his dirty secret in the wardrobe

He had got a new job at an air­port but then Naomi Rosic, 38, no­ticed her hus­band start­ing to changeé

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Scrolling through my Face­book page, I spot­ted a snap taken at christmas two years be­fore. We had been on a break to the For­est of dean and my hus­band dar­ran and I were there grin­ning into the cam­era. We looked so happy.

‘how could things have changed so much?’ i thought, star­ing at the screen. it was may 2016 and our re­la­tion­ship was so very dif­fer­ent.

i’d been 19 when dar­ran and i had first got to­gether. he was a year older and with his floppy brown hair cut into cur­tains and dark brown eyes friends joked he was the spit­ting im­age of peter An­dre. he worked in cargo han­dling at heathrow Air­port and as well as be­ing gor­geous, he was a loving, kind man.

A huge sup­port

When our son, tom*, was born five years later, dar­ran was such a sup­port. tom had been born 11 weeks pre­ma­turely and we had been so ter­ri­fied we’d lose him. yet dar­ran had helped me keep strong and after five weeks we proudly brought our baby back to our home in staines, sur­rey. We set­tled into a happy life mar­ry­ing in septem­ber 2008 and, five years on, dar­ran got pro­moted to cargo se­cu­rity man­ager. de­ter­mined to look the part, he joined the gym. Be­fore long, he was go­ing for nights out with his work mates, rolling in after 10pm. ‘i need to make a good im­pres­sion with the team,’ he’d say. i was proud he was try­ing so hard.

And, in June 2013, we had more good news – i was preg­nant again. We hadn’t been try­ing but i was de­lighted that tom, then nine, would have a lit­tle brother or sis­ter. But when i told dar­ran later that evening, he just stared blankly at the tv, barely mus­ter­ing a smile.

‘dar­ran, did you hear me?’ i asked. ‘i’m preg­nant.’ he looked at me. ‘Are you sure?’ he said, frown­ing.

And in that in­stant i felt crushed. he didn’t say any­thing else and, as we sat there in cold si­lence, i des­per­ately tried to think what could be wrong. ‘he just needs some time to get used to the idea,’ i told my­self fi­nally. only, five months later, dar­ran had grown more snappy, more dis­tant. ‘What’s wrong?’ i said. ‘We can’t go on like this.’ dar­ran turned to me. ‘i just don’t want it to be like last time,’ he said, and walked out of the room.

i sat there for a sec­ond, shocked. But then it hit me. he was just wor­ry­ing that this baby would be pre­ma­ture, too. i tried to re­as­sure him ev­ery­thing would be ok, but dar­ran still didn’t feel like talk­ing.

Mak­ing ex­cuses

thank­fully, the preg­nancy went well and Amy* was born in April 2014. i hoped dar­ran would now stop wor­ry­ing and things would go back to the way they had been be­fore. But while he was all smiles for the kids, he barely gave me a sec­ond glance – un­less he was in the mood for sex. But in a way i took comfort that he still wanted us to make love. ‘it must just be work stress that’s mak­ing him grumpy,’ i thought.

in may 2016, it was my 37th birth­day and i thought it would fi­nally be a chance for dar­ran to show me that he cared. Usu­ally, he treated me to a nice meal out and lots of gifts. But my face fell when he just handed me a card with some money in­side. ‘thanks,’ i said, and hoped that per­haps he was go­ing to sur­prise me later. But there was no meal out ei­ther

‘Dar­ran had grown snappy and dis­tant’

and that evening, as we sat watch­ing tv, i scrolled through my Face­book feed read­ing birth­day mes­sages from my friends. it was then that i spot­ted that Christmas snap of me and dar­ran in the For­est of dean. ‘i miss the way we used to be,’ i cried to him. his face screwed up in mock dis­gust. ‘stop be­ing an id­iot,’ he said and went to bed. things re­mained even colder be­tween us after that and, des­per­ate to get back on track, i or­gan­ised a hol­i­day to Bournemouth.

‘sorry,’ he said, when i an­nounced my plan. ‘i can’t get the time off work.’ i was fu­ri­ous and de­cided to take the kids any­way, hop­ing he’d miss us.

Dev­as­tated

yet my calls and texts re­mained unan­swered, and when i got home the house was a mess. tak­ing out the re­cy­cling, i spot­ted an empty wine bot­tle. that’s odd, i thought. dar­ran hated wine. then as i was putting my things away in the wardrobe, i found his credit card state­ment stuffed next to his slip­pers. i couldn’t help glanc­ing at the long list of en­tries – they were all for restau­rants and bars from the past three months.

Who had he gone out with? What had he been up to? my head was spin­ning and then there, at the bot­tom of the wardrobe, i saw a small sil­ver packet. it was an opened con­dom wrap­per. We didn’t use them, i was on the pill. What was go­ing on?

shak­ing, i sat wait­ing for dar­ran to come home. When i heard the front door click open, i pounced. ‘What’s this?’ i said, hold­ing out the wine bot­tle. he shook his head, wearily. ‘you’re be­ing para­noid, naomi,’ he said. ‘i had the wine while you were away.’ then i showed him the credit card state­ment. ‘And that’s for the com­pany card ev­ery­one uses,’ he said.’ he seemed so calm, so un­fazed. ‘And what about this?’ i said ex­as­per­ated and pulled out the con­dom wrap­per. he shrugged, barely bat­ting an eye­lid.

As he walked away, i even be­gan to think that per­haps i was go­ing mad. so i didn’t say any­thing more. But a cou­ple of months later we had a blaz­ing row about him not spend­ing enough time at home. ‘i can’t han­dle this,’ he raged. ‘i’m go­ing to stay with a friend.’ And he turned and left.

Enough is enough

days passed and dar­ran didn’t make any con­tact. But check­ing his in­sta­gram ac­count i gasped as i saw he’d cropped me out of all of his pic­tures. then scrolling through his feed, i no­ticed ‘likes’ and comments from a woman called el­lie*. Click­ing on her pro­file, i saw a young-look­ing woman in her 20s – and she was wear­ing the same air­port work uniform as dar­ran.

Un­der one pic­ture was a cap­tion she’d writ­ten about mov­ing into a new place with the ‘love of my life’. i felt sick as my gut in­stinct told me ex­actly who it was – my hus­band. sud­denly all the gym ses­sions and nights out made sense. Fu­ri­ous, i called him. ‘Are you hav­ing an af­fair?’ i asked, my voice quiv­er­ing. ‘stop be­ing men­tal,’ he shouted back. But i kept on. ‘so you’re not with el­lie from work then?’ i asked. there was a long pause be­fore dar­ran replied. ‘ok, yes,’ he said.

i slammed down the phone and the next day, when he came to get his stuff, i told him i wanted a divorce. he didn’t say any­thing, just kept brag­ging about his ‘hot’ new girl­friend. it was the fi­nal in­sult and i set about piec­ing to­gether a new life for my and the kids. dar­ran has never apol­o­gised for his de­ceit but i re­alise i’m far hap­pier now i don’t have to live in the shadow of his hor­ri­ble mood swings.

per­haps one day i’ll find love, but for now i’m con­cen­trat­ing on be­ing the best mum to tom and Amy. As long as i have them, i’ll be ok.

‘I be­gan to think that per­haps I was go­ing mad’

When naomi gave birth to son Tom pre­ma­turely, dar­ran helped her stay strong

naomi and dar­ran with their son Tom on­their­wed­ding­day

naomi and dar­ran were to­gether for 18 years be­fore their re­la­tion­ship soured

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