Flicking through Tinder I happily swiped right on a man who, at 33, was 12 years younger than me. In the following conversation I made it clear that I was looking for sex with no strings at all. The sooner the better.
Three days later I was at his house and we had sex for hours – he was exactly what I needed. It was life affirming and satisfying.
A week after that I buried my husband of 20 years – we weren’t estranged. I’d been at his side for the three weeks he lay in hospital fighting a heart infection. I was devastated for our children when it was over; I was traumatised by the sudden nature of his death, and I was sad that the man I had once loved so fiercely was no longer in the world.
But there wasn’t any guilt, either at the time of my ‘date’ or at my husband’s funeral, though I didn’t exactly want the congregation to know what I’d done – I suspect many of them wouldn’t understand.
The truth is while I grieved my husband, I also had a sense of freedom and new beginnings. Our marriage had been complicated and for some of it deeply unhappy. One reason was because I had a high sex drive and for years John and I had rarely made love – when we did it was all on his terms.  
I didn’t see the younger man again. But 22 months on I’m happier than I ever imagined I could be. At 45 I’m financially stable, my mortgage is paid off and I’m in a new and fulfilling relationship. 

John was a complicated Jekyll and Hyde character and while our marriage could be good, I admit there were times during it that I’d wished him dead, to escape from our co-dependant and toxic relationship.
We met 22 years ago on a blind date, set up by friends. He was gorgeous, sexy, gregarious and adventurous. I fell head over heels in love.
He proposed after six months, in my living room.  Six months later we got married, in a big white wedding.
At the beginning it felt perfect, I carried on working in a travel agency and he worked on the oil rigs – he did three weeks on, three weeks off. When he was away I missed him desperately, I’d wear his jumper so I could still smell him.
A year later I fell pregnant, our eldest daughter Jenny is now 19 and Rose, 17, followed. He was a besotted father, but he never got involved in the minutiae of family life.
Six months after the Rose was born he sent me an email, clearly meant for someone else. It said, “I really enjoyed massaging you….and can’t wait to see you again”. It was from an email address I didn’t recognise – his name but from Hotmail not gmail, which he used with me.
I was in shock. As far as I knew we were happily married, he’d given no sign that he wasn’t still as blissfully in love as I was.

At first he denied everything, then he admitted he’d met someone online when he was bored on the rig and met her while he was on leave and I was at work. He swore it meant nothing, that it was just a massage, and he loved me and it would never happen again.
 It smashed my heart in half. Before it happened I’d have said I’d leave if he ever cheated. But I had two small children and I’d started working part time, financially we were struggling. I didn’t know how I’d cope. And I was still madly in love with him.
I tried to put it out of my head, I desperately wanted life to go back to normal. I told myself it was a temporary aberration that it would never happen again.
Nine years passed before I caught him coming on to a friend at a party, they’d gone for a cigarette outside together, I went to find them and saw him moving in for a kiss. He denied it but I knew what I’d seen.
We stayed together. But over the years I suspected he was unfaithful again, he guarded his phone with his life, there were times he slipped up over saying where he’d been while he was on leave and I was at work. I learnt to ignore them. Ironically he was possessive over my time, always calling if I was out with the girls.
It wasn’t just his infidelity that made our marriage suffer. Although I worked he was the main breadwinner. So he assumed the mantle of the man of the house and he became very demanding. Sometimes when he came home for his three weeks on leave he’d criticise me if the house wasn’t spotless or the girls were cheeky. I’d walk on egg shells around him, because he was so moody, refusing to engage or have sex. During those periods I hated him and dreaded his return.

But at other times he was back to the man I feel so hopelessly in love with, charming and affectionate, and he’d sweep me off my feet again. As I say it was complicated.
I often read threads on mumsnet where women tell you to LTB (leave the bastard) as if it’s as simple as changing the locks or skipping off with your children in tow.
The reality is unravelling your life as a couple with children is far from simple – emotionally and practically.
I’d come from a broken home and was determined my children would grow up in a family. I panicked that if he left he’d set up home with someone new and forget about us. It would hurt the girls too much.
I tried to end it a few times. But he’d make wild promises about it all being better and for a while it would be. Afterwards he’d be happy and fun, we’d have holidays and I’d see the girls laughing up at him as he made a joke and it would all feel worth it.
Equally my self-confidence was at rock bottom. I had really loved him, I believed our marriage would be the happiest imaginable. So I lost trust in myself to make decisions and know the right thing to do.

I don’t know what might have happened. Last January he got a heart infection. He was only 49 and it was shocking. At one point he seemed to be recovering in hospital but after two weeks he took a turn for the worse and a week later he died. The girls were devastated. And I was too, despite everything I still loved him at times.
The first few days I was numb with shock, I went into overdrive organising everything. But gradually a feeling of relief came over me. My endless wondering about whether to stay or leave was over. And my financial worries were over. He got a big death in service pay out, he had an excellent life insurance policy and I would get an income from his pension. I felt a sense of freedom.
After sleeping with the man before the funeral, I went on to have sex with more men, five in total, all younger than me, finding them on dating apps and going to meet them for emotionless sex. I didn’t tell anyone except one friend who knew how complicated my marriage was and supported me. I needed the physical relief, for so long sex had been tied up with John and my complicated feelings for him, this was straightforward.
But after seven months, I discovered I wanted more and had therapy so I could learn to trust myself again and be in a good place to have a new relationship.
And in January this year I met Rob, a plumber. He’s wonderful, he’s funny and kind and gentle. We laugh a lot and it feels absolutely right. The girls met him early on and though to start with they struggled at the thought their father was being replaced, now they adore him.
Weirdly I don’t regret staying with John, despite being so much happier without him. This feels as though fate took its course and we’ve ended up where we should be.