**Are You My Happy Ever After?**
Truth be told, I wasnt planning on getting married. If it werent for my future husbands relentless wooing, Id still be flitting about like a carefree sparrow. Arthur, like a love-struck moth, fluttered around me, never letting me out of his sight, bending over backward to please meyou get the idea. In short, I caved. We tied the knot.
Arthur settled into domestic life effortlessly, becoming my closest confidant. Being with him was as comfortable as slipping into well-worn slippers.
A year later, our son Oliver was born. Arthurs job kept him in another city, so hed only come home on weekends, always bringing treats for Oliver and me. One visit, as I prepared to do the laundry (a task Id learned to approach with caution after accidentally washing his driving licence once), I checked his trouser pockets. Out fell a note, folded neatly into quarters. I unfolded ita long list of school supplies (it was August, after all). At the bottom, in a childs scrawl: *”Daddy, come home soon.”*
Oh, so this was how my husband amused himself when he was away! A bigamist!
No theatricsjust grabbed my bag, took Oliver (not even three yet) by the hand, and marched straight to my mums. She gave us a room, saying, *”Stay here till you sort things out.”*
Revenge simmered in my mind. I remembered an old school flame, Robbie. Hed fancied me for years. Perfect! I rang him up.
*”Robbie, still single?”* I asked casually.
*”Nadia? Blimey! Married, divorced Fancy meeting up?”* he replied, far too eagerly.
My impromptu affair lasted six months. Arthur, meanwhile, dutifully delivered child support to my mum every month, handing it over in silence before leaving.
I knew he was living with Emily Carter, a single mum whose daughter called him *”Daddy”* on Emilys insistence. The moment I left, Emily had swooped in from another town, knitting him woollen socks and cooking hearty mealsdetails Id learn later. Id forever hold Emily over his head, but back then, our marriage felt like a sinking ship.
Then, over coffee (discussing divorce papers), nostalgia hit us like a freight train. Arthur confessed undying love, swore he didnt know how to shake off clingy Emily. My heart melted. We reconciledthough he never found out about Robbie. Emily and her daughter vanished from our town.
Seven blissful years passed. Then Arthur had a car accidentsurgeries, rehab, a walking stick. Two gruelling years later, he was a shell of himself, drowning in drink. No amount of pleading helped.
Enter Paul, my *”work husband.”* Married, with a second baby on the way, he listened to my woes in the smoking area, walked me home, comforted me. No idea how we ended up in bedhe was a foot shorter than me, not my type at all! But off we wentgalleries, concerts, ballet. When his daughter was born, Paul cooled off, switched jobs, and ghosted me. Fine by mehed just been a temporary distraction.
Arthur kept drinking. Five years later, Paul would randomly propose. Id laugh in his face.
Arthur briefly sobered up, took a job in Germany. I played the dutiful wife, focused on family. He returned, we refurbished the house, bought gadgets, fixed his car. Life was gooduntil he relapsed. His mates carried him home, drunk and incoherent. Id scour the neighbourhood, finding him passed out on park benches, pockets emptied.
Then, one spring morning, as I stood glumly at the bus stop (birds chirping, sun mocking my misery), a voice purred in my ear: *”Can I help with your troubles?”*
I turnedgood Lord, what a silver fox! At 45, was I back in the game? Flustered, I bolted onto the bus. He waved cheerfully.
For weeks, Edward (his name, as Id learn) ambushed me at the stop, grinning, blowing kisses. One morning, he brought red tulips. *”Where am I supposed to put these at work?”* I hissed. *”The girls will gossip!”*
*”Didnt think of that,”* he said, handing them to a nosy granny nearby. *”Thanks, love!”* she cackled. *”Hope you find a fiery mistress!”* Mortified, I wished the ground would swallow me.
Edward smirked. *”Lets be guilty together, Nadia. You wont regret it.”*
Tempting. With Arthur perpetually comatose from drink, I caved. Edward was a teetotal, non-smoking ex-athlete (57, but fit), divorced, and dangerously charming.
Three years I ricocheted between home and him, addicted to the thrill. My son Oliver caught us at a restaurant. *”Just discussing work,”* I lied weakly. He didnt judge, just begged me not to divorce Arthur. *”Give Dad time.”*
I felt like a lost sheep. My twice-divorced mate urged: *”Ditch these useless flings and grow up!”* I noddedbut only when Edward raised a hand at me did I snap out of it.
*”Calm seas deceive,”* my friend had warned. The spell broke. Freedom!
Edward begged, grovelledI stood firm. My friend gifted me a mug: *”You Did the Right Thing.”*
Arthur knew. Edward had called, boasting Id leave. *”Hearing him,”* Arthur admitted, *”I wanted to die. I drove you away.”*
Ten years on, were grandparents. Over coffee, Arthur squeezes my hand: *”Nadia, look at me. Im your happy ever after. Believe me?”*
*”Of course, you daft old sod.”*
