I can still remember the day my husband Bob asked me what was for supper twice in less than a minute. I was in the kitchen and he was standing in the doorway watching as I prepared the meal. ‘What are we having?’ he asked for a second time, just seconds after I’d already told him. ‘Chicken,’ I repeated, watching the confusion on his face. From that moment on, I knew that my husband was slipping away from me. I went to bed that night and thought about the future we’d both lost.
When I first met Bob, then 38, in 1986, I was drawn in by his kindness and charm. A hard-working and respected solicitor, Bob was extremely intelligent and although we were both career driven, me working as a physiotherapist, we both wanted marriage and children. A year after meeting we wed and, in 1989, welcomed our daughter Laura, then Claire in 1992.
Bob proved to be a stellar, hands-on dad and as our girls grew, our little family enjoyed holidaying around Europe, experiencing new cultures and food, and going on walks or cycling trips at the weekends. Together, Bob and I enjoyed socialising with our friends and watching detective series on TV. Even as the girls got older and relied on us less, when Bob and I weren’t working, we’d go for days out together, or potter about in the garden. Our lives were content and we spoke about the holidays we’d go on when we both retired.
This story is from the June 15, 2021 edition of WOMAN - UK.
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This story is from the June 15, 2021 edition of WOMAN - UK.
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