He comes back tomorrow for good. Au revoir, Paris!
I am so tired it’s hard to be excited. Nearly 8 weeks in, the tiredness has really set in now, like November drizzle. That hot-eyed, almost-headache, close to teary rage feeling. I had thought it was a little too easy! Now there is nothing worse than when he says he is tired.
I think I saw her the other day, going through the barrier at the station. She saw me, she was looking round at me. I don’t know why it bothers me but it does. I still look her up on Instagram. She looks like such a nice person. She was volunteering in Africa. I used disposable nappies in hospital and when the baby had a rash. She gets glowing posts about her. I bitch about people who do nice wholesome things like love each other.
Sometimes I look at old messages between me and him where he lied. Maybe I enjoy the drama of it.
I think I can’t quite get over that he never actually told her by choice. She was never dumped. He couldn’t choose between us but maybe at the end he did and he chose her.
The only reason that he eventually told her was because he was caught on the phone to me.
I said he would never be on his own with the baby. I said he had to go to therapy. I said he was an awful person.
But we ended up together, I met his family, he was amazing at the birth, and he’s back in Brighton for good tomorrow. And it is all going to be ok.
It’s just that she’s blonde and pretty and, worst of all, nice, and he never left her. She left him. That makes all the difference.