Sarah Jones, 44, Cwmbran
Hurrying the kids upstairs, I turned to my husband Darren, then 46.
As usual, he was sitting slumped in the armchair.
Staring at the TV like a zombie, he had a glass of wine in one hand, a pack of sausage rolls in the other.
‘Are you coming?’ I asked him hopefully.
‘Later,’ he said to me, barely looking away from the screen.
It was March 2015, and as I bathed our son Ieuan, then 6, and daughter Sophia, 3, my heart felt heavy.
The truth was, my husband just wasn’t the man I married.
I remembered how, just a year ago, Darren would wrestle with the kids until they were both crying with laughter.
‘It’s bedtime!’ I’d groan as they giggled, clinging to Darren.
Now,…
