What happened next

Once the girls had gone, I stood there feeling very very empty and a long long way from home. I'm living in a county that I don't belong in, and in a life that doesn't fit me. I sound very whiny, I know. I am being whiny. But what I want is the little things; a home - a very modest, humble little place that I can call mine, and fill it with the little things that mean a lot to me: pictures of the kids, little knick-knacks, a dog.......

I don't want the massive car he bought me; I want a little run around that I can afford by myself. I don't need a plasma screen tv, or the latest tumble drier (which I still can't work out how to use, after a year of trying....... ) I don't want to go to Michelin star restaurants, just the two of us; I'd rather take the girls out for a pizza or to a silly film.

So why do I need his permission to go to the pictures? Well I don't, it's true. But I'm always under the spotlight; my actions are scrutinised and pored over; my reactions analysed. I'm suffocating......