A Different Kind Of Life
A Different Kind of Life
It all seems so different now. Coming down this long, winding, road I can feel a bitter draught past me. Right now I’m looking straight ahead. That’s where it happened. Opposite my house, number 126, on the drain cover that wobbled as soon as you placed a foot on it. It’s as like it were yesterday. This is what happened and I have never been able to tell the full story to anyone before.
It was December the 12th and I was in New York at a business meeting. I must have been thirty one years old, or thirty one years young, as I would say. I had received a call from Kevin saying that Alice was feeling ill and the nurse had taken her home from school. The nurse would stay with her until someone else could be with her quickly that day and obviously the burden was left with me.
Life was so hard these days. Kevin was always in a cantankerous mood and tried to work far away from home so he didn’t have the responsibilities of looking after our daughter Alice. It was always left with me. Nothing would ever get done if it wasn’t for me. That day my anger had built up so much that I easily could have exploded. This meeting happened only once a year and this was a great achievement for me but he could never let me be happy. Foolishly, as always, I listened to his command and got a taxi home from the ‘big apple’. I was still livid, but paid the driver calmly and stepped out onto the side walk and turned around. My house was on the other side of the road. It was a large and white washed typical American building, but compared to streets in New York, it was nothing.
I psyched myself up to stand up for myself in front of Kevin once and for all. For a split second I thought about life without Kevin and Alice and wished I was single again. I know it was a terrible thought but life had gotten so dreadful that I was in tears every evening, clutching my pillow, wondering if I had made a complete mess of my life; moving from my family in Paris,...
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