The past has passed… and there’s nothing you can do to undo what’s been done !

I couldn’t discern whether it was me or his addictive personality that prevented us from flying as it weighed us down, even whilst trying to make him see the light, he was polarised and unable to shift his burdens, on a higher plane.
  
You can’t build a healthy bond with someone who’s there, but not quite here. Especially, if you’re numb on the inside because you’re one of the living dead. I used to say that to him and he’d look at me intently, then pull me into him to kiss me.  
   
Just to shut me up as those little truth bombs would set us both off. All those blurred lines, and his panic strangled me whilst gripping me by the heart & soul, rendering me speechless.
   
Of course, he had no recollection of such as he wandered, drifting like a pariah unable to see his own godliness, let alone hold the space he held in the sacredness of our connectivity.    
   
She rang me and wanted to know how I knew her husband, unaware of his infidelity.    
   
I was a former colleague from another agency and we went to school together when we were kids, and it wasn’t until she asked me to meet her for a coffee that my fear & adrenaline started to shift.    
   
I was thinking, is this really necessary, the fucking audacity of it, her line of inquiry made me sick ?    
   
I was the other woman for 15 years. He died. I had no idea he was that unwell, and living in sufferance. It shattered my heart but in a way, I was grateful to have learned of such but alarmed at her contact.  
   
We both had 2 children, the same age. I couldn’t imagine ever knowing why he’d choose to cut me off, if she didn’t contact me at the time, however closure was forthcoming.  
   
He talked about leaving his wife several times over the years, however, I was content with our D/s bond. His drinking was a smidgen problematic.
   
We saw each other approx 2 - 3 hours during the weekdays, and up to 4 - 6 hours incrementally during the weekends, and he was blowing up my phone in between those times.    
   
His intensity was exhausting, and I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to cohabitate with another sex addict as my children came first, above and beyond his/ my needs.    
   
Just couldn’t ever imagine raising them in a household with him, and in all those years, he never met my children and I never met his.    
   
His death was challenging to process.    
   
His wife was nothing like me. She, a petite blue eyed blonde caucasian lady who caked on the makeup like a mask, and to look at from a distance, she was gorgeous but her alcoholism, chain smoking and with decades of smearing  facial products on her face, she looked worn and haggard like an evil witch.
   
I used to smoke, drink and self medicate too but I realised it wasn’t serving me too well. It was just another burden, and he’d go through different phases depending upon his highs and lows.  
   
I swear he was manic but I couldn’t really ascertain as his wife would trigger him, and send him spinning off his axis.    
   
From what I could garner, she was a nagging, disobedient, money hungry cunt, and he disclosed it was a shotgun wedding, even though he doubted the paternity of both their children.  
   
He’d shower me with his affection, and we helped one another; emotionally & psychologically.    
   
The sex was akin to a constant blissfuck.  
   
Right up until the day before his passing, we were naked, showering together and I oft made us snacks in between playful sessions of his kinky fuckery.    
   
It cut me deeply to learn of his death, and oft wondered what his wife wanted by trying to engage with me.

Did she know about me all along, or did she just find me in his device, by chance in an unguarded moment ?!    
   
How did she find me ?! So many Q’s. I never knew about her until we were 7 years into our D/s bond.  
   
We spent many years walking to and from school, and he was my mate. We never really crossed the line until we became teenagers, and again, when we were adults.    
   
I found him again, 6 months post separating from the father of my children.    
   
I couldn’t discern her line of inquiries but she appeared to be vacant on the phone. However, when I met her she was much more cold & stoic, whilst asking me how I knew her husband and for how long.    
   
I told her we met in primary school, and he lived up the road from me during my primary & secondary schooling years, then we crossed paths again as adults.    
   
She asked if he confided in me, in which I told her yes and she asked if I knew about their children, who he came to learn on the day of his passing that the kids weren’t his.  
   
I guess, he suspected it for years but didn’t wanna shatter the kids by querying their paternity, and make them feel unloved.    
   
No wonder he despised that bitch.    
   
His mother was retired, and well into her 70’s, she acknowledged me at the funeral, which was a small gathering. He was a private man, with mates he could count on, on one hand.    
   
His mates were boys that went to the same school, and classes. We were all mates, who despised his wife.  
   
I’ve no idea where the time went, however, post the funeral his mother gave me a locked box, and an envelope which outlined how to obtain the key. She mentioned he left it at her house in his old bedroom, for years.  
   
His complex PTSD, depression and anxiety, wasn’t a good combination with the ADHD because it made him impulsive, by default.    
   
A dangerous combination with self medicating behaviours as he couldn’t resist alcohol.    
   
Anyway, after talking more to her about her son, we both cried, shared some fond memories, hugged and parted ways.    
   
Once I obtained the key, and opened the box later that night, I found hundreds of envelopes containing hand written letters, and a few items that belonged to him, which overwhelmed me to no end.    
   
His cologne. His chain with a cross on it. And. His watch.  
   
I was in tears, and entirely conflicted. It broke my heart. It still breaks my heart, and I’m convinced that evil bitch who he married, pushed him to suicide.

So many emotions running through my vains; anger, grief, hopelessness.  
   
Fuck. I hate that evil bitch, and I feel guilty for not being able to save him when he wanted to jump ship.