It seemed like the end. And it was. But it was the beginning too.

Not that it didn’t hurt. Hugely. I’d spent nearly four years as close to her as I could’ve been to anyone. Every breath, every movement was announced by text messages, phone calls, even missed calls so that we knew the other had got to work, home, even the shops. We missed each tremendously when apart or at least I missed her. I suppose what killed me was the fact that when she left, suddenly and out of the blue, was that it cast doubt on everything I’d believed for the last four years. Did she ever feel the same way about me as I felt about her? I’d noticed no discernible difference between our relationship just before the devastating end and the beautiful beginning. We were one and to all extents and purposes I had no reason to believe we would be anything other than that until the day the big man called one of us away.

I still don’t know to this day why exactly she left. Less than two months after we split, she announced – although not to me – that she was not only going out with a work colleague I remember her constantly talking about when we were together, but was actually moving in with him, buying a house together, something we’d been working towards but not expecting to happen for some time. Whether she had been playing away behind my back was and is a mystery to me, perhaps because I prefer not to think about it. Not that it matters much now.

What I do know though, is that fate is a strange creature. I can honestly say I have never felt so low as I did in the weeks after she left me. We went through a period of discussing saving our marriage, but that only made things worse for me. The uncertainty drove me to drink. After all, I was left in foreign part of the country to me, the West Midlands, where I had gone to university and had stayed to be with her. I had friends and family, but foolishly I didn’t tell them what was going on, so I felt alone. Drink – at the time – seemed the only answer.

It was a relief when she finally made the decision to finish things, definitely and finally, just two weeks after our first wedding anniversary. It was still devastating though. I haven’t achieved much in my life, but getting married, the pride I saw in my parents eyes on our wedding day had made me feel like I had achieved something. Now I felt worthless and humiliated and yet I felt I had done nothing wrong. I must have though. Again, I don’t know why and it is too painful to analyse.

I immediately decided to return to Suffolk, the county where I was born and bred, had such fond memories of. It was the best decision of my life. The moment I returned I felt better, reinvigorated. I had a bit of fun with the ladies, made so many new friends, enjoyed having my family on my doorstep.

I met someone else and although it only lasted three months, the relationship produced my first child, a beautiful blond haired, blue-eyed boy seemingly happy in almost any situation and lighting up the lives of all he meets, mine most of all. My new girlfriend, who I’ve been with for nearly two years is brilliant with him. I am happy, content and my past is just that – the past. In fact, it almost feels like it wasn’t my life – I’ve forgotten “her”.

This may not interest most of you, but if it helps inspire anyone who is in the situation I was three years ago, if it convinces you that life is worth living, there are plenty fish in the sea and fate always gets it right in the end, then I’m glad I wrote this. You can’t change the past, but you can make the future great.