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I drove home to my very drunk and unpredictable husband. He looked up at me from his chair, “Dropped your lover and his bird off have we? I’m sorry, but there it is.” He freaked out, “I knew it, you’re fucking him aren’t you, that baby is his, isn’t it, that bastard slept in my house, drank beer with me, and all along you and him were fucking each other behind my back! I need you to find Mark and get him to hospital quickly, may not be much time, I’ll keep ringing around, just get there quick, and safely, ok?” I looked at him, “George, it’s over, I don’t love you. Well, he can have you, I don’t want you, after he’s had you, dirty little slut! ” I was dressed in a shot, my heart pounding, crying and praying to who I don’t know.
He needed to get a grip on things and the relationship would naturally fizzle out.
He struggled with the guilt, and his ever increasing feelings for me.