Now I am 52 years old. Empty-handed. No wife, no family, no children, no job nothing at all.
My name is Peter. My wife and I were married for 30 years. I was always the breadwinner, while my wife, Margaret, kept the home. I never wanted her to work. I liked knowing she was there. But over time, it began to grate on me.
We lived together civilly, but the love had faded. I thought that was normal. It suited me fine. Then everything changed. One night, in a pub, I met Eleanor. She was 20 years youngerbeautiful, kind, full of laughter. Like a dream come true.
We started seeing each other, and soon she became my mistress. After two months, I realised I didnt want to keep deceiving Margaret. I dreaded going home after work. I knew thenI loved Eleanor. I wanted her as my wife.
Days later, I told Margaret the truth. She didnt make a scene. Stayed perfectly calm. I thought she didnt love me either, thats why she took it so quietly. Now I understand how deeply I hurt her.
We divorced. Sold the flat where wed spent so many years. Eleanor insisted I not leave it to my ex-wife, so I didnt. Margaret bought a tiny studio. With my savings, I bought a two-bedroom flat for Eleanor.
I gave Margaret nothingnot a single penny. I knew she had no money, no job lined up. But at the time, I didnt care. Our sons, Oliver and Thomas, refused to speak to me. They felt Id betrayed their mother. Couldn’t forgive me.
Back then, it barely mattered. Eleanor was pregnant. We waited eagerly for the baby. Soon, a boy was born. But he looked nothing like me. Or Eleanor. My mates doubted he was mine. I shut them out.
Life with Eleanor was chaos. I worked long hours, kept the house, cared for the boy. Eleanor only asked for money, always out till dawn. The flat was a mess, no meals cooked. Shed stumble home at three or four, reeking of gin, picking fights over nothing.
Then I lost my job. Exhausted, angry, doing shoddy work. Three years passed like this. Then my brotherwho never approved of Eleanor, never believed the boy was mineconvinced me to take a DNA test. Turns out, he was right.
We divorced the moment the truth came out. By then, I hadnt spoken to Margaret or the boys in years. After the split, I decided to go back to her. Bought flowers, wine, a cake, knocked on her door. But she wasnt there. The new owner gave me her address.
I went. A man answered. Margaret had landed a good job, remarrieda colleague. Happy. Thriving.
Later, I saw her at a café. Begged her to take me back. She looked at me like I was daft and walked away. Now I see my mistake. What did I want? What did I gain? Why did I leave my wife for some young thing?
Now Im 52. And I have nothing. No wife, no job, not even my sons will speak to me. I lost everything that ever mattered. And it was all my fault. A mistake I can never undo.
