Married ladies will hate me… however I’m the opposite girl. And I’ll inform you that Christmas is hardest on us mistresses – even when your husbands purchase us dear items!

It’s that time of year again. The time when the world rejoices, families come together – and lovers carve out that little bit of special time alone.

What woman doesn’t enjoy the seasonal gifts and cosy meet-ups, the touching gestures and all those social invitations that really validate a relationship.

Unless, that is, you are the other woman. The one who’s not meant to be there at all.

For those poor creatures, this is the very loneliest time of the year – a festival of heartache, painful reminders and rejection.

I learned this the hard way, spending the most desperate Christmas of my life as the tier-two partner, shoved to the shadows just when it really mattered.

I know there are plenty of married women out there who’ll hate me for dragging all this into the open. And I suppose I have only myself to blame, although never in my life had I dreamed of becoming someone’s dirty little secret.

I first became the other woman 13 years ago, when I met my then-boyfriend at a party in Manhattan. I was 29 and he was older and more experienced at 45.

To cut a long story short, I had no idea he was married. There was no ring, no obvious sign – and he certainly didn’t tell me. 

We dated for six months, I fell wildly in love but only then did I stumble across the truth.

I wish I’d ended it there and then, but after my initial fury subsided – and we had a blow-out fight – I accepted his excuses.

I believed him when he said his wife was an awful person. I believed him again when he claimed they were separated. And I kept on seeing him.

I don’t mind saying I was passionate about the guy. And, when Christmas rolled around, I hoped above all that he would invite me to spend it with him and his children, or at least make time to come and see me.

That’s when the excuses started. I was told it was ‘too soon’, that his children weren’t ready, that he still had to co-parent with his wife. He claimed it would be ‘inappropriate’ for me to be anywhere near them.

Once again, I was naïvely trusting. I went to parties solo and, time after time, explained that my boyfriend ‘had to be with the children.’ It’s a good excuse, by the way. Women believe it.

Exiled to my parents’ house for Christmas, lunch was delicious and there were presents under the tree. I should have been happy – but I wasn’t because the boyfriend I loved was missing.

I hardly spoke to him that whole week and when I did snatch a conversation on the phone, he would whisper that he was busy ‘having family time’ and we would speak later. Then he’d ‘forget’ to call.

So, there were no romantic get-togethers, not even secret ones. There were no stolen moments in tasteful hotels, no candlelight dinners or country walks.

I tried to forget about the pain. I told myself that my boyfriend’s disappearing act was just ‘part of being a dad’ and that, one day, he really would introduce me to the children.

We would all spend the holidays together.

He knew I was unhappy, of course, and tried to make it up to me with a stream of flowers and presents. He sent me jewelry – a lot of jewelry – including a beautiful black-diamond ring.

When, finally, he did escape from his family, he took me for lavish dinners and paid for everything.

But none of that makes up for being apart from the person you love. Knowing he had chosen to be with her – not me – just made it even worse.

The truth is that the other woman never comes first. Yes, you’ll get a big gift, probably a bigger more splendid present than the one he gave his wife.

But it’s no more than a consolation prize – without the consolation. You never get the person. A cold present is no substitute for human warmth.

It wasn’t just Christmas that was hard: I’d already been through Thanksgiving, which had been doubly difficult because it fell on my birthday that year. He didn’t even bother with a brief appearance at my party.

When I complained, trying to sound endearing rather than angry, he promised to make it up to me. And true to his word, he whisked me away to the Caribbean island of Aruba the very next week.

I would have traded that a hundred times over to have the man I loved holding my hand when I blew out my birthday candles.

Was there a strand or two of truth in his web of deceit? Perhaps that’s what made him so convincing. His marriage did go through a bad patch. But it took me two long years to realize he hadn’t meaningfully split from his wife at all. And that he was never going to end it.

I suppose the truth must be obvious to everyone else: that you think you’re in a relationship but, really, you’re alone. That he doesn’t actually want to be with you at all and can’t stand for anyone else to have you, either.

After all the worry, the stress, the fond hopes and fevered self-deception, I was never more than his bit on the side.

Here, then, is my Christmas gift to you, the one lesson that remains with me down the years: married men will never leave their wives.

He’s still with her now.