I remember a line from an old film: Well, Ive got family too, thank God! I have my own children and grandchildren who need love. Why couldnt I stop myself twenty years ago?
…Life writes cruel scripts. I wouldnt wish mine on anyone. I sowed passion and reaped regret. The fire burned out. What felt like boundless love? Ive finally hit the bottom.
My son moved awaya family, a job. Hes asked me to join him for years.
Im leaving for good. Decision made. I wrote Nicholas a farewell note. Burned it. Hell understandor he wont. A note wont change that.
P.S. I visited my children, my grandchildren. Stayed with my other son in Germanymarried to a strict Düsseldorf woman. Their child speaks no Russian. What does he see in her? But love isnt logical, is it?
Their lives are calm, filled with love. A balm to my soul.
…A month later, I returned to Nicholas. I doubt he even realised Id left for good. But he did buy me expensive French perfume.
