'When my husband gave a speech at my 40th birthday, it blew my world apart.'

As told to Ann DeGrey.

I always knew Alex* was bisexual. He told me two years into our relationship, back when we had just met and were falling crazy in love.

We had met at a work function 10 years ago — one of those dull corporate events that somehow turned into the best night of my life.

I was drawn to his energy, his dry sense of humour. He had a very infectious personality and still does to this day. He was different from any other man I'd ever met, and within months, I was head over heels.

When he told me about his past — how he'd had more relationships with men than women before we met — I didn't panic. I didn't overthink it. I just assumed that what we had was special, that he had chosen me, that we were building a life together.

And we did. We got married, we bought a gorgeous cottage in a regional area and we supported each other through everything. We'd been through a lot together — failed IVF and then falling pregnant naturally only to lose our baby through miscarriage. That was very tough, but Alex was a huge support. We managed to accept that we would have "fur babies" instead of human babies and we've been happy since we made that decision.

So when my 40th birthday rolled around, I was excited. Forty felt like a milestone worth celebrating, and Alex was just as eager as I was.

He had helped plan everything; the food, the decorations, the guest list. My family, my friends, even my grandmother came out from the nursing home. The house was full of laughter, music and general frivolity. And when Alex told me he had a surprise for me, that he was looking forward to making a speech, I didn't think twice.

Of course, I assumed it was about me. Why wouldn't I?

Watch: How to deal with birthday depression. Post continues below.

The party was perfect. Until it wasn't.

Alex stood up, tapped his glass, and smiled at the room. I reached for his hand, ready to soak in whatever heartfelt words he had planned. He started by talking about me; how much he loved me, how proud he was of the woman I had become. My heart swelled. Then he paused.

"I have something else to say," he said. "Most of you have probably suspected this, but it's time I made it public. I'm gay."

WTF? Okay, I knew he was bisexual, but now he was saying he's gay?

He kept talking, telling the guests that I had always known, that we still loved each other, but that he needed to be true to himself. The room had fallen into complete silence. People glanced at each other, unsure of how to react. A few guests clapped hesitantly, but mostly, there was just… nothing.

I stood beside him, quite frozen, smiling on the outside because I didn't know how else to react. Why now? Why here? This was supposed to be my night. My birthday. And suddenly, it wasn't about me at all.

When I finally found my voice, I pulled him aside.

"Why did you have to do that at my party?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"Because it's my 40s too. And it felt like the right time." He seemed genuinely baffled. 

I couldn't respond. I just walked away, locking myself in the bathroom for a moment to breathe.

The party, of course, was over. People left quickly, mumbling goodbyes, unsure of what to say. My grandmother, bless her, was still sitting in the corner, looking more confused than anyone.

Later that night, after the guests had gone and the house was quiet, we sat across from each other as I bawled, and he tried to explain.

"I thought you supported me," he said.

"I do. But you blindsided me, Alex."

We didn't fight. There was no screaming, no dramatic walkouts. Just quiet heartbreak — my heartbreak.

In the weeks that followed, we had several difficult conversations. Some were calm, others were tearful. We dissected our relationship, our choices, the love we had and the love we'd lost. It wasn't angry or bitter, just unbearably sad.

I was almost thankful we hadn't had kids — untangling our lives was painful enough without having to break a child's heart too. Instead, we had two dogs and three cats to sort out, negotiating custody like they were our furry children.

In the end, he took the dogs, I kept the cats.

He moved out. He met someone. I haven't met his partner yet, but he's all over Alex's social media — smiling in photos, holding his hand, sharing the life that was once mine. I guess I'll meet him someday.

I can laugh about my 40^th birthday party now. But back then? That night? It was one of the hardest moments of my life. Because love doesn't just disappear. Even when life takes turns you never expected. And I certainly never expected that.

Feature Image: Getty.