The Boyf has gone on holiday with his children (daughter, 17 and son, 21). He has taken them in his campervan to the New Forest, where they will be pony-riding, doing archery, and going to a spa.
If anyone asks, I'm saying "YES! It's wonderful. He's spending quality time with them, doing lovely things, and it's fabulous for their relationship."
In my head, I believe all of those things. But in my heart, mention of his children makes me a bit sad.
They don't like me, you see - and I don't blame them.
In their eyes, I forced their mum to kick out their dad. I ruined their family. I am the black-hearted, evil woman who turned their mum mad and who took their dad away from them. I was 'the other woman' and I changed their lives forever.
It's all bollocks, of course. If it hadn't been me, boyf would have had an affair with someone else. Or he would have done what he was threatening to do and left for Paris, never to be seen again. But it's right that I take it on the chin.
There are so many things that I want to say to them, most of which I never will. All I really want is to meet them, to show them that I'm not cloaked in black with a pointy chin and a red apple. To show them that I make their Dad happy, and hopefully, one day, to form some sort of relationship with them. Because they sound lovely.
I just hope they don't hate me forever.