In fifteen days, I will leave this house and my life with Tom forever.

The children and I are going to our new home, where we have choices in how it’s decorated and what we watch on TV, how I spend money and what food we eat. I also get to give Annie a bedroom of her own, and I can’t help thinking, had he put aside all of his doubts, worries and fears, just got on and built the extension as was the plan all along, and created a bedroom for Annie, then maybe none of this would be happening.

If Annie had been in her own room and bed, I would have had twelve hours each night when I wasn’t Mummy. I may have been able to be me, the happy, carefree, easygoing and loving woman he fell in love with. I may have felt sexy once in a while, instead of feeling frumpy and always on call. Had I felt sexy, I might have exuded sexiness. I may have cuddled up next to him, and he may have cuddled up to me, instead of us always seeing a child between us. Had we had that opportunity to touch, to be a couple, to relax together, to be intimate instead of being parents every hour of the day, we may just have been okay. No sex gradually leads to no touching, then no kissing, no hugging, no laughing, no smiling, no love.

I focused totally on keeping Annie by my side at all times, and he focused on his total, all-encompassing love for his daughter. Had he taken me up on my offers of time out together or even offered it to me, I’d have, no doubt at all, that I’d still be here in fifteen days.

He never could see that all I ever wanted from him was him.

Nothing else in the way, no TV, no laptops, no alcohol, no children after bedtime, no housework, no money. I just wanted him to be able to give himself to me totally as I wanted to give myself to him, but always something got in the way. His fears, my fears.

I’m moving out in fifteen days, and it’s the last thing in the world I want to be doing.

I just want him to love me again.