We have been together more than half our lives and have two children we adore. We have earned enough to stop work, eat out and take holidays abroad when we want.

Of course, I’ve had the easier life. My father didn’t walk out, no teacher groomed me, I suffered no anxiety or sectionable mental illness. I’ve had nothing to be angry at.

But you are angry with me, and have been for years. All through our relationship, you have blamed me for frustrations that are yours alone. You tell me, often, that I’m careless or thoughtless for not shielding you from hurt. You squander time we could spend together, and money that risks our financial future.

You complain that you have no say in our decisions, but avoid effort or risk. So I’ve always dealt with the life admin: bills, laundry, cleaning and social arrangements that you often resent. You only expect domestic duties from me and sneer at my ambitions.

You have no desire for me. Although you acquiesce to sex, from our honeymoon onwards, your body couldn’t hide that you usually didn’t want me. I’m not sure we were ever compatible and I’m finally above reminding or begging you for closeness.

This was before I had an affair, which I don’t think you know about. I burned up a wonderful, lonely friend just to clarify our crisis.

You walked out of the couples’ therapy I had arranged. You said there was no problem to discuss, despite my pleas.

Our second child is a source of closeness right now. But she will grow up and we’ll be back alone with each other – and your anger – soon.

READ  I’m 34 and still a virgin. What’s wrong with me?

Right now, I’m falling in love with someone new – my heart has grown larger, fonder and stronger. So I have room for her, too, and am determined not to hurt either of you. I thought I could move round the corner and that we could share our children if this blew up. That is idiotic, right? Your anger will come out, I will take the share that I finally deserve, and lose more than I expect. I will make sure that our children are safe and you are comfortable.

Whatever you have spat at me in the past, I believe you when you say I’m reliable. You joked that you would even tolerate an affair. I love you, very badly. I wish I knew how we could start again.

We will pay £25 for every letter we publish. Email family@theguardian.com, including your address and phone number. We are able to reply only to those whose contributions we are going to use.



Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here