Fell head over heels like a schoolboy in the twilight of my years… Now I’m stranded between two lives, staring into the abyss.
I’m fifty-five. Over half a century lived, yet here I am, acting like a complete fool. Walking around in a daze, lying awake at night, catching myself grinning at nothing like a lovesick teenager. All because I’ve fallen for someone. Not just anyone—not some neighbour or an old flame. No, a young woman, a beauty with golden curls and laughing eyes, nearly thirty years my junior.
The first time I saw her, my heart skipped. You’d think—my age, my family, my grandchildren—common sense would kick in. But inside? It was like setting a match to dry tinder. I told myself, *Maybe it’s just a fling, one last hurrah before the curtain falls. Maybe fate’s throwing me a bone.* After all, who at my age gets smiles from a woman like that?
At first, I didn’t take it seriously. Every text from her made my pulse race, every call had me scrambling like some smitten kid. But then—it dug its claws in. It wasn’t just fun anymore. I *needed* it. I waited for her, missed her, got jealous. Started lying to my wife, hiding my phone, sneaking out. All for the sake of a single *”Hey.”*
My mates—blokes I’ve known since uni—tapped their temples and said, *”You’ve lost the plot, mate! She’s young enough to be your daughter! Snap out of it!”* But I wouldn’t listen. I defended her like a madman. Shouted that this was *real* love, not some gold-digging game. Now? Now I don’t even know if it’s true…
Thirty-five years with my wife. We married for love. Fought, made up, strayed—it wasn’t perfect. Yeah, I messed up before, and she forgave me. Always for the sake of the family. The kids. *Us.* She’s stood by me even when I’ve belly-flopped into the mud.
And just when things should be peaceful—kids grown, grandkids here, our eldest just had a little lad, our first—I go and do this. Should be all about pushing swings in the garden, growing tomatoes at the allotment. But no. Grey hair, same old devil in my chest. Drawn back to that lightness, that laughter, the scent of her perfume…
With this girl, I feel alive. Smiling again, wanting to *do* things, go places. Around her, I’m not just some balding bloke—I’m a man. A man who’s loved. Or so she says… Because let’s be honest—do I even know if she means it? Maybe she’s just playing me. Maybe I’m just another sugar daddy to her.
Then the other day, she drops it: *”Choose—leave your wife, or we’re done. I won’t be second anymore.”* And just like that, the ground shifts. Before, I could pretend to balance both. Now? It’s all or nothing.
But how do I walk away? How do I tell the woman who’s shared everything with me—the bills, the heartaches, the christenings, the funerals, the sleepless nights, the holidays? How do I betray her?
She knows. I see it. Comes up, stays quiet, just *looks* at me. Yesterday, as I sat in the shed with a cigarette, she hugged me tight and whispered, *”Whatever it is… we’ll get through it. Together. Like always.”*
I wanted to confess. *Wanted to.* But my traitor heart clenched shut. She already knows. And still, she’s standing by me. Like she always has.
So here I am—torn between two women. Between my life and my fantasy. One is my wife, the mother of my kids, the one who’s pulled me out of the gutter time and again. The other? My foolish crush, youth in a bottle, the smell of coffee and cigarettes at sunset.
Do I pick heart or conscience? The life I *know* or the dream I’ve fallen for? And if I leave—what if she dumps me within a year? Then I’m left with nothing. No one. Just an old fool with regrets.
Don’t recognise myself in the mirror anymore. So tell me, lads—any of you been here? How do you choose when you care for both? Or is this not love at all, just fear of growing old?
I don’t know what to do. But one thing’s clear—there’s no dodging it now. Every step could wreck everything I’ve spent my life building.