So, you know how I thought I was taking control of my life? Turns out, I was just lighting a match and watching it all go up in flames.
Three weeks back, I packed my bagsnot sneakily, not quietly. I did it right after standing in front of fifty-odd people, my husbands whole family, and announcing I was leaving him for my coworker.
This wasnt some spur-of-the-moment thing. My husband had been out of work for eight monthsnot laid off, mind you, but sacked. Showed up drunk to his job at the warehouse. Again. He kept promising hed find something, but every day it was just him glued to his console while I pulled double shifts at the pub, barely covering rent and the weekly shop.
Then theres this bloke, my coworker. Started as a bartender six months ago. Sharp, drivenactually owned his own car instead of always nicking mine. We got chatting during quiet shifts, then texting, then meeting up after work.
One night at his flat in Manchester, he looked at me and said, *You deserve someone who can actually look after you. Not some waster glued to his Xbox all day.*
I believed him.
The family do was at my mother-in-laws place in Leeds. Her garden was packed with relatives, laughter, and those flimsy folding chairs. My husband was banging on about some online tournament hed won. His cousin asked how the job hunt was going.
*Oh, nearly sorted,* he lied. *Got a few good leads.*
Thats when I snapped.
*Actually, he hasnt sent out a single CV in three months,* I said, standing up. *Im done pretending. Im leaving him for someone who actually has a proper job and some ambition.*
The garden went dead silent. My husbands face went white.
*What the hell are you on about?* he asked.
I didnt hold back.
*Im talking about how youre a skiver who cant even pay for the weekly shop. Im talking about how Ive found someone bettersomeone who actually earns his keep instead of bleeding me dry.*
His sister gasped. His nan dropped her plate. My mother-in-law stormed over and slapped me right across the face.
*Get out of my house. Now.*
*Happy to,* I shot back, my cheek stinging. *Enjoy coddling your useless son.*
I walked out with just my handbag. That same night, I moved in with the bartender. Posted on socials about starting fresh with a *real man.*
Lasted all of two months.
Turns out, my coworker was also seeing the new barmaid. Walked in on them in his bed when I came home early from a shift.
*You knew I wasnt exclusive,* he said, like I was daft for assuming otherwise.
I had nowhere to go. My husband had changed the locks. My family said Id made my bed. The bartender kept my deposit on the flat we were meant to share.
Now Im working at a greasy spoon off the M1. Minimum wage, no tips.
My husband landed a job at his mates building firm last month. Just posted pics of his new van yesterday.
The mark from the slap faded, but I still feel it sometimes. That moment I thought I was so clever, so above it all. When I torched every bridge for someone who saw me as just another option.
Hes still pulling pints at our old pub. Got a new girlfriend already. Meanwhile, Im flipping burgers, wondering if this is exactly what I had coming.
But standing up there, shaming my husband in front of everyonewas that really necessary? Or was I just being a right cow?
