«Am I Just Extra?»
«I cant do this anymore. Goodbye, Nicholas,» I wrote this note without exclamation marks, perfectly calm. Nicholas would never read it. After some thought, I burned it.
Long ago, Nick and I were caught in a whirlwind of passionburning, restless, unstoppable. We raced toward the edge without hesitation.
Nicholas had a wife and three young children. I had two sons and a husband. Everyone we knew thought wed lost our minds. «Have you gone mad?» theyd say. «Think of your families!» But Nicholas and I noticed nothing else. To us, the world was empty. No obstacles, no interference.
When I came to my senses after our stolen moments, I realised I never wanted children with Nicholas. Never.
He spoke of his own children like this:
«I dont adore kids. My wife always wanted more. What do I care?»
Honestly, that unsettled me. But I wasnt about to marry him! Let them breed, I thought. Their business, not mine.
Three years later, Nicholas and I married. We were happy, at peace. My sons, of course, stayed with me.
When Nicholass children grew older, the chaos beganendless demands, an endless cycle. They called in the dead of night, showed up at his office, begged him to rush to their rescue.
The reason? Money. Or rather, the lack of it. All three needed support. Nicholas helped however he could, drowning in guilt, unable to refuse them. I understood. So did his childrenthey exploited his remorse without shame. Every whim indulged. Part of me pitied them. But I knew, to their family, I was enemy number one.
Years jingled past. Grandchildren arrived. Five so far, though more will come. The eldest daughter fled an abusive husband in her slippers. She needed savingthree little ones in tow. The youngest lived on benefits, a single mother always «catastrophically short.» Yet she loved luxury, spinning through life without a care.
The middle son? A hopeless drunk, always soused. He paid child support to his exexcept Nicholas paid it for him, straight from our savings. Theres a granddaughter, the spitting image of her granddad. Nicholas dotes on her more than the others, his heart hopelessly tangled in that fatherless girl.
Quite the bouquet, isnt it?
Nicholas himself is drowning in debt, though his children wouldnt know it. Only I doand my sons, who beg me to leave this «side-project sponsor.» Once, I asked Nicholas for perfume. Just once. He raised his brows:
«Darling, you know Ive no sense of smell. Why waste money? Ill get it eventually.»
«Right. In eight years, maybe,» I muttered.
Ive stopped asking. I know the excuses: «Marianne needs the VIP maternity suite» (why not the shared ward?), «the granddaughter needs a fur coat» (wont a puffer do?), «the thirty-year-old son needs new shoes» (his old ones have holes).
When we argue, its only ever about Nicholass grown children. I always end it the same: «If we divorce, Nick, thank your kids!» And yet, he swears he cant live without me.
But what about me? Im tired. I want my own life, not his childrens. Their names chime through our home like funeral bells.
I think of a line from some old film: «Well, Ive got family too, thank God!» I have sons, grandchildren who need love. Why couldnt I stop myself twenty years ago?
The devils a sly director, scripting each life just so. No one should fall into his sticky hands. My fault, really. You reap what you sow. The fiery nights dried up. What felt like bottomless love? Ive hit the bottom.
My son moved to another cityfamily, work, a new life. Hes asked me to join him.
Im leaving Nicholas for good. Decision made. I wrote that note. Burned it. Hell understand. Or he wont. The note wouldnt change that.
P.S. I visited my children, my grandchildren. Stayed a while with my other sonhe married a German girl from Düsseldorf. Painfully meticulous, that one. Their child doesnt speak a word of English. What does he see in her? Loves funny like thatnever logical.
Their lives hum along, quiet and kind. A balm to my soul.
A month later, I came back. I dont think Nicholas even realised Id left for good. But he did buy me expensive French perfume.
