Just before World War II, I married my sweetheart, Daniel. We had a small ceremony and shared two weeks of wedded bliss before he was sent off to the war. I would get letters from my love nearly every week and I missed him terribly.

Four months after Daniel had left, I received a telegram. It was extremely difficult for me to open it because I knew a telegram usually meant bad news.

I summoned up the courage and read the contents. My Daniel had been declared missing in action.

I was so frightened. In some ways, I believed that the poor girls who were told their men had been killed were much more at peace in their hearts.

But Daniel being missing was not the only predicament I had to deal with. I felt changes in my body and I knew what they meant – I was pregnant.

Thinking my baby wouldn’t have a father, I decided to hide my pregnancy from the people around me. I felt compelled to do this because having a fatherless child was a much greater concern then than it is today.

It was a very difficult time for me – I had no family, Daniel’s mother was in ill health and his father had passed away the year before. I had no-one to turn to.

I went to the country to stay in a Catholic home for pregnant single girls. The nuns didn’t ask me any questions about keeping the baby and I simply told them I was a single girl who’d gotten herself into trouble.

I stayed at the home for the duration of my pregnancy. When I gave birth, the nuns took the baby from me and adopted it out. I wasn’t even told the gender of the child. After a brief recovery time, I returned to my town to resume my duties for the war effort.

It was one year and four months after Daniel had been sent to war that I received another telegram – this time telling me my husband had been rescued from a prisoner of war camp.

He arrived home six weeks later, a mere shadow of a man. I hardly recognised him. It took many years for him to recover from the horrors he’d endured. Even more traumatic was the torture he had suffered while in the camp, leaving him unable to give me children.

I never told Daniel about the child I gave away. I was ashamed of my weakness and terrified he would leave me if he ever found out.

It has been more than 60 years and this is the first time I’ve shared my story with anyone. I only hope that if Daniel is looking down on me from above, he understands why I did what I did.

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After going straight from university to a career in information technology, I was looking for a bit of a change in my life. I was making good money and had lots of friends, but something was missing – adventure!

I’d always had a romantic fascination with the outback. With dreams of working hard on the land and meeting a muscled jackaroo, I decided to drop everything in my life and head to the country, to see where life would take me.

With the help of a job agency, I found myself working on a cattle farm in south-west Queensland, doing household and general maintenance duties. While it wasn’t the glamorous adventure I was after, I grew close to the family and tight-knit community, and made some true friends.

Because I was a good rider and was so enthusiastic, I was given the opportunity to join one of the scheduled musters.

It was there I met Max. He was everything I’d fantasised about – strong, dark, handsome and mysterious. A popular guy, he also had a reputation as a “bad boy”, leaving a string of devastated women in his wake.

I vowed not to get involved with such a heartbreaker, but one night I became quite drunk and found myself talking to him for hours. We then headed back to his tent for the most amazing night I’ve ever had.

The next morning I awoke to find myself alone. Outside I overheard Max talking to the other men in the crew. He was describing the night he’d just spent with me in great detail, making it clear I was an easy conquest and average in bed.

His remarks were greeted with laughter and degrading comments. For the remaining weeks of the muster, Max gave me the silent treatment, while I suffered patronising leers from the rest of the crew.

By the time we returned, my feelings of stupidity and shame had turned to anger and I was plotting revenge.

I told friends that, during the muster, Max confided in me that he was gay. The women he slept with, I said, were an effort to distract people from his real sexuality, and his frequent trips into town were to cruise gay bars for anonymous sex.

Word spread quickly in the small farming community. The men were disgusted, and the women humiliated and angry. My plan worked beautifully – now it was Max who had to put up with the crude comments.

In fact, my plan worked too well. Since moving home, I’ve learnt Max had to move states to escape the rumours. No-one believed his denials, his friends shunned him and he had trouble getting work locally.

Teaching Max a lesson had a much bigger impact on his life than I ever dreamt or wanted. Now I have to live with that guilt.

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My boss Peter was a good-looking man. Forty years old, tall, muscular and with honey blond hair that hadn’t yet greyed, he had gorgeous sapphire blue eyes that made you buckle at the knees. He had plenty of charm and wit to match – a real ladykiller.

Supposedly happily married, Peter had managed – at one time or another – to wheedle his way into the hearts of many office girls. However, once he finally got what he wanted, it would be the end of the affair.

We’d all had enough of his constant philandering, and over a Friday night drinks session discussed how we would have our revenge on him. With each cocktail the plan became more and more adventurous … until we’d concocted the ultimate scheme between us.

The office was searching for a new junior to add to the team – and given that I was employed as Peter’s personal assistant, it wasn’t too difficult to arrange the “selection” of potentials. I found the most unqualified candidates … and my sister.

At 18, Naomi had long, dark, curly locks, sparkling green eyes and long, attractive legs which she liked to show off under sexy miniskirts. She was the perfect choice – young, gorgeous and with a wicked sense of humour. Just the right mix.

On holidays from university, Naomi agreed to our crazy plan, on the basis that we let her use a fake name and credentials. It was all so simple. Peter interviewed all the candidates including my sister, who has the skill of being able to talk her way into anything. By the afternoon he had me calling Naomi to tell her she’d got the job.

When Naomi started, she didn’t even have to flirt with our boss. Peter gravitated straight over to her desk every hour, as the rest of us watched his every move and tried not to laugh. It was hilarious – and unnerving. I despised the sleazy comments my sister told me he’d made.

After only two days, Naomi asked if Peter wanted to meet her after work at a local motel. She gave him the room number and a time, telling him to wait for her. We could all sense his anticipation that afternoon.

Peter walked out the door at 5pm, with a smile on his face and a wink at Naomi. Quickly, we rang his wife and filled her in on his antics, telling her exactly where she could find him.

Peter didn’t turn up for work the next morning. He rang and said he was taking extended leave due to “personal stress”. I don’t feel any guilt about our plan. He brought it on himself … and it was only a matter of time before he was finally caught.

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Ever since I was a little girl I’ve dreamt of meeting the man of my dreams and having four children. When I met Nathan through my work he was everything I wanted – funny, intelligent, sophisticated. But most of all, he wanted me too.

Nathan and I had been dating for three years, and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. On the other hand, he didn’t really want to make a commitment.

When I’d even talk about friends who had children, he would change the subject. He’d even complain if they brought their kids with them when they visited us.

One evening I overheard a conversation between Nathan and a friend whose girlfriend was pregnant. When he got off the phone, I found out that Nathan’s friend was planning to propose to his girlfriend.

“He feels obliged to do it, I guess,” Nathan shrugged.

I had an idea. If I pretended to be pregnant as well, Nathan would propose. Then after we were married, I could “miscarry” the baby. By that time we’d be closer and Nathan would be willing to begin a family of our own.

Over dinner a few weeks later, I built up the courage and told Nathan, finally, that I had something very important to tell him.

“I’m pregnant,” I said, voice breaking with put-on emotion.

Nathan glared at me and asked, “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“It can’t be mine,” he said. “Have you been seeing someone else?”

I was shocked that he was accusing me of having cheated. I couldn’t help but scream at him, saying that I’d never do that and I was offended he’d even dare to suggest it.

“That’s what I thought,” Nathan replied. “But I’ve only recently found out I’m infertile. I was trying to find the right moment to tell you … and I guess this was perfect.”

Stunned, I tried to explain, but Nathan just wouldn’t listen. He stormed out of the house.

Next day, when he came to collect his things, I pleaded with him to stay with me, apologising over and over.

Nathan shook his head in disgust and took out a small box from his pocket. It was a ring. He had secretly been planning to pop the question to me after he’d told me the painful truth about his infertility.

As Nathan turned to leave, his last words were, “I can’t believe you would lie to me.”

A year later, I still haven’t recovered. Nathan left our work and I’ve only seen him once since then. He’s never told any of our friends what I did.

I’m so completely ashamed of my actions. More than ever, all I want is him.

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When those little voices inside your head tell you what you’re doing is wrong, you’d think you would listen to them.

Your conscience is obviously trying to tell you something for a reason, so why is it we choose to ignore these voices?

Being 23 and in love, I had followed my boyfriend Zack to Europe as he pursued his dream of becoming a successful soccer player.

This had been his lifelong goal from the moment he could walk. I’d given up everything to go with him overseas because this dream meant the world to him, and he meant the world to me.

Zack and I had been away almost for two years and he hadn’t had any offers in that time. I was homesick and didn’t want to spend my life moving from country to country as he chased his dreams all over Europe.

I wanted stability and to start building a life for ourselves back home. There was a large part of me that hoped Zack wouldn’t succeed and I hated myself for having those thoughts, but I was exhausted. Zack wasn’t bringing in much money as we were constantly packing up and moving to the next country that offered him a trial.

At last, he had a trial with a soccer team in Italy. It wasn’t one of the best clubs, but it would be a great opportunity. If he was made an offer, Zack said, he would take it.

I knew enough about soccer by then to know, if he was accepted, Zack’s offer from the Italian club would come by mail. I waited anxiously at home every day until the envelope finally arrived. Inside was an offer that would see Zack play soccer in Italy for the next three years in a lower grade.

Three more years before we could go home; three more years before we could really focus on us; three more years overseas, chasing the dream.

I just couldn’t do it any more.

There was an option on the letter to accept or decline the offer. Without even thinking, I began typing a letter to the club declining the offer. I forged Zack’s signature and posted it to the club.

I couldn’t believe what I was doing, but I just couldn’t stop myself.

I told Zack that no offer had arrived and that obviously it wasn’t meant to be. He was heartbroken, but tried not to show it. He pretended it didn’t matter and he said it was time to go home.

Zack and I returned home to Australia within a month, and he proposed to me soon after. I contemplated telling him the truth about Italy before the wedding, but then thought twice about it. I was afraid of what his reaction would be.

I do believe I did the right thing – just look at the Beckhams! Who’d want to be a soccer player’s wife? Besides, I figured I deserved to put my future first for once.

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