I was bleary-eyed after work, half six, New Year’s morning.

Marlene had been out late with the girls from the Army camp, where she worked part-time. Most were married to soldiers posted to Afghanistan. I was working twelve hour nights, so didn’t mind, at least I’d had Christmas Day off, when the twins were home.

I was low on petrol, having left my wallet in the bedroom.

Marlene’d thrown her coat and handbag across the breakfast bar. The bag gaped open, revealing her purse. I never open her purse, I mean never, on pain of death, ever. We have joint accounts, sharing household and living expenses, we had for twenty years, but cash is ... personal.

The reason the tank was empty was her post-Christmas sales. She’d done them all, particularly treasuring those leather boots she nervously said were a bargain. Yeah, I knew what we saved, not the cost. She owed me big time.

Fifty would fill the car, twenty, a necessary top up. I lifted the fat purse from the bag, possibly full of clod I could use for car-parking meters. What do girls keep in purses, anyway?

I was on virgin territory here.

Yup, change aplenty, plus a key ring with two keys, Yale and Chubb. Like the standard keys for Squaddie accommodation. I’d seen the type; prior to my current job, I did building maintenance in those flats. Why would she have a set?

In the next compartment was a flash slim pink mobile phone. We both had plain cheap mobiles without internet or camera, used to contact the kids. The phone directory was full of entries I never recognised but then I didn’t know all of Marlene’s acquaintances. I opened the image library and whistled. Lots of pictures of a fit young man, many stripped to the waist, all rippling muscles. The latest looked like a skype screen, the tanned NCO in desert tunic topped by Father Christmas hat, big happy proud-of-myself grin on his face.

Damn! He’d stolen my girl, Marlene, my wife of twenty years, mother of my twins, the woman I worshipped. I dropped the purse and phone on the counter. Loose change spilled out, including a tightly-wrapped plastic bag.

Intrigued, I unravelled and opened it. A pregnancy test, which read positive. Marlene was having a baby. At forty-one, it was risky, but worth it, I choked, if you were in love. So, unprotected sex with a soldier for long enough to share a key to his flat and betray her infidelity on a pregnancy test. I had my vasectomy immediately after the twins were born, so it looked like I’d shared unprotected sex with the self same Squaddie. I only just made it to the cloakroom as I lost my overnight sarnies.

Washing my face, it was impossible to tell what was tap water or tears. My committed love turned to involuntary hate. When Lance Corporal Ripped Torso returned from his six-month tour I knew she’d move him in, play happy families, and kick me out in the cold. The twins were soppy about babies, all girls are, so they’d be in her camp.

Bitter, was I? You betcha! I’d given her the best years of my life and I hadn’t a clue.