OVER 40 per cent of marriages in the UK now end in divorce.

But despite facing the toughest of times, these couples made it through, stronger than ever.

‘We faced every parent’s worst nightmare’

Imogen Tinkler, 39, lives in Whitstable, Kent, with her husband Duncan and their daughters Xanthe, four, and Athene, five months. Imogen and Duncan run an online foraging brand.

“Watching Duncan cradle our baby as she took her final breaths, my heart broke.

In March 2020, I was at home with eight-week-old Beatrix and my two-year-old daughter Xanthe while Duncan was at work.

I suddenly noticed Beatrix, who’d been born at 33 weeks weighing 3lb 3oz, had gone blue and floppy, and wasn’t breathing. I called 999 and started CPR, as I had first-aid training. I was terrified.

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Beatrix was airlifted to King’s College Hospital in London, where Duncan and I stayed by her side day and night, while family minded Xanthe.

We were told a seizure had so badly damaged her brain, there was no hope of survival. We were devastated. It felt like an awful nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

Five days after she was rushed to hospital, on March 21, her life support was switched off and she died in Duncan’s arms, both he and I gripped by a pain you can’t imagine. 

Two days later, the UK went into lockdown and, because of the restrictions, none of our family and friends were able to be with us as we grieved.

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Duncan’s dad drove us home from the hospital, dropped us off, and that was it. We were left alone with Xanthe, deep in shock and grief. We were each other’s support network, cut off from the world.

I was convinced I must have missed something that could have saved Beatrix. I was like a zombie, because I couldn’t sleep, and found even the simplest tasks near-impossible.

Duncan had to take over running the house, caring for Xanthe, while also coping with his own grief. One day he completely broke down after sorting through Beatrix’s baby clothes, and I just held him.

There were times he would tell me to stop blaming myself as he couldn’t bear it any more. He was also frustrated he was having to do everything at home.

Those were tense, sad conversations rather than arguments, but the strain on our bond was palpable.

Having Xanthe was a blessing, because it forced us to have structure, like going for a daily walk to the beach near our home, and planting veg in our garden with her.

Even on the hardest days, she made us laugh and smile. She was a constant reminder we were still parents and she needed us to stay strong for her.

Duncan and I developed a heightened appreciation for one another.

Grief can be destructive, but we knew we couldn’t implode — Xanthe needed us and we needed each other, and nobody else understood what we were going through.

Five days after she was rushed to hospital, on March 21, her life support was switched off and she died in Duncan’s arms, both he and I gripped by a pain you can’t imagine. 

Only having one another was both incredibly hard for our relationship, but strengthening, as was having the shared focus of running our business Bangers & Balls.

We talked a lot and tried to be extra thoughtful — he’d bring me a cuppa every morning, while I set up little games in the garden to lift all our spirits. If one of us was feeling low, the other one would suggest they go for a walk to clear their head.

We marked the first anniversary of Beatrix’s death in March 2021 by driving to Essex, where she’s buried near my parents’ grave, and then blowing bubbles on the beach with some friends. I felt proud we’d made it to that milestone.

It’s two years since Beatrix died, and in November 2021 we welcomed our daughter Athene. It was a very anxious pregnancy, but she’s brought so much joy and will grow up, like Xanthe, knowing about her sister who left us too soon.

Duncan and I are, despite everything, stronger and more in-love than ever. We’ve lived out every parent’s worst nightmare, but we clung to and supported one another, and we survived.”

‘We were both unemployed two weeks before my due date’

Lucy Da Silva, 38, lives in Biggleswade, Bedfordshire, with her husband Alex, 41, and their children Ruby, three, and Alex Jr, five months. They run a mental health and wellbeing company.

“I was 38 weeks pregnant in September 2018 when my husband Alex called with the news he was being made redundant from his recruitment job. 

He was the sole breadwinner, as I’d spent the past two years studying to become a psychotherapist.

Just two weeks from my due date, we were both unemployed with zero income and only one month’s pay to our names.

What should have been the happiest time, getting excited about meeting our baby, had turned into a nightmare.

Ruby was born later that month and my emotions were all over the place. One moment I was deliriously happy, then I’d plunge into anxiety. 

As a child, I’d grown up without much money and had suffered neglect. Experiencing this now dredged up past trauma and the deep fear I wouldn’t be able to provide for my child.

With a mortgage and bills to pay, Alex began claiming benefits and applying for new jobs, but I found the paperwork around statutory maternity benefits too overwhelming to fill out when I was already so stressed. 

We cut back on everything but the essentials, and the anxiety, combined with sleep deprivation, meant I shouted at Alex, taking out all my worry on him, when of course it wasn’t his fault.

He just took it, retreating into himself, wracked with worry. It upsets me now, thinking about how I treated him.

I now believe I was suffering from postnatal depression, although it was never formally diagnosed.

Just two weeks from my due date, we were both unemployed with zero income and only one month’s pay to our names. What should have been the happiest time, getting excited about meeting our baby, had turned into a nightmare.

The year before, we’d set up a wellbeing company called Happy As Larry Group to run once I qualified. 

We now decided to pour our energy into it and take out a business loan as income in the short term. That was a big decision, but we believed we could make a success of our business and be able to repay it.

Throughout 2019, we worked hard, but money was still tight. Juggling work, a baby and finishing my Master’s degree was exhausting.

Living in a small flat together 24/7, with no childcare because it was too expensive, led to bickering. We forgot to show affection to one another as both of us were so wrapped up in our own worries.

Several times it crossed my mind that our relationship might not make it. 

In summer 2019, after yet another argument, I left with Ruby to stay with a friend for a few days. It would prove to be a positive.

When I returned, we sat down and spoke about how our relationship mattered more than anything. We agreed to communicate better and be more aware of how we were behaving towards each other.

By the end of 2019, I hoped the worst was behind us, then the pandemic struck.

We lost most of our work, which was face-to-face corporate workshops, and for the second time in two years faced a frightening financial situation.

In summer 2019, after yet another argument, I left with Ruby to stay with a friend for a few days. It would prove to be a positive. When I returned, we sat down and spoke about how our relationship mattered more than anything. We agreed to communicate better and be more aware of how we were behaving towards each other.

But we pivoted our business, delivering services online, which proved successful. 

Now, our business is thriving, I work for it as a psychotherapist and Alex as a wellbeing coach, and as a result our finances are now healthier. We’re still careful with money, as we’ve both learned you never know what’s around the corner. 

Our son was born in November 2021 and this year finally feels like the light at the end of a long tunnel.

We’ve had so much thrown at us — more than some have to deal with in a lifetime — but we’ve made it through together. I feel overwhelmed with gratitude and I can’t wait for our future.”

‘My husband’s head injury changed him — and us — forever’

Avril Mackay, 57, lives in Hartlepool with her husband Alastair, 56. They are both retired.

“Cycling in the Lake District on holiday in August 2017, I had no idea my marriage to Alastair — who I’d met in 1991 when we were both serving in the RAF — was about to be changed forever.

I didn’t see Alastair’s bike collide with the minibus, but I heard the huge bang, and when I looked round all I could see were his legs sticking out from under the bus. I froze with fear, thinking he was dead.

When I ran over, I found him unconscious, a horrible grey colour and struggling to breathe. A passer-by called 999 while I knelt beside him, and after he was airlifted to Royal Preston Hospital, I followed by police car, desperately hoping he’d make it.

He was placed in an induced coma and doctors told me Alastair had suffered a brain injury. They didn’t know how badly he’d be affected or if he’d even survive, his condition was so critical.

He spent two weeks in a coma before he was brought round, and that was a shocking experience. He was like a baby, struggling to speak.

He had lost two months of memories and needed help with eating, washing and getting dressed. My strong, capable, athletic husband had vanished, replaced by this confused and vulnerable man.

I was frightened, but was supported by our two daughters Ailsa, 27, and Megan, 25. I learned that up to 50 per cent of marriages end in divorce after one partner suffers a head injury* — but I was determined that wasn’t going to be us.

Alastair spent three months in hospital, having physio and speech therapy, before coming home in November 2017.

By then, he could do basic things like feed himself, walk and talk again, but he’d suffered irreversible changes both physically and emotionally, which remains the case today.

His balance isn’t great, he tires quickly and often sleeps for hours in the day. His concentration span is very short, so he can’t do any DIY or drive, nor can he cook or do the bills.

I didn’t see Alastair’s bike collide with the minibus, but I heard the huge bang, and when I looked round all I could see were his legs sticking out from under the bus. I froze with fear, thinking he was dead.

He can’t cycle, either, which was one of his passions in life.

The hardest changes for me to witness and live with, though, have been to his personality. His emotions are extreme, he can be short-tempered and gets anxious and confused.

He’s a different man to the one he was in August 2017 and the impact on our relationship has been significant.

I gave up my job in the pharmaceutical industry after the accident, as it was too stressful trying to work, look after him and run our home single-handedly.

Alastair retired from the police, where he’d worked as a detective, and we now live on our pensions and I’m also his registered carer.

There have been times when being a carer has made me resentful, and Alastair has felt like a burden.

It’s hard to say that about someone I love so much. He’s struggled also with the knowledge that his accident has altered both our lives.

The dynamic of our marriage has changed. Sometimes I feel more like his mother than his wife, and there have been nights when, after he’s gone to bed, I’ve cried because I miss the old Alastair.

Two things have helped us both come through this as a couple, though. I was always active, but I’ve started pushing myself harder and in 2019 started running ultra-marathons — my next is in June.

It’s a stress-reliever and has helped my mental health. It makes me more patient and relaxed at home.

Alastair and I bought a campervan in 2019, too, which I drive around the UK and to France and Spain.

Having that common passion has been great for our marriage. Together, we’ve created a new normal for us as a couple. 

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Alastair is not the same man I fell for 31 years ago, but I was determined we wouldn’t become a sad statistic. My love for him has never wavered.” 

*Source: Headway

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