I’m furious. My fists are clenched, and my chest is heaving with murderous rage as my husband, Mark, and I discuss where to put the fridge in our new home. ‘If we put it there, it’ll ruin the views of the kitchen,’ I scream. ‘Well I do all the cooking,’ Mark replies calmly. ‘And it’s more convenient there.’
I shout, I rant, I cry… In hindsight, it’s embarrassingly trivial and, if I’m honest, Mark’s suggestion makes more sense. Except I can’t laugh about it. And this is just one meltdown of many…
It should have been a happy time. Mark, now 58, and I had moved to a gorgeous Cotswolds property, he was taking early retirement and our youngest was about to fly the nest. Yet here we were, fighting…
