THE HUSBAND WHO OUTWEIGHED THE BITTER RESENTMENT
“Ian, that was the last straw! Were donedont bother falling to your knees like you always do. It wont work this time!” I slammed the door on our marriage with those words.
Ian, of course, didnt believe me. He was sure it would go the same way as always: hed grovel, buy another ring, and Id forgive him. It had happened more times than I could count. But this time, Id truly had enough. My fingers, down to the pinkies, glittered with rings, yet my life was empty. Ian drank himself into oblivion, drowning in cheap whiskey.
And it had all begun so beautifully.
My first husband, Edwin, vanished without a trace. It was the 90sa frightening time to be alive. Edwin had a temper like a lit fuse. If something didnt suit him, hed pick a fight with the world. So when he disappeared, I knewhed gotten tangled in something ugly. No word, no body. Just me and our two girls: five-year-old Lily and little Rose, barely two. Five years passed in a haze of grief.
I thought Id lose my mind. Id loved Edwin, despite his explosions. Wed been inseparable. After he vanished, I resigned myselflife was over. Id raise the girls alone.
But fate had other plans.
Money was scarce. I worked shifts at the factory, paid in kettlesendless kettles I had to hawk at the market just to put food on the table. One winter, my fingers blue from cold, a man took pity on me.
“Youre freezing,” he said cautiously.
“Really? I hadnt noticed,” I joked through chattering teeth. But his presence warmed me.
“Stupid question,” he admitted. “Fancy a cuppa? Ill help carry those kettles.”
“God, yes. Otherwise, I might just freeze solid,” I managed.
We never made it to the café. I dragged him to my building, left him guarding the kettles, and ran to fetch the girls from nursery. My feet were numb, but my heart was lighter. When we returned, there he wasIanshifting from foot to foot, smoking. “Might as well offer him tea,” I thought. “Whats the worst that could happen?”
He hauled the kettles up six flights (the lift was broken, of course). By the time Id herded the girls to the third floor, he was already descending.
“Wait!” I grabbed his sleeve. “You cant leave without tea!”
“Wont I be in the way?” He glanced at the girls.
“Dont be silly. Hold their handsIll put the kettle on.”
Over tea, he offered me a jobpaying more than a years worth of kettles. I nearly kissed his hands in gratitude.
Ian was divorcing his second wife. He had a son from the first.
And so it began.
We married. He adopted the girls. Life was goldena four-bed house, top-notch furniture, holidays by the sea. For seven years, it was bliss.
Then, Ian started drinking.
At first, I ignored it. He worked hard; he deserved to unwind. But when the bottle followed him to work, I panicked. Pleading did nothing.
Ever the gambler, I hatched a plan: a baby. At thirty-nine, my friends laughed.
“Go on, Tamsin,” they teased. “Maybe well all be mums at forty.”
I always said, “Better regret having a child than regret losing one.”
Twins. Now we had four daughters.
Ian kept drinking.
Desperate, I dreamed of the countrysidefresh air, livestock, less time for whiskey. We sold everything, bought a village house, opened a café. Ian took up huntingguns, gear, the works.
For a while, it worked.
Then came the night he drank something foul. He smashed plates, furniture, then turned on us. A shotgun blast into the ceiling sent us fleeing to the neighbours.
Morning revealed the wreckageshattered home, shattered trust. Ian lay passed out on the floor.
I bundled the girls and fled to Mums.
“Tammy,” she sighed, “take them back. Every marriage has its storms.”
Mum believed in suffering prettily.
Two days later, Ian came begging. I refused. He remembered nothing.
I burned every bridge. Sold the café for pennies, moved to a tiny cottage. The older girls found work, then husbands. The twins started school. They still loved Iankept me updated on his sobriety, his pleas for my return.
“Ma, hes changed,” theyd say. “Youre not getting any younger.”
I held firm.
Then, two lonely years later, I missed him. The rings hed given me gathered dust in the pawnshop. The house echoed.
I sent the twins to spy.
Turns out, Ian was sober, single, working in another town. Left his addressjust in case.
Long story shortweve been back together five years.
What can I say? Ive always been a gambler.
