When Happiness is Absent: He Insulted Me, and I Endured for the Children’s Sake
Life in a Cage with No Escape
For years, I harbored this pain within me. It seemed my story wasn’t significant, that others had it worse. But today, I finally want to say it out loud—I am unhappy. I’ve been unhappy my whole life.
Thirty years ago, I married Victor. Not out of love, but because it seemed the “right” thing to do. My parents insisted he was reliable, that I wouldn’t be lost with him. I listened.
I thought back then that love wasn’t the most important thing. Stability was.
How wrong I was.
Humiliation Became Routine
Even in our youth, Victor didn’t hesitate to belittle me in front of others.
“She can’t even boil an egg!” he would say over dinner with friends, and they’d laugh.
“In bed, she’s as useful as a log,” he’d joke in company, ignoring my downcast eyes of shame as I sat beside him.
I stayed silent. I endured. I tried to prove to him that I was worthy of love. I cooked dinners, endeavored to be gentle and caring. But each time, I was met with nothing but coldness and disdain.
Then the children were born.
And I told myself: I’ll endure for their sake.
Under One Roof, Yet Worlds Apart
Once our sons grew up and left, Victor didn’t even bother to hide that he no longer needed me.
He built an extension onto the house where he lived alone. Neighbors and acquaintances believed we had the ideal family—outwardly, nothing had changed. We lived in the same house, ate in the same kitchen.
But no one knew that even the fridge was divided.
He labeled his containers “V.V.” in large letters so that I wouldn’t accidentally touch his food.
I ate what I could afford—simple porridge, potatoes, sometimes bean soup.
I was only allowed in the kitchen when he wasn’t there. It was his “kingdom,” his domain. In the morning and afternoon, I had to eat in my room, and if I happened to be near him, I’d encounter his irritated glare.
He’d sit at the table, lay out expensive sausages, cheese, a bottle of whiskey, and start dining, never offering me a bite.
In that house, I felt like a ghost.
Indifference Soaked in Hatred
Occasionally, we’d shop together. Each bought only what they intended to eat.
We split bills for water, electricity, and phone down to the last penny.
But to outsiders, we were still a “couple.” Even the kids, who now rarely visited, had no idea how bad it was.
And I endured it all.
Endured his heavy gaze, his disdain, and his cold silence.
But his weekends were the worst.
Those days, the house turned into a battleground.
“You’re Nobody”
He roamed the house as if every corner belonged to him alone. If I accidentally left something on his side of the table—a row would start.
He could grumble all day and explode over trivial matters.
“You’re a cow!” he’d shout in my face.
“You’re as plain and stupid as a stone on the road!”
I held on for years, just clenching my fists and staying silent.
But one day, something broke inside me.
He began another tirade. I don’t even remember what triggered it.
I sat opposite him, watching him rage, his face livid with anger.
At that moment, I wanted to grab a vase and hurl it at his head. I wanted him to feel, if only for a second, the pain I’d felt all these years.
But I didn’t do it.
I simply stood and walked to my room.
I didn’t shout back. I didn’t cry.
Because I knew: this person meant nothing to me anymore.
I’m Afraid, but More Afraid of Living This Way
I’m still here. Still under the same roof as this man.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have the strength to leave.
I’m scared.
But I’m more afraid of dying in this house, never knowing true happiness.
I pray for one thing only—that my sons never follow in my footsteps. That they live with those who love them, who value them, who respect them.
And me…
For now, I just exist.
