I dream of another life, but I lack the courage… How to change everything?
Perhaps my story will seem banal to some. Or maybe I’m just one of millions stuck in the trap of grey weekdays, a prisoner of my own fear of change.
My name is Oliver. I’m thirty-five, and most of my adult life has followed a worn-out script: school, university, work, a long-term relationship. On the surface—normal, stable. I’ve been an accountant for seven years in a small firm, renting a two-bed flat in Kent. My girlfriend, Evelyn, and I have been together over a decade. Seven of those under the same roof.
Once, I thought she was the love of my life. We met at university. It started beautifully, honestly, full of youthful fire. We dreamed, made plans. But that flame has long burned out. Now… now we’re more like flatmates. No arguments, no passion. Just habit.
Don’t get me wrong—we respect each other, care in our own way. But it’s not what I imagined at twenty. No surprises, no shared dreams—just evenings with takeaway curry and the telly.
Then, just as I’d accepted this might be forever, something shifted. Something small, insignificant at first, but it cracked everything open. It started with… a book forum.
One idle evening, I joined an online book group. I’ve always loved reading, but over the years, I stopped sharing my thoughts. Here—real discussions, real people. Soon, I was messaging privately. First about books, then about everything.
Our group was a mix—Londoners, others from across the UK, men and women. But one username stuck: “Snow_Queen.” Her real name was Imogen. She wrote like she knew me. Listened in a way Evelyn hadn’t for years. We messaged every night, sometimes until dawn. I caught myself waiting for her replies, laughing at her jokes, confessing things I hadn’t told Evelyn in years.
Then came the light flirting. Then photos. Then admissions. I was falling—for a woman I’d never met. Absurd, shameful… exhilarating.
I started imagining another life. One where I wasn’t just marking time. Where I felt alive, in love, not just existing between chores and bills.
I dreamed of telling Evelyn I was leaving. Starting over. But how? How to dismantle a decade of comfort? How to explain it wasn’t her—it was me choking on the silence?
Before I could decide, Imogen vanished. No warning, no goodbye. I searched—nothing. Like a hole torn in me. I barely slept. Had something happened? Was it all a game?
Two months later, I still check the forum, reread old messages. Her profile’s gone. Just silence—and guilt. I never told Evelyn. What could I say? That I nearly left for a woman I’d never even met?
Now I’m split: outwardly unchanged, but hollowed out. I can’t go back, can’t move forward. I’m terrified—but more terrified of staying, of waking at sixty full of regret.
Sometimes I think I should run. Start fresh where no one knows me. Other times—that I should mend what’s here.
I don’t know the right answer. I just know if I don’t change, I’ll end up an old man mourning the life he never dared to live.
All I want is to wake up one day and know—this is my real life. The only one I’ve got.