When she needs my affection, I respond dutifully. Opposites attract, but now we just kind of cancel each other out. We have always been different - different interests, different personalities. I tolerate the tedium of a stalled relationship. So I soldier on, for her sake, and for the sake of not wanting to hurt my wife. The emotional upheaval for all of us, the weekend-only access, the thought of never being allowed to get as close to her as I am now. The thought of what would happen to her if her parents split up fills me with dread.
I love her with an intensity that I wouldn't have thought possible a few years ago, and I wouldn't do anything to harm her or damage her trust.
Cowardice keeps me silent.Īdd to this the X-factor: our three-year-old daughter, blonde and beautiful, with huge brown eyes that radiate happiness and intelligence. Any sign of grevious domestic disharmony, and talk of failure in our relationship, any hint that I no longer love her, would destroy her. She's faithful, trusting and naive, and she loves me deeply. The worst part of it is, I can't tell her. I think she takes my occasional dark moods as a sign of stress, tiredness or overwork, rather than a symptom of boredom and disillusionment. No, it's worse than that - worse than all-out domestic/emotional warfare, which would at least add some fire and passion to our relationship. Neither of us is equipped with the ruthless temperament necessary for that kind of confrontation, and I do still care for her, not in a sensual, passionate way, but I don't want to see her hurt. Thankfully, my wife and I are not at that stage and probably never will be. Once you've got past that stage you become companions - soulmates - familiar with each other's idiosyncracies and content.īut then their foibles become irritating every word and action sets your teeth on edge and you become almost incapable of having a rational conversation without turning into some sarcastic, acid-tongued monster. Initial attraction develops into curiosity, which segues into blazing passion. The truth is, I don't think I do love her any more, certainly not in the way I used to.īut then it's often the same with relationships. I always reply in the affirmative, of course, but I find it hard to meet her gaze as I do so. (It's a flippant and cruel comparison, but indicative of the heartless bastard I can feel myself becoming.) 'Do you love me?' In moments of intimacy, my wife will often ask me this question, her large brown eyes staring up into mine earnestly but pitifully, rather like a labrador puppy begging for a biscuit.