Sarah Hardie never understood why some women got involved with married men, but then she met David …
'It was a few months later, when David and I were in a relationship, that the guilt hit me.' Photograph: Getty Images (posed by model)
As I walked across the field towards David and my group of friends I was suddenly overcome by an immensely strong feeling. It was totally unexpected. It wasn't a blatant sexual sensation, such as that sometimes felt on glimpsing an attractive man. It was more of a velvety responsiveness that seeped through my body.
And that was how it all began. A gradual but mutual confession of what had unconsciously grown between us.
But there could never be a fairy tale love affair. For there was a huge obstacle – David was married.
I withdrew from that evening hoping that my feelings would fade. I intentionally kept away from the group of friends and from David, yet I couldn't stop thinking about him.
I had been single for a number of years but didn't yearn to be part of a couple. I loved my independence. I had a job, friends and a close family. I enjoyed running my home and relished the day-to-day care of my two boys.
I enjoyed the dating game and had grown accustomed to the strange ways of single and divorced fortysomething men. The necessity that many of these men had of only ever allowing a certain amount of closeness didn't bother me. I enjoyed their impressive attempts at wining and dining so obviously intended to ensure the evening ended in their bed.
But what I felt when I thought of David shocked me. I had never encountered anything like it before and knew from the way he had looked at me that he felt it too. I argued with myself that something so intense could never be wrong. I naively dreamed that people would understand when they saw us together and witnessed for themselves the strength of what we shared.
At this time I hadn't discussed anything in terms of the future with David. I was confident of his feelings but what if he didn't want to leave his wife? He had children. Together they had built their dream home. He had so much to lose – would he really gamble all that he had on me?
I had never understood why women got involved with married men but now I found myself wondering what I would do if an affair was the only thing on offer. Could I handle stolen moments followed by painfully watching him return to his family? Would I just be risking a slow emotional death, painfully starving on the morsels of his marriage?
As it happened, I didn't have to make a decision. A few weeks later, I received a phone call.
"I've left her," said David. "I've asked for a divorce."
I reeled from the impact of his words. As we talked it became apparent that neither of us doubted our relationship. We both knew that it would happen but we had to bide our time. We had to allow others to adapt. Emotionally, David had left his marriage years ago but now his family had to cope with his physical removal and the pain of the reality.
It was a few months later, when David and I were in a relationship, that the guilt hit me. It launched itself at me quite unexpectedly as the reality of everyone's pain registered. "Don't blame yourself," reassured David. "I didn't leave because of you – I left because my marriage was over. I would never have fallen in love with you if my marriage had been strong."
As divorce proceedings began and the painful arguments as they negotiated assets, finances and the children worsened, my guilt deepened. Neither of us believed in staying in an unhappy marriage for the children but their reproachful eyes staring at me as they realised that Daddy had a girlfriend began to haunt me.
I heard Yoko Ono say during an interview with BBC's Woman's Hour that when she and John Lennon first started their relationship they were totally shocked by the disapproval of others. I can relate to that. Telling my parents was hard but they were amazing in their response.
"You wouldn't be doing this if you weren't sure that it was right," trusted my father, and at that moment I loved him more than ever for understanding that none of what we had done was to intentionally cause pain.
Unfortunately, few other people were quite so accepting. I didn't meet David's parents for years. Their loyalties were understandably torn. Mutual friends ignored us and acquaintances stopped smiling. But what I really didn't expect and what I haven't ever come to terms with was the blame directed at me.
It felt as if people presumed that I had lured David away with a trap. I think they believed that if it wasn't for me he would have returned to his wife, blaming some sort of midlife crisis.
Sometimes, out walking, some of David's friends would stop and speak to him. Never once would their eyes acknowledge me at his side. All this caused stress within our relationship. There were times when I considered walking away. Maybe I had been wrong to become involved so soon. Maybe other people were right and without me, David might go back to his family and all the hurt that we had caused would slowly dissolve. But I knew that I couldn't end our relationship to please others. If I gave up now then everything so far would have been for nothing.
David had lost his home, his family and his friends. He was going through the most difficult time of his life. I, conversely, was going through the best time of my life, having finally met someone I truly wanted to be with.
I'd get angry that what I perceived as a very special time was marred by other people's disdain. And David would get angry that I wasn't being a little more understanding. He wanted to avoid people – I wanted to face them head on and show them that we were happy.
Looking back, I was selfish but I was convinced that the only reason people were not being nice to us was because they didn't understand how right we were for each other. David had a slightly more realistic outlook and knew that certain people would never accept our relationship. I have come to understand that now.
The people who are important to us have adapted with the passage of time. I have a good relationship with David's parents now and when the children visit we all get along really well. Having said that, there are still "friends" who don't speak to us and there are others who openly admit that they have been asked not to by David's ex-wife.
Without doubt, our relationship remains strong but that doesn't mean that it is problem free. Even all these years later, I still feel responsible. When I catch sight of his ex-wife or the children pass comment about "old times", the guilt remains overwhelming.
I have no regrets, though. I firmly believe that we did the right thing. We could have lied, buried our feelings. But I believe that I was entitled to take happiness when I found it. People naturally look out for themselves and that is what I did in the end. Where would I have been if I had looked the other way? My principles might have been intact but I would likely have been holding on to them alone. I would have watched my children flourish and waved them off as they spread their wings, always wondering what I had allowed to pass me by.
I look around me now and I see a happy family unit: David, myself and our four children.
Despite everything, I know that I did right to put me first for a change.
Names have been changed
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