It’s been twenty-five days since I left Tom and tried to get on with my life, clawing my way back up from the pit that I’ve found myself in over the last few years. On the whole, the last twenty-five days have been blissful. No arguing, stress, mess, or criticism. No abuse. Nothing but me and the children living a nice, peaceful life. So today’s events threw me.

I don’t know what I was feeling. Lonely? Bored? I was definitely feeling unloved.

I went to Tom’s house and tidied and cleaned it for him. I felt I owed him; I felt guilty for leaving him. Halfway through, I felt resentful. While I cleaned, he sat on the sofa doing nothing but watch me sort out his mess while he made sarcastic comments. I felt such a fool. I stopped cleaning; he went to the pub with friends.

I came home to an empty house with Annie, and I cried.

I managed to convince myself that I missed him, that I did need him in my life, that we could have some kind of relationship; that maybe we could be together again.

I was a fucking mess.

I ended up texting him to apologise for fucking up the relationship, for being the only one to mess it all up.

I miss him.

I miss us.

Everything about today has left me feeling sad, alone, vulnerable and exposed.