Steve* and I met on holiday in Ibiza when we were off our tits on ecstasy and gurning like toothless men. It was like something from a fairytale. I thought that he was the one for me and when our twin girls, Kiley* and Kailey* were born I thought that we were set for life. But it all went wrong when the girls were about three, or seven or something. My life took a dramatic turn for the worse.
I was a career mother, working two days a week in a prestigious bingo hall as a waitress. Steve was out of work because he’d injured his back playing pool down The Dog, so he would be home all day while I was out quite literally, putting food on the table. He began to drink while the kids were at nursery or with a friend or something. I think he did this because he felt bad about being a shit husband or maybe he was frustrated because he could never sexually satisfy me. Regardless, I certainly never did anything to make him feel this way as I knew it would upset him. So I only mentioned it in front of other people so that it would seem like a joke.
The house was tidy and the casserole was half eaten with foil over it. What. A. Cheating. Scumbag.
One day I became suspicious of the way Steve was behaving because he had begun to wear open, leopard print shirts and greased up hair. I tried not to worry and decided that his new nickname, “Fabio” was just a clever, ironic joke that I didn’t understand. I knew he loved me and the girls. He was probably just dressing like that because he felt guilty about being so unattractive and pathetic.
Then one day I had taken the girls to the sunbeds because they had a school photograph coming up. I had specifically asked Steve to cook a McDonalds for tea but when I got home there was a casserole in the oven and a bubble bath was ready. The prick had obviously had some hussy in the house just before I’d come home! The fat cow had made a casserole for herself and ran herself a snooty bubble bath. Seen as though the casserole was still in the oven, she had clearly intended to return. So I put the kids to bed, stepped over some underwear that had been left on the floor (probably a present to say sorry) and sat at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting and crying, like any woman would. The minutes and seconds passed, but I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up the most horrific thing had happened! The kids had been dressed and taken to school. The house was tidy and the casserole was half eaten with foil over it. What. A. Cheating. Scumbag.
I immediately threw the cheating rat onto the streets and set fire to the children’s clothes. If some posh, Nigella Lawson wannabe thinks she can dress my children then she’s got another thing coming. My life was destroyed, as was my bank balance and my reputation with social services. All because of him and that home-cooking loving, HARLET.
Five years later I am out of jail and have been lucky enough to find a man. He’s called Dave or something and he has a car.
*Names have been changed due to spelling error by author.
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