On my wedding day I was still in love with my ex-boyfriend. Here’s the price I’ve paid for marrying Mr OK rather than Mr Right: SAMANTHA WOOD

As I walked back up the aisle after saying my wedding vows, a bouquet of red and white roses clutched in one hand, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man to the side of me.

He flashed me a shy but gorgeous smile and inside I melted. Yet this was not my new husband, Robert, but my teenage sweetheart, Johnny, standing in the pews – the man with whom I was still hopelessly in love.

We caught each other’s gaze for a second too long, then looked away.

For that brief moment I was, as always, transported back to the three wonderful years we’d had together as teenagers.

Though we split up aged 18, neither of us had ever been able to get over it and we were drawn to each other like magnets for years. First love can be powerful and enduring.

So why didn’t I marry him?

I can only explain that it was never the right time: he was single when I wasn’t and vice versa. And so it was that in January 2010, aged just 23, I became Robert’s wife, despite still being in love with another man.

Robert was three years older than me and we’d been introduced through my father. Introverted, sweet and gentle, he was studying engineering and land development at university with big career goals – and the potential to earn a lot.

He was perfect husband material. But he wasn’t Johnny.

My heart belonged to this wild, outgoing, sociable and emotional man – the exact opposite to Robert – whom I’d loved since I was 15, but who I thought just wasn’t meant to be.

When I looked back on those giddy, hormonally-charged years together, it was as if they cast everything that came afterwards in shade. There were the parties, the picnics, and those nights when I’d stand, love-struck, gazing at him on stage as he sang with his band.

But at 18, university, careers and responsibilities beckoned. Johnny planned to go into sports medicine and rehabilitation, while I had designs on a career in writing. It was time for us to say goodbye to our childhood love and spread our wings – but it proved easier said than done.

We made multiple attempts to part that summer, but we’d get upset and couldn’t go through with it.

But eventually, it had to happen. We’d be living hours apart, meeting new people, forging new lives.

I went off to study office administration, and later got my degree in criminal justice administration, while Johnny still set his sights on a career in sport.

‘We’ll keep in touch, right?’ we promised, leaving the door open just a crack.

When I heard through the grapevine that Johnny was seeing someone else, of course it hurt and I tortured myself. Was she prettier than me? Did he sing to her from the front of the stage, like he did to me?

I worked hard to push my jealous feelings to one side and started seeing a few boys myself. Yet every time I returned home, Johnny was the first thing on my mind.

It’s hard to remember who reached out first. An innocent ‘how’s it going?’ text would drift into nights of long, deep, emotional phone conversations and an arrangement to meet up ‘as friends’.

Which, of course, never worked out that way. We’d inevitably end up having sex, before swearing to not speak again. And so, the pattern was set for the next few years, as Johnny and I were drawn to each other, unable to leave each other alone, but never ready to fully commit.

There was one heady night in 2007, shortly before I met Robert, when we were both back in our hometown. I’d finished my degree and got a job in retail. We’d spent hours chatting, before having sex again. ‘This has got to stop,’ we vowed. Two months later, I was with Robert in his apartment when Johnny called out of the blue.

Hearing his voice brought butterflies to my stomach, but I knew I had to give Robert a chance.

Johnny was upset but accepting. ‘Bad timing again,’ he sighed.

Any hope I might have harboured of Johnny and me eventually getting back together came screeching to a halt when I found out I was pregnant with Robert’s child in May 2008. We went to a jeweller, picked out a ring and, just like that, we were engaged.

In hindsight, it was more about doing the right thing. I doubt Robert and I would have lasted as long as we did if we hadn’t had our son. I increasingly found that my fiancé was quite closed off emotionally, and socially awkward, which was the opposite of me. And Johnny.

But at the time I was blinded by the promise of a steady family future – something I knew I wouldn’t

have with Johnny, who was earning a low wage as a heating and air conditioning engineer.

Being a very open person, I’d talked to Robert about Johnny, and I explained how he’d always have a special place in my heart. Oddly, he was never jealous. To this day I believe he knew that Johnny was the better match for me.

Johnny took the news of my pregnancy and engagement as well as can be expected, though he never actually asked me to run off with him instead.

When my son was born, Johnny came over to visit. Seeing me there, cradling my baby, planning my wedding, he must have realised the finality of our situation, but he said: ‘I just can’t shake this feeling that you were the one I was supposed to marry.’

I gently told him that we couldn’t be together; I had a baby and I was going to marry his father, and build a good, stable life for us all.

That was my fate. These weren’t empty words; I was committed to making the marriage work.

Yet while trying on wedding dresses and choosing flowers, favours and food for our big day in January 2010, it was Johnny, not Robert, who was on my mind. I’d hear ‘our’ song on the radio or replay our teenage adventures together.

We still talked online occasionally and sometimes I’d go to see his band play, just so I could be around him, and I’d catch him staring at me and then looking away. Robert didn’t bat an eyelid when I said I wanted to invite Johnny to our wedding.

He wanted me to be happy, and he knew Johnny was a huge part of that.

I confess there was another reason I wanted Johnny to be there; this was my special day, the day that I would look the best I ever had, and I wanted him to see me in my beautiful gown.

But I took my vows wholeheartedly, thinking that this was what I was looking for: stability, a new start and family life.

Then came that moment when I walked out of the church with Robert and the first person I saw was Johnny.

It’s difficult to explain how I felt in that moment. I was happy and thought it was the life I wanted and, at the same time, I’d needed to see Johnny and know that he still loved me.

Tellingly, he left our wedding reception after my first dance with Robert. I saw him quietly slip out of the building.

As I settled down to married life, my thoughts were still filled with Johnny. We stayed in touch via phone, but we didn’t get physical again. I stayed true to my marriage and was honest with my husband that I still communicated with Johnny.

My marriage had its ups and downs, and I rode the waves. Being a mum and a wife were the only identities I knew, and for more than a decade I poured everything into making our family work.

Robert was a good husband and father, but there was no emotional closeness between us beyond friendship.

There were moments when my husband would be sweet and I’d have renewed hope that he would change, but he’d quickly revert to being distant. I lost myself in those years, but clung on in the hope of a better future.

The last time I saw Johnny was in 2021 just before Robert and I moved to Virginia in America, with his job. He drove past our house one day, saw the for-sale sign and knocked on the door to find out what was happening.

But I couldn’t answer. I knew it would hurt too much to say goodbye.

The move signalled a fresh start for Robert and me. Our marriage had been in trouble for a while.

I wished we had been more emotionally open, but I can see that I went into it loving him for the man I hoped he’d be, not for who he truly was, and I had to take some responsibility for it not working out.

I loved the idea of a family, safety, and stability, but in the end we didn’t have that. When we moved, we promised each other things would be better, but our problems came with us. I persuaded him to go to couples counselling in 2022, where we were both honest about our feelings, but the process ended up being further proof that it was time for us to call it quits.

I ended the marriage a year later and our divorce was finalised in 2024.

Robert was hurt and wanted us to stay together. He was wealthy and successful by then and I think he liked the status that having a wife and family brought.

This is the point at which, in a scripted love story, Johnny and I would finally fulfil our destiny and fall into each other’s arms. You might be surprised to hear, however, that my story doesn’t end that way.

I didn’t contact Johnny when my marriage ended. Moving away had provided enough distance for me to get proper perspective on both relationships. Finally, I could see that my enduring love for my teenage sweetheart was caused by how unhappy I was in my marriage, not because we were meant to be together.

I was hanging on to my feelings for him because I didn’t have a fulfilling relationship with Robert. Realistically, I don’t think Johnny and I would have lasted if we’d married.

I think our individual goals and the fact we both had a lot of growing up to do would have distanced us in the end.

So, my story ends with someone different: my partner Roger, whom I met through friends in 2023.

My relationship with Roger is the sort of love I’d been waiting for since Johnny and I broke up all those years ago. Love that’s tender and caring, yet fun and playful, staying up late talking for hours about hopes and dreams.

Being as open as I am, Roger asked me once in the early months of our relationship: ‘Do you still think about Johnny?’

I considered his question for a moment then answered: ‘Yes, I still think about him, but I’ve realised I don’t have feelings for him any more.’

It’s true, I don’t. I’ve looked him up on social media, purely out of curiosity. He’s now married with children and he looks happy. I still feel a closeness to him, but more like an old best friend from a favourite chapter of my life. Now I have what I was looking for all along – a wonderful man who’s in tune with his emotions and mine.

First loves often hold a special part in our hearts and memories. But, as I discovered, sometimes they are not meant to be rekindled, and should stay where they belong – in the past.

Johnny and Robert’s names have been changed. 

As told to SADIE NICHOLAS