I’ve been approaching this weeks mammoth task with definite detachment. It is moving week and I get the keys to my new house tomorrow where Littlelish and I will be beginning a new chapter of our lives. It’s a big step into the unknown and yet somehow I’ve been managing to keep my nerves and emotions very much in check. Almost too much so.

I’m leaving, my husband, everything I have known since I was 20 and yet I feel calm. I’ve been packing boxes at an unhurried rate, no panicking or fretting, much to the dismay of friends and family “Are you actually ready to move??? It’s no small task packing up 10 years of your life into boxes, yet at the same time it is easy. It is just stuff, it goes into a box, hup… Plus, I can do it in whatever, disorganised fashion I want. It will only be me unpacking them at the other side.

Who knows maybe the fall out will come when I’m all alone in my new place, Littlelish is asleep and it is quiet. Or maybe, just maybe I will be fine. I’ve known this inevitable day has been a long time coming and perhaps I’m going to take it in my stride and embrace it, quiet time and all. This is after all my choice and my life.

Sometimes though, it is not your choice. While some couples may come to a mutual decision, often it is the wish of one and the other partner has no choice but to go along with it.  No say or means to stop the separation.

And sometimes life is just cruel, making a choice for you when you least expect it. Today I read about an old friend who has just lost her husband and father to her 7 month old baby in the most tragic, shocking circumstances.

This moved me.

I felt so sad for this couple who wanted to spend their lives together, grow old together. I felt a sense of guilt and shame, leaving my husband when she has had her so cruelly snatched away from her…  I’m sorry.