My husband left me and our six children for a fitness coach – I didn’t even have time to think of revenge before fate caught up with him.

I held my breath. “So that’s it? You’re bored? You found someone with nicer leggings and tighter abs, and suddenly the past sixteen years are, what? A mistake?”

‘You let yourself go,’ he said bluntly.

That came as a slap in the face.

I blinked slowly and furiously. “Do you know what I gave up? Sleep. Privacy. Hot meals. Myself. I let myself go so you could chase promotions and sleep in on Saturdays, while I made sure our  house  and our children didn’t go up in flames.”

He rolled his eyes.

You always do that.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ I snarled.

You let yourself go.

Turn everything into a list of sacrifices. As if I should be grateful that you chose to be tired.

‘I didn’t choose to be tired, Cole. I chose you. And you made me a single parent without even bothering to close the fridge.’

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to contradict.

Then he closed the bottle again. He picked up the bottle and put it down.

I’m leaving.

“When?”

“Not.”

I laughed briefly and meanly. “Have you packed yet?”