JANE HAWKING

I was always extremely determined, but I was also quite timid.

I don't think of my life as having two marriages; I think of it as a continuum.

Being Stephen's carer was such a struggle, and it's a lonely job looking after a disabled person. Thinking back, I honestly wonder how I got through it.

I suppose I was still optimistic and unrealistic, and I just hoped we could keep going as we were. But no. That was not good enough for Stephen, so off he went. Those were hard times. They really were. But then, I suppose, divorce is always hard.

I felt that Stephen had become such a significant figure, a scientist of such international renown, that at some future date, someone would be sure to attempt an inaccurate, sensationalised biography, possibly including me, possibly writing me out of the script.

Just because you can no longer have a physical relationship with someone doesn't mean you don't love them.

We would look up at the night sky together, and although Stephen wasn't actually very good at detecting constellations, he would tell me about the expanding universe and the possibility of it contracting again and describe a star collapsing in on itself to form a black hole in a way that was quite easy to understand.

After the success of Stephen's book, a whole new crowd of people became very interested in him, and the family was just pushed into a corner.

I felt very committed to Stephen, and I didn't think he could manage without me. I wanted him to carry on doing his amazing work, and I wanted the children to have a stable family behind them - so we just carried on.

In the early days of our marriage, Stephen could walk around Cambridge on my arm - a stick on one hand, leaning on me with the other. I carried a baby on one arm and Stephen on the other.

My philosophy is that while there's life, there's hope. It's as simple as that.

We met in our hometown of St. Albans when I had just left school and Stephen was starting his Ph.D. studies in Cambridge.

The goddess Physics was Stephen's idol. I was not jealous of her, but she did give me some cause for concern.

I had scarcely met Stephen, and then one Saturday I met some old friends for coffee, and they were saying, 'Gosh it's terrible about Stephen, isn't it?' They told me that he had been in St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London having horrible tests and then had been diagnosed with an atypical form of a rare disease - motor neurone disease.

I was very anxious that Stephen should have every opportunity to fulfil himself.

Stephen could be highly critical of people other than his closest relatives... He considered my friends to be easy victims and had no compunction in monopolizing the conversation at parties with his controversial opinions.

I never sacrificed myself. I did what I did out of love.

To me, Stephen was my husband and the father of my children; one does not say to one's husband, 'Oh, you're so clever! I must worship the ground under your feet, or in this case, wheels.'

I couldn't let him die; I was the agent of life for Stephen.

The tension between Stephen's atheistic stance and my faith always existed, but neither of us tried to convert the other. I am not evangelical.

When Stephen was first diagnosed, we weren't actually going out together, but I was already falling in love with him. He had beautiful eyes and this amazing sense of humour, so we were always laughing.

We were under scrutiny when Stephen became rich and famous. The media were in the house, and camera leads were absolutely everywhere - it was just nightmarish.

Of course I don't think any of the past will go away. The thing is, with me and Stephen, for many years, I put every spoon of food into his mouth, dressed him, and bathed him. You do not forget that experience.

Living here in Cambridge, you had to have an identity. It was not enough to be a wife. So I did a Ph.D. in medieval Spanish poetry.

In a sense, I am achieving what I set out to do - to devote myself to Stephen, to give him the chance of fulfilling his genius. But what have I become in the process? Who am I? What is there left of me? I am beginning to doubt my own identity.