**What About Me? Am I Just an Extra?**
«I cant do this anymore. Goodbye, Nicholas,» I wrote in the noteno exclamation marks, just calm acceptance. Nicholas will never read it. After a moments thought, I burned it.
Years ago, Nick and I fell into a wild, consuming loveburning, restless, unstoppable. We raced toward the abyss without a second thought.
He had a wife and three young children. I had two sons and a husband. Everyone around us shook their heads. *Have you both lost your minds? Think of your families!* But Nick and I barely noticed. To us, the world held nothing but each other. No obstacles, no regrets.
After our stolen moments, Id catch myself thinking: Id never want children from Nicholas. Never.
Nick once said about his kids, *»Im not exactly the doting type. My wife always wanted a big family. What did I care?»*
Honestly, his attitude unsettled me. But I wasnt planning to marry him! Let them have their broodthat was their business.
Three years later, Nicholas and I married. Life together was peaceful, content. My sons stayed with me, of course.
When Nicks children grew older, the trouble began. Endless calls in the night, surprise visits to his workplace, desperate pleas for help. The reason? Money. Or rather, the lack of it. All three needed his support, and Nick, drowning in guilt, never refused. I understoodso did they. They shamelessly took advantage, every whim indulged. A part of me pitied them, though I knew they saw me as the villain.
Years passed. Grandchildren arrivedfive so far, with more likely. Nicks eldest daughter fled an abusive husband, now raising three little ones alone. His youngest, a single mother on benefits, lived beyond her means but never seemed to worry. His middle son? A hopeless drunk, jobless, paying child support through Nicks wallet. And yet, Nick adored his granddaughterthe spitting image of himmore than any of the others.
Nick himself was drowning in debt, though his children had no idea. Only I and my sons knew, urging me to leave this *»side project financier.»* Once, I asked Nick for perfumejust once. He frowned. *»Darling, you know Ive no sense of smell. Why waste the money? Ill get it soon.»*
*»Soon»*, I muttered. *»Maybe in a decade.»*
I stopped asking. The excuses were predictable: *»Marian needs a private maternity suite!»* (Why not shared?) *»Lottie must have a designer coat!»* (Wouldnt a regular one do?) *»Toms shoes are falling apart!»* (Hes thirty!)
Our fights were always about his grown children. After every row, Id sigh, *»If we ever divorce, Nick, thank your kids for it.»* Yet he insists he cant live without me. And me? Im exhausted. I want my own lifenot one ruled by Nicks children. Their names echo through our home like church bells.
I think of a line from a film: *»Well, Ive got family too, thank God!»* My own children and grandchildren need love and care. Why couldnt I stop myself twenty years ago?
Lifes a cruel playwright, scripting misery for us all. I walked right into it. *You reap what you sow*, they say. Our passion faded. What felt bottomless now has a floorand Im living with stolen sorrow.
My eldest son moved awayjob, family, a new life. Hes been begging me to join him.
Im leaving Nick for good. I wrote that note, then burned it. Hell understand. Or he wont. Words wont change it.
P.S. I visited my children and grandchildren, even stayed with my younger son in Germany. He married a Düsseldorf womanpainfully precise. Their *kinder* doesnt speak a word of English. What he sees in her, Ill never know. Love defies reason, they say.
Their lives are quiet, full of love. Mine? A balm to the soul.
A month later, I returned to Nick. I dont think he even realised Id left for good. But he did buy me those expensive French perfumes.
