I don’t want marriage—I don’t need extra problems at this stage in life
I’m 56 years old, and for the past two years, I’ve been living with a man I love and feel at ease with. But he keeps bringing up the same question: “Why don’t we get married?” And increasingly, I realize it’s not just that I don’t want to—I’m afraid. At this age, having weathered life’s storms, people no longer dream of weddings as magical events. They seek stability, emotional warmth, and simplicity. Marriage brings responsibility, bureaucracy, property rights disputes, disgruntled grown children, and endless “what ifs.” I’m tired of those “what ifs.”
His name is Alex. He’s five years older than me. We met by chance at a wellness retreat I attended to regain my health after a serious illness. Initially, everything was easy—strolls, long conversations, trips to nearby towns, and shared humor. But then real life began. He moved into my three-bedroom apartment, which I inherited from my parents. My son is grown up and working in London. My daughter is a university student and still lives with me. Alex is also divorced; he has two daughters from his first marriage who live with their mother.
We live together, share our daily lives, take trips outside the city, yet we each manage our own finances. He has his own pension, car, and I have my apartment, a small country plot, savings, and a car I bought with my salary. Alex helps his daughters, sometimes more than necessary. I support my daughter too, while encouraging her independence.
Everything is working well for us. We don’t argue or sort through our relationship. We both have our personal space. But he wants that legal stamp in the passport, and I don’t.
It’s not that I don’t love him. It’s because I’ve been married before. It ended badly—with arguments, property battles, legal fights, and humiliation. My ex-husband tried to take away the apartment I had saved for over many years while pretending to be the victim. It took me years to trust again.
Now Alex is asking, “Why won’t you be my wife?” He doesn’t understand. And I can’t find a way to explain without hurting his feelings.
I don’t want my home, my efforts, my life to become issues for division if we don’t click in character. We’re not kids. We’re not going to have children together, or start “life from scratch.” Everything’s already established. Why risk dismantling and rebuilding it?
Then there are my children. They’ve never said anything against Alex, but I notice my daughter keeps her distance, though she’s polite. My son doesn’t comment on him at all. I’m sure, the moment we get married, questions will arise. “Is he eyeing the apartment now?” “Will Mum sign something over to him?” Life’s already tough for them. I’d like to sell the apartment eventually, buy a small, cozy flat for myself, and give the leftover money to my children to help with a mortgage or rent. If I marry, it all becomes complicated, turns into “jointly acquired” assets.
I don’t want more paperwork, or potential legal battles if things fall apart. I just want to live with the one I love, assured he’s with me not for residency, the apartment, or fear of being alone.
Lately, Alex has changed. He’s become withdrawn, accuses me of not loving him, and is increasingly resentful and sarcastic. He says everything I do is calculated. It hurts, because I’m with him out of love and the desire to be together. I just don’t want to marry.
We’re not lovestruck twenty-year-olds who think a piece of paper changes things. It won’t. It only adds complications. At our age, love is not about weddings, rings, or last names. It’s the hand that reaches out in tough times. It’s having someone you can sit quietly with in the evenings, watch TV, and know they’re there, providing comfort.
But for some reason, Alex believes I’m not serious without that legal seal. And I’m beginning to wonder if true maturity means loving without contracts or obligations.
I don’t know how our story will end. He might leave, feeling hurt. Or perhaps he will understand. But I won’t change my stance. I’ve lived too much to lose myself in relationships again. I seek silence, respect, and inner peace. Not disputes, property splits, and a formal “husband.”
I don’t need a title—I need a companion. And if he doesn’t get that, perhaps he’s not the one I was waiting for.
