DAILY MAIL
Every January, my extended family has a big get-together. Each person brings their children and partner or, in my case, partners – my husband Marcus and my boyfriend Neil.
Yes, you read that correctly: I have a husband and a boyfriend. But far from being a source of intense animosity, often the two men end up talking to each other about history or politics. I wouldn’t say they’re best friends, but they respect each other and exchange birthday presents, recipes and occasional emails. There’s no tension.
It draws amused smiles from my siblings; I’ve always liked men with strong opinions and now I have two in my life. As for our children (one still at school, the other at university), they are at ease with the situation.
It means I often spend time away from home, but their father, 69, loves his own hearth, so nothing much has changed over the course of their childhood.
Our situation is often misintepreted. When new friends assume I’m polyamorous, I firmly disabuse them of the notion. The boundaries of both relationships are clear cut and don’t overlap: Marcus and I bring up our children together, co-own a house and have a deeply loving familial bond, as well as shared finances.
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