**What About Me? Am I Just Extra?**
*”I cant do this anymore. Goodbye, Nicholas.”* I wrote that note without a single exclamation mark, utterly calm. Not that Nicholas would ever read it. After a moments thought, I burned it.
Once upon a time, Nick and I fell into a love that was all-consumingfiery, restless, and utterly reckless. We were racing toward the cliffs edge without a care in the world.
Nicholas had a wife and three young children. I had two sons and a husband. Everyone we knew thought wed lost the plot. *”Have you both gone mad? Think about your families!”* But Nick and I didnt see anyone else. As far as we were concerned, Earth was empty except for us. No obstacles. No distractions.
When I came to my senses after our stolen moments, Id catch myself thinking: *Id never want children with Nicholas. Never.*
Nicks take on his own kids? *”I dont exactly dote on them. My ex-wife always wanted a big family. What was I supposed to do?”*
Honestly, that attitude raised a few red flags. But I wasnt planning to marry him! Let them multiplythat was their business.
Three years later, Nicholas and I got married. We were happy, content. My boys, of course, stayed with me.
Once Nicks kids grew up, the never-ending dramas began. Calls in the dead of night, surprise visits to his office, urgent summons. The reason? Money. Or rather, the lack of it. All three needed constant financial help, and Nicholas, ever the guilty father, obliged without question. I understoodhe felt he owed them. They knew it too, milking his remorse for all it was worth. Part of me pitied them, though I was well aware they saw me as Public Enemy Number One.
Years rolled by. Grandchildren arrivedfive so far, with no sign of stopping. His eldest daughter fled her tyrannical husband in her slippers, dragging three little ones behind her. Naturally, she needed support. The youngest lived on benefits as a single mum yet insisted on champagne tastes on a lemonade budget. And the middle son? A hopeless drunk, perpetually soused, dodging work while his ex-wifes alimony came straight from *our* pocket. His daughterthe spitting image of Nicholaswas his favourite. The man adored her.
Meanwhile, Nick was up to his ears in debt, though his children remained blissfully oblivious. Only Iand my sons, who begged me to leave this *”side hustle of a relationship”*knew the truth. Once, I dared ask for perfume. He blinked, baffled. *”Darling, you know Ive no sense of smell. Why waste the money? If you really want it, Ill get it soon.”*
*”Ah yes. Sometime around the next ice age,”* I muttered.
Honestly, I stopped asking. The excuses were always the same: *”Emily needs a private hospital suite!”* (Why not NHS?), *”The granddaughter *must* have a designer coat!”* (Would Primark kill her?), *”The thirty-year-old son needs new shoes!”* (Maybe he should try *working*?).
Every row we had circled back to Nicks grown-up leeches. Id always end it with: *”If we ever divorce, Nicholas, you can thank your precious brood!”* And yet, he swore he couldnt live without me.
But me? Im exhausted. I want a life of my own, not one dictated by Nicholass kids. Their names ring through the house like a fire alarm.
I think of that line from an old film: *”Well, Ive got family too, you know!”* Ive my own children and grandchildren who need love. *God, why didnt I stop this twenty years ago?*
Lifes a crafty scriptwriter, handing out plots we never auditioned for. Wouldnt wish this one on anyone. My own fault, really. *You reap what you sow*or in my case, a harvest of weeds. The passion fizzled out. What felt bottomless love? Turns out there *was* a bottom, and Ive hit it.
My eldest son moved awayjob, family, the lot. Hes been begging me to join him.
Im going. For good. I wrote Nicholas a farewell note. Then burned it. Hell figure it out. Or he wont. Either way, ink wont change a thing.
P.S. I visited the kids, the grandkidseven popped over to my other son in Frankfurt. His German wifes a stickler for rules. Their *kinder* doesnt speak a word of English. What he sees in her, Ill never know. But then, loves never logical, is it?
Theyre all happy. At peace. And me? Finally, some balm for the soul.
A month later, I was back with Nicholas. Pretty sure he didnt even realise Id left for good.
But he *did* buy me that expensive French perfume.
