The realisation almost took my breath away. Turning to kiss my husband
Brian goodbye, I was floored by the sudden dawning that, after 28 years
of electric emotional highs and soul-destroying lows, I felt nothing for
him.
As I pulled the door closed behind me and got into my car to spend a
weekend visiting my aunt, I had no idea that I was leaving my marriage,
or that I would never again return to our family home in Alton,
Hampshire.
But I did know that something had changed irrevocably — that things would never be the same again.
Three years have passed and I haven’t so much as spoken to Brian. All my
belongings — my clothes, my jewellery, family photos and treasured
mementos — are still with him.
Yet I have no desire to collect them. I’ve shed that life like a snake sheds its skin.
If you think me unbearably heartless, you wouldn’t be alone. Some people
have judged me for giving up on my marriage, for walking out on my
husband that summer day in 2010.
All I know is that it’s the best thing I have ever done, and that my life has been transformed as a result.
So what was the death knell for a relationship of almost three decades?
We’d certainly had our troubles; most prominently, Brian’s affair that began six years ago in 2007.
But you might be surprised to know that today I don’t blame his betrayal
for breaking us. No, at fault was my foolish decision to forgive him,
with little heed to the emotional cost that I would face.
Brian actually left me to live with his mistress for months, and I had
to fight to get him to return. When at last I succeeded, I couldn’t have
been more relieved and delighted. How naive I was.
Painful: Helen forgave her husband for his affair, which she noticed when one Christmas he did not get in touch for two days
So sure was I that our marriage had not only been saved but strengthened
that I did an interview for this paper, insistent that my husband’s
affair had been the wake-up call we needed to breathe new life into our
relationship.
I partly blamed myself. I’d grown complacent, I told myself, and my
husband had been squeezed out. I’d been more focused on my busy job as a
probation officer and my role as a mother. I have two grown-up
children, Sammy, 37, and Fredd, 31.
I admit I had neglected Brian. We spent too little time together as a couple and, perhaps inevitably, our sex life had suffered.
But for 24 years of our marriage the chemistry between us had been
heart-flippingly electric — right up until the moment I discovered he
was cheating on me.
We met in 1982, when I was 23 and working in a bar. My first husband had
left me when the children were young, and I’d taken the job so I could
work when they were in bed in the care of a babysitter.
Brian came in for a drink one night and we started chatting. He was 22,
funny, with a lovely sense of mischief, and we quickly became firm
friends.
Eventually, our friendship sparked into romance, and within a few months
we were inseparable. We moved in together in Headley, Hampshire, and
got married three years later.
We were happy. Our love was based on a rock-solid friendship, our
physical relationship was passionate and we both had good jobs. Brian
was a building contractor and I became a social worker.
Brian was always spontaneous and often romantic — there was never a dull
moment. He’d come home from work and say ‘Let’s pack a bag and go
away’, or ‘Let’s buy a campervan and go travelling’.
Painful memories: Looking back, Helen says that she allowed herself to be 'a doormat'
To begin with it was exciting, but in time it became exhausting. I
wanted to concentrate on our domestic routine and my burgeoning career.
But, despite my doubts, my adoration for Brian was so overwhelmingly
that I followed his lead. Looking back, I can see I allowed myself to
become a bit of a door-mat.
Ruptures emerged in the previously smooth surface of our marriage. We
got to the stage where Brian would go out for a drink one evening and
return the next morning without any explanation as to where he’d been.
In the winter of 2007, my daughter, Sammy, then 32, was confined to bed
with rheumatoid arthritis and I spent a great deal of my time nursing
her. I should have noticed our marriage was in dangerous waters, but
somehow Brian always managed to charm his way back into my good books.
On December 24, as I was leaving home to go to Sammy’s house, Brian gave
me some flowers for her. We were spending Christmas Day there, and I
was rather distracted by the impending festivities.
At lunchtime, Brian rang to see how Sammy was. I reminded him that we
were going to Midnight Mass, but he said he couldn’t make it because he
had other things to do.
I was desperately disappointed, but I tried to brush it off. He was just
in one of his moods, I thought to myself. Surely he’d be there for
Christmas.
In the event, we didn’t see him for two days. His mobile was switched
off and I was frantic with worry, afraid he’d had an accident.
He eventually surfaced on Boxing Day, calling me late that evening.
Rather than being apologetic, he was unforthcoming about where he’d been
and refused to answer my questions.
I was angry, but I was so besotted with him that I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I swallowed my rage.
Of course, by now I was wondering if he was having an affair, but still I
didn’t confront him. Even if he had been cheating, he’d have just
denied it and got cross. What was the point, I thought.
But his absence stretched into weeks, then months, and I was at the end
of my tether. I texted him to ask if he wanted a divorce. He texted back
just one word: ‘No.’
I was humiliated and told only a few close friends what had happened.
When the children asked, I said we weren’t getting on — and just hoped
they wouldn’t probe too hard.
There was still only the occasional word from Brian, but I was desperate
to sustain my hope, however small, that we could somehow work it out. I
missed him terribly and felt so confused. He wouldn’t admit to having
another woman, and I had absolutely no proof that he was having an
affair.
His sporadic messages slowly became more common, and after 18 months he
was sending me regular texts — asking if we could talk and even saying
that he missed me.
After so long being on tenterhooks, it was an enormous relief. We were
so close, I felt, to getting our marriage back. When he asked if I
wanted to meet up, I didn’t hesitate.
We met in a Hampshire pub. I felt nauseous with nerves but the old
chemistry was still there. He’d hurt me badly but, God, I wanted him
back.
Over the next few weeks, we met for lunch a few times. Eventually, he admitted he’d been living with another woman.
Even then, my feelings of disgust at his behaviour were outweighed by my love for him.
Conflicted: Despite the fact that Brian had hurt Helen badly she still wanted him back
She was a divorcee ten years his senior, someone he had known many years
before. They ran into each other by chance, apparently, and by the
Christmas, when he disappeared, they’d been seeing each other for
several months.
Brian loved the attention she gave him — attention I had been too busy to offer him, he reminded me.
He said that he was desperate to break it off, but felt obliged to stay
with her and look after her because she’d fallen and hurt herself.
You might be amazed, but I was still hopelessly in love with him. I
didn’t want to scare him off by forcing him to choose between the two of
us. I decided I’d let him work things out for himself.
So I found myself in the bizarre situation of seeing my own husband
discreetly while he was still living with his mistress. Three months
later, I gently asked Brian if he wanted to come home — and was
overjoyed when he said he did.
Friends and family were stunned that I was willing to try to save my
marriage. My son couldn’t forgive him, though my daughter tried to.
I realised we had to make big changes if our marriage was to stand any
chance, so I made more time for us as a couple. In response, Brian
seemed more appreciative of me — at least to begin with.
He made me lovely meals and was attentive and loving. Maybe it was a
guilty conscience, but he seemed much more respectful of me.
While I was truly prepared to try to forgive his betrayal, the reality
was that I couldn’t forget what he’d done. It plagued me. The thought of
his affair just wouldn’t go away.
I had spent so long insisting to myself that I wanted to forgive him, so
long trying to win him back, that I hadn’t allowed myself to properly
accept his betrayal — or think about what life would be like when we
were back together.
Growing apart: Often after an affair, as Helen experienced, it is hard to truly accept what has happened and move on
It was only after I had ‘won’ Brian back, after months of tip-toeing
around, that I finally realised I’d never be able to get past his
infidelity. Looking back, I’d been deceiving myself on a grand scale
that things could be normal again.
It soon became clear that his betrayal had changed me irrevocably. Where
once I’d enjoyed the rollercoaster nature of life with Brian, I’d come
to crave a quiet life.
The chemistry between us was as electric as ever, but I just didn’t have
the energy to deal with the intense emotions he provoked in me.
Then came that weekend in 2010 when I was to visit my aunt in Devon. By
that time, Brian had been back for just under a year. As I got ready,
we’d had a squabble, then he snapped at me for picking up his car keys
instead of my own.
Suddenly I looked at him and realised in a blinding flash that I no
longer had feelings for him. I didn’t love him, I didn’t dislike him, I
didn’t hate him: I just felt nothing.
I think, subconsciously, my feelings for him had long changed — and
suddenly, in that one moment, it all came to the surface. For the first
time in nearly 30 years, there was nothing there. It was as if a switch
had been flipped.
When I left our house, all I had with me was an overnight bag with three
pairs of knickers, a bra, two changes of clothes, some make-up and
toiletries, and my pyjamas.
I brooded for that weekend at my aunt’s house, then drove to a friend’s house — where I stayed for the next six months.
I didn’t phone or text Brian to tell him I was leaving him: I just
assumed he’d work it out for himself. I didn’t think he deserved to be
told. It wasn’t revenge. I just didn’t want ever to see him again.
As it was, he didn’t try to contact me. I think he was arrogant enough
to believe that I’d come back. Maybe he thought it was a tantrum and I’d
come home eventually.
A year and a half later, he got in touch by text message, asking if I
was all right and saying that he missed me. I didn’t respond.
Anxiety: Helen finally realised that she could never get past the affair
You might think it’s extraordinary that a marriage born in such great
passion ended in such a cold, bloodless manner. But after such a long
battle of attrition, I simply didn’t have the stomach for anything else.
The effort it took to forgive him left me emotionally spent.
According to mutual friends, Brian is still interested in a reconciliation, but I have started my life afresh.
I stayed with friends for about eight months, and by then I was sure in
my heart that my marriage was over. About two and a half years ago, I
moved into a rented flat about 40 miles from where I lived with Brian,
and furnished it with second-hand stuff.
Some of my most treasured possessions — including my first edition
volumes of Ted Hughes’s poetry and the engraved clock Sammy gave me when
she got married — are still with Brian, but I have no interest in
reclaiming them.
We haven’t got divorced. I’ve had a few dates in the past three years,
but nothing serious. After the tumult of my marriage, I’m just glad to
be in control of my own life.
I don’t regret expending so much emotion forgiving Brian, and winning
him back. If our relationship hadn’t come to that horrible crescendo,
there’s every chance I could still be hankering after him.
The battle to win Brian back ended our marriage — but in the end it was the best thing that could have happened
