We'll call him James. James and I met very young, I was only 18 and desperate for a whirlwind romance. We had just that. We married 4 years later, and I guess it was almost from the day of the wedding that things started to go badly. I had always had sexy images of a wedding night where we couldn't wait to get one another out of the fancy clothes and have lusty married sex. We had none. It went downhill from there. Mismatched libidos, differing interests, endlessly trying for babies too stubborn to be conceived... We went to counselling, and that night, he asked me for a divorce. I decided to go and live overseas for a year nannying and seeing the world. But then, I felt sick. And tests showed I was pregnant from the final sexual encounter we had shared. Wasn't that a hit. My passport was in the mail and my flights were booked!!! All had to be cancelled. I told him not to come back for the babies sake because it was the wrong reason but I mourned and howled and wailed and I was terrified of being a single mother, no idea what I was doing, I was only 25 and it was so scary. Half way through the pregnancy, we decided to try and fix it. We lasted another 6 and a half years and another baby before this time I called it off in 2009. We were friends and nothing more was there. I care about him, he is an amazing father to our children and a best friend to me, but I needed intimacy and connection on that other level so I had to walk away. Breaking his heart was the hardest thing I have ever done. We still remain good friends of course, and co parents and allies. I will always have his back, simple as that. No matter what happens. So that was the biggest relationship, and when we parted ways, I was 32 years old.