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After 3 years and 3 months of dealing with the aftermath of my husband’s infidelity, I can say with unwavering certainty that I’ve officially checked out of my marriage.

I have mentally cut ties to a person I previously loved for more than 25 years.

I no longer ask him about his day, make small talk, or joke with him.

I no longer care where he is or where he’s been.

I am not interested in having sex with him, or even kissing him.

We fight a lot. I yell. He yells. 

When I picture him with another woman by his side, I shrug.

In fact, I simply don’t care.

The only thing I worry about is how it will affect my young children.

I am mentally ready to tell my husband I want to move on without him.

When I actually tell him depends on a few things I’m still working on, but a few things stand out for me:

  • I have no desire to grow old with my husband
  • I’m no longer afraid of the future
  • I can now support myself and my three children on my salary.

What’s brought all of this on? Why the sudden realisation?

In short, a movie and a crush.

Let’s start with the movie. It’s a story about a guy and a girl who meet and fall in love but are determined to realise their dreams at any cost. 

The cost, of course, is their relationship. It simply cannot be, not if each other is to realise their ambitions.

What is my dream? What do I want for my life?

Big questions. But what are the answers? I have no answers.

But I know it’s not what I’ve got now. This is not the life I want for myself.

Now to my crush. 

I’m falling. Falling hard for someone I’ve known just three months.

A fantastically sexy woman I’m going to call Lorna.

I work with Lorna. 

Lorna is smart. Really smart. And intimidating. In meetings I’ve been known to fumble over my words because she’s sitting at the table. She drives me to fucking distraction.

I feel like a schoolgirl around her.

What drew me to her was her amazing intellect. We have (when I’m not tripping over my words) open discussions on a variety of random topics. Her brain is so incredibly sexy.

I didn’t always get on so well with her. In fact, when we were first introduced to each other at work, she brushed me off, barely looking up from her screen to acknowledge me. 

When I mentioned her role was critical to mine and said I’d love to have a chat to her about it sometime, she sounded curt. “I started last week,” she said. “When I work out what my role is, I’ll let you know.”

How rude, I thought. Whatever.

That’s another thing about Lorna. She gets straight to the point. She does not suffer fools gladly, oh no. I imagine she gets labelled a ‘bitch’ rather quickly because she puts people offside. An utter ball-breaker, if you will. Her straight-shooting style is breathtaking.

It would hurt deeply if nothing came of this attraction, but you know what? I’d get over it. Eventually. But I’d be OK. You know why?

Because after three years of feeling dead inside, I now know that I am capable of feeling again.

Feeling hope, desire, anticipation.

There is no need to bleed just to know I’m alive.


It’s all so intoxicating.

I’m excited when I see her at work, and disappointed when she opts to work from home that day.

I smile when she comes over and plonks herself on the edge of my desk to tell me something.

I jump for joy when she asks if I want to join her for a walk to the coffee shop for her 11am “sanity check” out of the office. 

When I wrote in my my last blog post that I found myself inexplicably drawn to a woman, a long-term reader Paula (‘horsesrcumin’) commented that “it happens a lot more than you think.”

I didn’t know what she meant until I Googled it.

Books such as ‘Married Women Who Love Women’, ‘Sexual Fluidity’, ‘The Straight Girls Guide to Sleeping with Chicks’, ‘Dear John, I Love Jane’, ‘Lving Two Lives: Married to a Man and in Love With a Woman’.

Bloody hell, who knew?

I’m drawn to this concept of sexual fluidity, the idea that you are drawn to different people at different stages of your life, regardless of their gender. I may need to order that one.

OK, so Tuesday is Valentine’s Day. 

I decided on a bold move.

I ordered a massive fishbowl vase of lillies to be delivered to Lorna.

On the attached card, I wrote “I’ve got a girl crush on you. xx”

I have no idea how she’ll react.

Will she freak out? (“Who the fuck sent these?”)

Will she be happy? (“I have an admirer!”)

Will she be angry? (“Doesn’t she know I’m with someone?”)

Will she be surprised? 



I don’t know.

Will she suspect me?

I doubt it.

But I tell you what. 

If she DOES suspect me and asks me outright if it was me that sent the flowers, I will say yes.

Because at 46, I’m fucking over it.

Because of the last three years, I’m really fucking over it.

I no longer have the capacity or patience for bullshit.

If you can’t tell  someone at this age that you have feelings for them, then you may as well check out of life.

Update: the stunning flower arrangement was delivered on Valentine’s Day, just before lunch. The talk was all about “Lorna’s secret admirer”. She has no inkling it was me, so my feelings go unrequited. And that’s OK for now.