They told me it would be like this.

They told me it would be like this.

They didn't have to tell me. I lived it. For nine years I lived it with him, this life of his. But for some reason, they felt they had to remind me.

You won't see him, they said. You'll come to miss being his assistant, when you were just feet away from him all day, every day. And there are times when I catch myself thinking they were right. It's easy for the hindsight to acquire a rose tint. Yes, there was the banter. The flirting. The thrill of unresolved sexual tension.

Except it is not thrilling.

Maybe on a TV show it's thrilling. It keeps you watching, keeps you wondering. But this wasn't TV; this wasn't one hour a week. This was unremitting, daily real life. My body aching for him every day; my soul, too.

And sure, there are days when I feel it again. There are weeks, there are months, when I'm reminded of that ache. I miss him. Even now that we are married I miss him. I fall asleep wishing he were beside me; I often wake alone. The children cry for him and he can't hear them.

They told me it would be like this, and I never doubted it. Do I wish it didn't have to be? Maybe. But it's the path we have chosen. This life is what made Josh Josh, and Josh is who my body aches for. There is no pretending anymore, and maybe the thrill, such as it was, has gone. But the thrill is over-rated. I'll take the security any day: knowing I belong to him and he to me, no longer having to work out whether what I see in  his eyes is what I hope it is or whether his anger is motivated by jealousy.

They told me it would be like this. I believed them. I was right to believe them. And still without hesitation I choose this life: occasional stolen moments with Josh rather than the constant presence of any lesser man.