The end of an another emotionally exhausting week. I went for a cycle to the beach. The beach in Southampton is pebbles and doesn’t look too special at low tide, but does look nice from mid to high tide.

The tide was in and the wind was up, so the water was noisy – which I loved. Moody almost. And a little restorative.

The cycle home over the Itchen Bridge was scary as the wind caught me left and right. I crested the top and didn’t accelerate on the descent for fear of being blown into the traffic.

At home, the husband asked if we could talk for a little bit. I agreed. I had a sense that this wouldn’t be an hours and hours being talked at.

“Sure,” I said.

“You seem a bit abrupt,” he said.

“I don’t know what that should be,” I replied. I know not to simply dismiss what he says.

As I walked the dog, I became aware of a headache. How can I be in pain and need somebody else to point it out to me? Yet, that is what the husband often does.

When I got back, I took my shoes off and dug my feet into the wooden floor, grounding myself ready for a “conversation”.

He wanted to check out what had happened earlier in the week with the ambulance. He was surprised and upset to discover that I knew all about it – and so did my boss as he was with me when I took the video call. He was even more surprised to learn that I had come home and the paramedic had told me everything.

“I was desperate,” he said.

“I know, Bab,” I replied.

I think that he felt embarrassed that I’d been involved again. I reassured him that it was ok. And that I feel upset that I cannot help. I said that I feel as though I’m sitting next to myself, disconnected from what’s going on.

“Does that make sense?” I ask – I do that a lot when I talk because I don’t know whether anyone gets the way I try to explain how I’m feeling.

He understood and it matched his interpretation.

I asked several times and in different ways whether he is sure that being bought out of the house and moving out is the right thing to do. That he isn’t making a knee jerk decision – or a decision driven from a place of desperation. Had he talked it through with anybody?

To my surprise, he’s seeing Roxy, our old couples counsellor! I wouldn’t have expected him to go back to somebody who had worked with both of us. Yet, I was glad: they seemed to connect.

I told him that even if he moves out, that I will help him and look after him still as best I can.

I found that I was crying, trying to express my own sadness and grief – but also trying to reassure him that I will still care for him and look after him. If all else fails, then he can come back home.

He said that it’s plain that I do want other intimate relationships.

That is true.

However, it is also true that Cicero, in my post, was clearly in the “friend zone”.

I said that the boundaries of love and gratitude are blurred for me and that I have experienced that intense feeling before, even if I couldn’t accurately name it.

He said that I needed to explore myself and that he could not – would not – stop me, because to do so would risk banking more resentment – and he’s experienced enough of that.

I hope he’s not going all Whitney Houston on me (I prefer Dolly’s version of “I Will Always Love You”) and sacrificing himself for me: if (or when) he leaves, he simply must do it because it is the right thing for him.

I only wish for him to be happy.