I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I was lonely

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I was lonely. Not pitiably lonely, certainly, and the old thing about making your bed and lying in it certainly applied. But once my darling little Honey came along, I started asking myself what kind of a household she was being brought up in. Out r five-bedroomed Primrose Hill house was a sort of upmarket dossing place for Dominic's clients, friends and assorted hangers-on, even when Dom wasn't there (he still spent half his time in Paris): I'd come down with her for the early-morning feed, nightied and leaky-breasted, and find strangers lying across the brutal and frankly ugly furniture. I was too old for this, I kept telling myself, and besides had never had any kind of yearning for this rock'n' roll lifestyle: I wanted hardcore domestic, in the way that you always want the opposite of your own childhood. Something, it became clear, had to give, and since Dom was either unwilling or unable to abandon - well his life, it made sense to remove myself from it. We separated a year ago, when Honey was eight months old. I wasn't sorry: disliking Dominic's life was one thing, but I'd also begun to dislike him.
From the book 'Don't you want me?' by India Knight