Left hubby for the barmaid!
Samantha, right, left her hubby for the barmaid
Saturday 20th December 2008
What do you consider beautiful? A Caribbean sunset? David Beckham's thighs? Well, I'd found something beautiful in the most unlikely place. And I'm going to make a confession that shocks me even now.
I was a 39-year-old, married mother of three, who had fallen head over heels in love with a woman. If you'd told me I'd end up having an affair with a woman, I'd have laughed you out of the room. I've always loved men. There's nothing sexier than a true gentleman. And although he didn't always look it, my 5ft 11in-tall, football-mad husband, Steven, was about as manly as they come. But now, call it what you will, a mid-life crisis or a far-fetched fling, I was in love with a woman.
Bar worker Yvonne Cichockyj, 43, was everything Steven, then 44, wasn't. She was easy-going and thoughtful, while Steven was snappy and forgetful.The last time Steven cooked my tea, it'd been chicken and chips, left in the oven to burn while I was still at work. And as for compliments, forget it. But Yvonne noticed everything. She thought nothing of surprising me with a meal at my favourite Italian. Her kisses were so gentle, they left me breathless. Something I hadn't felt with Steven for two years. And she wasn't just my lover, she was my best friend.
I'd broken the news to Steven, an accountant, before Christmas.
'I think we should get a divorce,' I'd said. 'I'm moving in with Yvonne.'
'Right,' he'd agreed stiffly.
He knew about me and Yvonne. He'd walked in on us kissing on the settee a couple of weeks earlier. Poor bloke. Shocked doesn't cover it. But maybe he didn't care? We'd stopped communicating about the same time as we'd stopped having sex.Steven was a great dad, but after 10 years, it was time we stopped living a lie.
Trouble was, I didn't want to hurt our kids, Liam, 10, and twins Claire and Jonathan, 5.
'I don't want the kids finding out over Christmas,' I'd told Steven.
So on Christmas Day, we'd all sat down for a traditional dinner. But now, here I was in January 2007, starting a whole new life. Not to confuse the kids, I described Yvonne as a friend, and they split their time between our place and Steven's. But as soon as I moved in with Yvonne, things began to change. She'd always been feisty, but over the next four months, our relationship became volatile.
The passion I'd loved so much soon became controlling.
'Where are you going?' she'd ask. 'When will you be back?'
I was flattered she cared. But wasn't this taking it a bit far? I soon lost count of the times she accused me of flirting with men. One time, I got chatting to a bloke at the bar.
'What the hell do you think you're doing?' Yvonne exploded, later. 'I saw the way you were flirting with him.'
Stunned, I just kept quiet. How ironic. I'd left Steven because he never noticed anything new. What I wouldn't have given to have burned chicken and chips back now.
So when my divorce papers citing irreconcilable differences fell onto the doormat, I couldn't stop the tears from filling my eyes. Thankfully, the kids were at school. But Yvonne was there.
'What's wrong?' she snapped.
'I'm just upset,' I said.
Why couldn't she be more sympathetic? I had left my husband for her, after all.
'You're regretting it, aren't you?' she spat at me, angrily.
Suddenly it hit me. I was regretting it.
The exciting unknown of Yvonne was now more unsettling. Part of me longed to feel the familiar scrape of Steven's stubble on my chin. I even missed being made to watch boring old Newsnight with him. I felt suffocated. Next day, things were still strained.
'I think I might get away for a few days,' Yvonne said.
'Good idea,' I agreed.
She called a taxi, and 10 minutes later, she stood up.
'Taxi's here,' she said.
She came towards me for a hug. I held out my arms, then… Wham!
Searing pain exploded in my chest, as everything went into slow motion. Bright-red blood seeped across the light-brown T-shirt I was wearing. Then I saw it. The three-inch steak knife Yvonne was pulling out of my left breast.
'I think you've killed me,' I gasped.
'I know I have,' she hissed back.
What happened next is a blur. But the next thing I knew, the house was silent except for the sound of my blood dripping onto the tiled kitchen floor. Was I going to die?
Somehow, I managed to stagger into the street. One neighbour called for an ambulance, while another applied pressure to my wound. I was still conscious when I was taken to Fazakerley Hospital.
'You're lucky,' the doctor said. 'The blade didn't puncture any vital organs.'
It was a miracle, given the knife had gone in right up to the handle.
'My big boobs saved me,' I gasped.
I gave police a statement and, a few hours later, Steven came to see me.
'Are you OK?' he asked.
'Fine,' I gulped.
I was allowed out later that day, and Steven insisted I go back to his. Slowly, I began to recover.
'I'm so sorry for everything,' I confessed one night.
'Me too,' he blurted. 'I'm so sorry I neglected you.'
He had cared when I'd left! We decided to try again. Eight months on, in March 2008, he was with me at Liverpool Crown Court to see Yvonne convicted of assault occasioning actual bodily harm, and wounding with intent to cause grievous bodily harm. She was sentenced to two years. Nine months on, I'm still coming to terms with what happened. Never again will Steven and I take each other for granted. And suddenly, Newsnight doesn't seem quite so dull.
Steven says: 'I was devastated when I found out what was going on. But we can't hold grudges. We have to look forwards not backwards.'