There was one pivotal moment when I realised the cracks in my marriage were irreparable. Of course, the end of a relationship is rarely about one thing, it’s a slow burn; death by a thousand cuts. It’s like driving a car that you realise is not going to pass its next MoT.But I can still remember vividly the moment I knew it was over. It was in 2022 and we had been together for 19 years. We were at a dinner party and I was sitting next to my husband as he got into a heated disagreement with a woman – a good friend of ours – at the table. It was awkward and, frankly, pretty rude to the hosts.As I watched the argument get increasingly snippy, I felt like I was looking at someone I didn’t recognise. The row was so inconsequential I can’t remember what it was about, but I recall with absolute clarity thinking, ‘I could be here on my own with strangers and would feel less lonely than I do right now sitting next to you.’I also remember thinking: if I was single and met you at this party, would I want to go on a date with you? The answer was a hard no.When we got married in our late 20s, hand-on-heart I thought I’d found the perfect husband. We agreed on all the important things – we were ambitious, had a lovely home, both wanted kids.There were some niggling differences, but I thought, ‘That doesn’t matter, because 98 per cent of it is brilliant.’ 'I just thought, if I'd just met you, would I want to date you? The answer was a hard no' I especially loved my kitchen. Loved it. On paper I should have been the happiest person on the planet, because I had all this stuff. But I remember sitting in the kitchen one morning and looking around, thinking, ‘Well, I can never leave because how would I ever leave this?’We would joke about the fact that on holiday I would want to lie on a beach in the baking sun, drinking rubbish cocktails and staying up until 3am playing cards; whereas he liked cold climates, would start every day in the gym and drink only very expensive wine. We’d laugh about it then go to somewhere like Bali, and for years it was funny… until it wasn’t. When every holiday becomes a compromise, you suddenly think – what’s the point?When you marry someone, you don’t know how they will parent, and having a family can throw a baby-shaped grenade into even the most solid relationship. I wanted my kids to enjoy different activities whereas he was only interested in rugby. So it was me that took them to tennis, swimming, cricket, football and god knows what else.For a long time I shrunk myself to fit, for an easy life, but it was constant compromise. Don’t get me wrong: I’m sure he did exactly the same. I can’t and don’t blame him. I realise it serves no purpose to sling accusations or to go over the past 19 years of what I wish he had or hadn’t done. All I can say is I reached a point where I didn’t know who I was any more.Over the years that ‘98 per cent brilliant’ diminished a bit with every irritation. When he didn’t put petrol in the car even when it was running on fumes, or rang me to ask what time school finished every time he picked up the kids. All marriages have hard times and I’m not saying the minute the going gets tough you run for the hills, but I liken it to Pandora’s box. Every now and again something would happen to make me lift the lid, take a peek at my relationship and think, ‘Maybe I don’t want this any more.’ But I’d squash it back down because I couldn’t face up to it, like a toddler thinking, if I shut my eyes, no one can see me.But of course, the lid is never fully back on once you’ve lifted it up, and every time something happens to annoy you, it comes off a bit more. It suddenly gets to a point where it flips off – and that’s it.I’ve written before about the row over stacking the dishwasher that was the final straw in our marriage. Of course it’s never just about the dishwasher. That was the catalyst for me to have the conversation about leaving, but there were many moments like it over the years. I just didn’t have the courage to confront them.It’s hard when on the surface our lives looked sorted – we were successful, we had three kids, we lived in a five-bedroom house. I renovated our home, doubled its size, in a labour of love. We lived with two walls, a tarpaulin and no kitchen for the best part of 18 months, with three small kids, but when it was done – man, the whole house was so beautiful. I especially loved my kitchen. Loved it. On paper I should have been the happiest person on the planet, because I had all this stuff. But I remember sitting in the kitchen one morning and looking around, thinking, ‘Well, I can never leave because how would I ever leave this?’ And that very same moment it came to me: ‘Oh wow, I don’t care. This is just a house – it’s no longer a home.’It’s like when you think, ‘If I get to a size X, I’ll be happy’ or, ‘If I buy that new car, I’ll be happy’. No, you won’t. Not if you’re fundamentally miserable, to your core.So, I sat in my dream kitchen and realised I’d rather live in a small bungalow on my own than stay here.When I think back to that night of the dinner party, I wasn’t the only unhappy one. The man I watched arguing with a friend, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere, that’s not who my ex-husband really is. It was a sign of how sad he was, too. Someone content with their life would have been able to say, ‘Let’s agree to disagree’, but our situation had turned him into a different person. I acknowledge I was half responsible for that. To realise you’re making someone unhappy is a really sobering and life-changing thought.We both deserved the opportunity for a life where we were both happy. Now my ex-husband has a lovely partner who adores rugby and is much better suited to him than, with hindsight, I ever was. He couldn’t be happier.And me? I’ve downsized hugely, my kitchen and bathroom are 20 years old, but I couldn’t care less. I also couldn’t be happier.@doesmybumlook40