When the clock chimed in the New Year, I was cuddled up next to the girlfriend at the time. I had my feet on a foot stool, was sat in a couch in front of the television and was cradling her head as it lay on my chest, whilst we mused about the new year, and all the wonderful, beautiful things we hoped it would bring us. I had flown nearly 5000 miles to make this moment, and in the heat of the moment, life couldn’t have felt better. There was me, the one woman in the world I loved, and a bright and shining future ahead of us. If ever there was a fairy tale moment in my life, that was it.

Ten months down the road, that fairy tale is no more – obliterated by time, distance and the seemingly insurmountable gulf that a difference of faith can engender. It would take me six full months, from that fateful day in April when it all went south, before I would be able to come to terms with that loss, but I like to imagine bar the odd memory induced twinge, I have well and truly moved on.

I still hold out hope for a fairy tale ending – frog meets Cinderella, and whether in an instant or over time, the frog morphs into a Prince and Cinderella gets her heritage back.

So here’s to hope, for a fairy tale ending.. Whenever (If ever) that is…