**Diary Entry**
I cant go on like this anymore. “Goodbye, Nicholas,” I wrote without a single exclamation mark, perfectly calm. Hell never read it. After a moments thought, I burned the note.
Years ago, Nick and I fell into a whirlwind of passionburning, relentless, consuming. We raced toward the edge without a care.
Nicholas had a wife and three young children. I had two sons and a husband. Everyone we knew thought wed lost our minds. “Have you gone mad?” theyd say. “Think of your families!” But Nick and I barely noticed. To us, the world had narrowed to just the two of us. No obstacles, no regrets.
After our stolen hours, Id catch myself thinkingI never wanted children with Nicholas. Never.
Nick spoke of his kids like this:
“Im not one for doting on children. My wife always wanted more. What do I care?”
Honestly, that unsettled me. But I wasnt planning to marry him! Let them have their brood, I thought. Their business, not mine.
Three years later, we married. Life was peaceful, content. My sons stayed with me, of course.
But as Nicholass children grew older, the trouble begana never-ending cycle. Late-night calls, surprise visits to his office, urgent demands for him to come running. Always the same reason: money. Or rather, the lack of it. All three needed support, and Nick, riddled with guilt, never refused. I understood. So did his children. They played the part of wounded innocents, milking their fathers remorse dry. I pitied them, even knowing I was the villain in their story.
Years slipped by. Grandchildren arrivedfive so far, though likely more to come. The eldest daughter fled an abusive husband with nothing but slippers on her feet, now raising three little ones on her own. The youngest lived off benefits, yet spent like she had a trust fund. And the middle son? A hopeless drunk, perpetually soused, paying child support through Nicks walletour walletfor a daughter who was his spitting image. Nicholas adored her most of all.
A right mess, isnt it?
Nick himself was drowning in debt, though his children never guessed. Only I knewand my sons, who begged me to leave this “benefactor of other peoples lives.” Once, I asked him for perfume. Just once. He frowned.
“Darling, you know Ive no sense of smell. Whats the point? Waste of money. Ill get you some soon, though.”
“Right. In eight years, maybe,” I muttered.
I stopped asking. There were always excuses: “Maisie needs a private maternity suite” (why not a shared ward?), “The granddaughter must have a shearling coat” (wouldnt a puffer do?), “The thirty-year-old son needs new shoes” (his old ones had holes).
Every quarrel was about his grown children. Every time, Id snap, “If we ever divorce, Nick, blame your kids!” And yet he swore he couldnt live without me. But what about me? Im exhausted. I want my own life, not one spent orbiting Nicholass brood. Their names ring through this house like a funeral bell.
I think of a line from an old film: “Well, Ive got family too, thank God!” I have my own children, my own grandchildren who need love. Lord, why didnt I walk away twenty years ago?
The devils a cunning playwright. He scripts each of our fates. I wouldnt wish his trap on anyone. My fault, really. You reap what you sow. The fiery nights burned out. What I thought was bottomless love? Ive scraped the bottom now. Feels like living with stolen misery.
My eldest son moved awaywife, job, new life. Hes been asking me to join him.
Im leaving for good. Decided. Wrote Nicholas a farewell note. Burned it. Hell understand. Or he wont. Either way, words wont change it.
**P.S.** Saw the children, the grandchildren. Visited my younger son in Germanymarried to a woman from Düsseldorf, painfully precise. Their *Kinder* doesnt speak a word of English. What he sees in her, Ill never know. But love isnt logical, is it?
Their lives are steady, full of love. And me? Its a balm to my soul.
A month later, I came back. Dont think Nicholas even realised Id left for good. But he did buy me those French perfumes in the end.
