28 October 2025
Dear Diary,
The therapist looked straight at me and said, Mrs. Clarke, you and your husband share the blame for the breakdown of your marriage.
Me? Im not at fault! I snapped. It was he who drove the family apart!
She replied calmly, When a couple divorces, the responsibility is equally split5050, not 9010 or 6040. She pressed on, You havent been able to build a healthy partnership.
I stared at her, hoping she held some magic wand that could set things right. What am I supposed to do? I asked, voice trembling. I have two daughters. My exhusband loves them, but I cant stand him any longer.
Her first piece of advice was simple: Take a breath, Sarah. Dont rush headlong into anythingyoull break. Who will look after the children? They need a stable mother, not a hysterical one. She asked, Are you planning to enter a new relationship?
Never, I declared. I wont be let down again.
She cautioned, Dont be hasty. Youre still young; life lies ahead of you. Why did you marry in the first place?
For happiness, I whispered, tears spilling over.
Exactly, she said. Everyone craves great happiness, yet far too many end up divorcing. Were taught maths and science at school, not the subtleties of marriage. She sighed heavily. Time flies, and youth fades fast.
I poured out my story: I endured fifteen years of a passive, indifferent husband. He never noticed my efforts, and the love we had shattered into pieces.
She smiled mischievously. May I propose an experiment, Sarah?
What kind? I asked, curiosity flickering.
I suspect youll want to try dating again eventually. In the meantime, find a practice partnersomeone you can learn the ropes of living with a man without fear. She looked at me expectantly.
Where on earth would I find such a fool? I wondered aloud.
You dont need to look far. Your practice partner could be your exhusband.
Are you serious?
If you truly dont care about him, you can treat the situation as a trial. Its a winwin, Sarah.
I decided to give it a go. After all, I had nothing left to lose. I wasnt even sorry for James. Let him go.
James had become such a nuisance that I packed my daughters into the car and moved into a rented flat in Camden. The courts granted the divorce, and James begged me to reconsider, but I burned every bridge. I wanted solitude after fifteen years of marriage.
Soon James was frantic, sending cheap gifts, bouquets, even inviting me to a sauna. His attention felt belated and weary. I was exhausted. He still couldnt accept that it was over.
When I moved into that flat with Emily and Charlotte, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I breathed easier, as if Id finally reached a slice of heaven.
Then my girls asked, Mum, why is Daddy at fault? Their innocent eyes made me freeze. How could I explain that there was no future for us? That his words were empty wind, that life felt cramped and grey? I realized I needed professional guidance again.
So the experiment began. A month after the split, I called James.
Hi, James. How are you? Fancy meeting up? I have a few things Id like to discuss.
Mash? Is that you? Of course, lets meetanytime! he replied, his voice bubbling with relief.
We met on a park bench. He kept edging closer, attempting to take my hand. We talked about nothing at all; no heavy questions, just idle chatter. He walked me home, planted a warm kiss on my cheek, and handed the girls a little treat.
From my window, I saw James still standing outside. I waved at him, and he sent a playful kiss back.
These casual encounters with my ex felt surprisingly pleasant. No arguments, no shouting, no broken plates. Life suddenly seemed brighter, more colourful.
We settled into a routine: coffee in Mayfair once a month, a film at the Odeon, long walks along the Thames. My days stitched together a tapestry of simple joys. I started weaving a new path for myself, feeling hopeful.
A year later, I asked, James, shall we meet today?
He replied, Sorry, Mash, Im swamped. Ill call you when Im free. He hung up.
The pattern repeated three or four times. My nerves frayed. Was someone else stealing his attention? Was he seriously moving on? Jealousy gnawed at me, and I needed answers.
I called him: James, the girls miss you. How about a trip to the zoo?
Mash, I have a wife in the maternity ward, he said, trailing off.
What wife? Are you joking? This is absurd! I shouted.
No joke, Mash. Were expecting a baby with Lily.
The words left me speechless. All I could manage was, Goodbye. I wish you all the happiness you think you deserve.
Now, as I sit by the window of my flat, I watch the rain over the city, feeling a strange mixture of relief and melancholy. The experiment has taught me that I can coexist with the past without being crushed by it. Perhaps the next chapter will finally be written on my own terms.
SarahI closed the diary, feeling the quiet certainty that my future belongs solely to me.
