We’ve been married 21 years and together for 25. It’s been three days since you told me you don’t love me any more. I cannot describe how that made me feel. It was as if I was watching something from a television drama, not real but viewed through a screen.

We were on the final day of what might to turn out to be our last family holiday and had taken a walk to a picturesque spot with our younger daughter. We had sat down and she had taken herself off to explore. I thought this would be a good place and time to talk. I pushed the conversation; your distance and our recent drifting apart prompted me. I thought it would be one more conversation in the “you spend too much time away from us, change instantly” variety that I’ve nagged you with over the years.

You said you hadn’t been happy, we seemingly want different things, you’re not sure that you can look forward to retirement with me. And now, the one constant in my life, your love for me, has seemingly evaporated. I think I’ve given it a bloody good push, though.

I could cry (and have done, a lot) at what I’ve done to our relationship. It was so good, loving and successful in so many ways. I know I’ve physically rejected you many times (why, I don’t always know) and you’ve never been anything but loving towards me, most of the time. You are considerate, thoughtful and a great lover, the best I’ve had. So why did I treat you this way? It seems completely irrational now that I’ve written it down.

I think I took you for granted, took your love for granted. But your messy ways and your taking me for granted also haven’t helped. You’ve always been demonstrative, which I thought would never change. But since we had the talk, you’ve almost been avoiding touching me, as if I’m repulsive, and that makes me die inside. We have made love since, as I have to try to save our marriage, and it has been fantastic as always.

I’ve told you how sorry I am, how I won’t change exactly, but will be a nicer version of myself. I’ve said I could cut my tongue out sometimes at what I say to you. And how proud I am at what you’ve made of your business.

You’ve told me that you can’t help the way you feel, that we do get on well, but asked if it is it enough, even though we have all of that shared history. And that you feel so put down by me. I’m so ashamed of myself.

We are going to go to Relate later this week when you are back from working away, and I did ask you if you wanted to salvage what we have or if you wanted to ease our separation.

You said you don’t know, you can’t give me a yes or no, so I don’t think it’s totally hopeless. But I do need to be realistic. I don’t want to face the rest of my life alone. You are so dear to me and have been my rock. It’s only now that I realise how much I do love you, and how stupid I’ve been.

My weight issues have held me back over the past 10 years, but I have been exercising and have lost over a stone recently. I feel so much better about my body and, with only just over another stone to go, I will get back to a slim figure again. You have always complimented me on my appearance, but you have hardly commented on my reduction: a symptom of your feelings, clearly.

I may be stupidly hopeful, but it’s the only way I can survive right now.

We’ve only told one friend each – and agreed to keep it to the four of us until after a couple of family birthdays. I just hope that you will stay. We have so much together, I hope Relate can help us through. I know I’ll go on living whatever happens, but I think it will be a much emptier and loveless life for both of us.

Your loving and very regretful wife