Installment Twenty-Three

Why the hell did I marry a bastard like Martin anyway?

I suppose because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Given our age gap, there was probably a bit of a Daddy complex thing at work.

And he wasn't always such a horrible person. It took a few years for the nasty parts to surface. The signs had been obvious but I chose to wear blinkers.

We were introduced by a mutual friend when I was enjoying a resort vacation in the Bahamas with some girlfriends. All of us were wondering what to do with our university degrees (besides frame and hang them in our bathrooms).

The fact that we met at a casino and that Martin was gambling (and losing heavily) should have been the first red flag raised. But if it was flying, I chose to ignore it.

Martin got my number, literally and figuratively very quickly. When I told him I was raised as a global nomad (so he didn't have to worry about moving me around the world) that was worth a few points.

Being an orphan with a substantial inheritance earned double the points: no in-laws to contend with and a huge wad of dough. How could a gambler like Martin not see he had been dealt a full house?

We were married less than six months after our first meeting, during a leave he took from his job in the oil industry.

We muddled through life as most couples do, with many happy years or at least content ones, doing what was expected like having our wonderful two children (albeit in strange countries). Nonetheless, we followed a somewhat traditional path.

Martin was the bread-winner from the get-go because of the inability of an expat wife to acquire a work permit wherever we were living at the time. I was always keenly aware, though, that I had substantial wealth of my own. But because my inheritance came to me under such horrifying circumstances, I never wanted to think about it. I was actually relieved when Martin took over the management of my assets.

That my money went quickly out the door and straight into his gambling debts is my own fault. He would show me investment forms (which I later learned were fabricated) and like a trusting idiot I would sign whatever was placed in front of me.

When he had pretty much lost all of it, I believed him when he said the investments had gone bad and my money was completely gone. As we were living like oil sheiks anyway, I didn't worry.

It was soon after our twelfth wedding anniversary that the wheels began to come off our marriage. He had his first affair (in which he was caught at any rate) while we were posted to Dubai.

Break-ups, reconciliations, more relocation, children whom I wanted to have two parents: pick any or all of those excuses to explain why I stayed with him. I'm not even sure now I ever loved him. Maybe I did, once upon a time.

If there is one upside to menopause, though, it's the ability to forget.

Forgiveness, however, is not hormonal.