We fell in love 16 months after his wife died – then rumours started

Never give up on love, friendship, honesty and trust (Picture: Lisa Quait) School pick-ups were the worst. I felt the side glances and overheard the comments: ‘Those poor kids lost their mum so young. How could Lisa possibly replace her, and so soon?’ No one really knew the truth about my relationship with Adam. I wanted to turn around and tell those parents they had no idea what had happened – but I didn’t. Adam and I had known each other since we were 17. He was my brother’s friend – we saw each other at parties until I was around 25, then I went travelling. We barely saw each other after that. When I was 33, I left my husband and moved away with my 18-month-old daughter. At first, I flew to Spain to stay with my brother, Scott. The moment I walked through Scott’s door, he told me Adam’s wife, Joanne, had died of pancreatic cancer, leaving Adam to raise their children alone. My heart went out to Adam and the kids. I couldn’t begin to imagine what they were going through. I knew Joanne had been ill – but she was so young. Look beyond the headlines Get a curated list of the most important stories of the weekend every Sunday from our weekend editor Jess Austin. Look beyond the headlines with exclusive articles, emotive interviews and must-read explainers from our expert team of reporters across news, lifestyle and entertainment. Sign up here. Scott suggested I check up on Adam when I was back home. We hadn’t seen each other since Scott had organised drinks with some old friends several months previously but I called Adam to pass on my condolences, having missed the funeral, and asked to visit him to pay my respects in person. A door had been opened, but we tried to ignore our feelings (Picture: Lisa Quait) Needless to say, the atmosphere was sombre. I said I wanted to visit again to offer support, but it was an hour’s drive and our weekends were already full with our children. So we agreed to message instead. Gradually, our friendship started to rekindle. It was a warm feeling – sometimes, after a call ended, I’d try to work out if it felt like more than friendship. Then I’d tell myself that was ridiculous. We’d both been through so much, and we were still working out our own separate lives. Ask Metro Use AI to go deeper into the stories you care about – powered by Metro and trusted publications. I’d push the thought away and get on with my day. But over the next four months, Adam and I spoke every week. We talked about the kids; his struggles keeping some normality at home; my own situation following my divorce. We finally met in person again at a charity event we’d both been invited to. That night, a few drinks in, he suddenly kissed me. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since we were teenagers,’ he said. I was on cloud nine – I’d never imagined that Adam would ever really fancy me, Scott’s little sister. A door had been opened, but we tried to ignore our feelings. We were both confused. We felt strongly for each other, but it wasn’t the right time. We needed to focus on our children and our individual lives before we could even think about going down that path. We made a pact that, somehow, we would make a relationship work (Picture: Lisa Quait) For months afterwards we hardly saw each other. The calls grew less frequent, and it was hard not knowing when I’d see him – but I knew it had to be that way. Then Adam suggested a holiday away together, just the two of us, to Mauritius. While we were away, we made a pact that, somehow, we would make a relationship work. I found a charity, Grief Encounter, who supported Adam and the children, and I started going over to Adam’s more. It was awkward and difficult. We pretended I was a friend until eight months had passed, and then we told his young children I was Daddy’s girlfriend. This was around two years after Joanne had died. Blending our families took real work. We got help from a child psychologist and always spoke honestly, with each other and the kids, when things weren’t right. We never questioned whether we loved each other. What we questioned was whether we would survive the sheer weight of it all. A lot of that weight fell on me. My daughter and I moved into Adam’s house, so as not to uproot his children from everything familiar, and we all lived there together for two years. Adam and I are still together, but our lives now are a world away from where we started (Picture: Lisa Quait) At times, the grief still in that house made me feel like I had no place there. There was rejection from the kids at times too, which was only to be expected. There was gossip from mums at school that Adam and I had been having an affair while Joanne was still ill – and, cruellest of all, that my daughter was his love child because she’d started calling him Dad. Between all this and carrying the emotional load of trying to stay supportive through everything Adam and the children were still going through, it tipped me into depression. But I had a few mantras I repeated to myself. The pain I was going through was nothing compared to the grief Adam’s kids were experiencing, and that kept me grounded. If anything was said about me in front of the children, I would always say the same thing: ‘I don’t care what people say about me, just know I’m here, I love your dad, and I will never leave you.’ Three years after our first kiss, Adam and I got engaged almost by accident. Want to learn more? Lisa Quait is an accredited positive psychology coach, and her podcast Real Women’s Stories is for those overthinking big decisions, doubting their judgement, or wondering what they want next in life. You can watch on YouTube or listen on Apple Podcasts and Spotify. For coaching insights and a community of women navigating change, join the Women’s Stories Club at realwomensstories.substack.com On our first family holiday abroad, we pulled a young girl from the water after she got into trouble swimming, and her grateful mum invited us to her wedding. Everyone egged Adam on to propose at midnight. Within five months, in March 2011, we were married – and around three months later we finally moved somewhere new, as one family, closer to relatives who could support us. This move felt like the first real relief we’d had. Things were still hard, but by then the kids understood it wasn’t only my decision, it was their dad’s too. Adam drove them back to where they used to live every other weekend to see old friends and family. Adam and I are still together, but our lives now are a world away from where we started. The kids are all in their 20s, and the respect we all have for one another is incredible. Adam and I couldn’t be prouder parents. If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: never give up on love, friendship, honesty and trust. Make time for each other; and ask for help, from charities, friends, neighbours, the school – whoever will give it. We could not have survived this as just the two of us. For any other families trying to blend two broken halves into something whole: Just know it’s possible when the love is strong enough. Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. Share your views in the comments below. Arrow MORE: I woke up in my date’s bed in a pool of my own wee Arrow MORE: I knew she liked vampires – then she did something that made me scream Arrow MORE: Finland is offering singles a free trip to potentially find love The Sunday Edit Look beyond the headlines with exclusive articles, emotive interviews and must-read explainers from our expert team of reporters across news, lifestyle and entertainment.