Three weeks of marriage, and already my heart sinks at the thought of waking up beside him. I want to file for divorce because every day with Jeremy feels like walking through a fog of disappointment. My mum, Margaret, keeps saying, “Emily, don’t throw it all away so soon. Give it time—things will settle.” But how can I wait when every moment feels like a mistake carved into my bones? I loved him, believed in our fairy tale, and now I sit here wondering how I could have been so blind.
When Jeremy and I were dating, it was like something from a romance novel. He was charming, brought me roses, sent sweet texts promising we’d build the life I’d always dreamed of. I saw a future—children, holidays, laughing at silly jokes under a blanket. Our wedding was three weeks ago—elegant, with a white dress, dancing till dawn, toasts to everlasting love. I looked at him and thought, *This is it. My happiness.* But the moment we stepped into our flat, the dream curdled.
The first cracks showed the day after the honeymoon. We returned from a short trip to Cornwall, and instead of helping unpack, Jeremy flopped onto the sofa with his phone. “Em, I’m knackered. Sort it yourself,” he muttered. I swallowed my annoyance, thinking he was just tired. But then it became routine. He leaves dishes in the sink, socks strewn like breadcrumbs, and when I ask for help, he says, “You’re the wife—that’s your job.” *My job?* I work too, come home just as late, yet still cook because he “can’t stand takeaway.” I thought marriage was a partnership, not servitude.
Worse, his true colours emerged—a temper I never noticed. He snaps if I leave a mug on the table, if I ask him to take out the bins, if I dare bring up something important. Yesterday, I tried discussing our plans—saving for a car, celebrating our anniversary. He cut me off: “Emily, not now. I’ve got enough on my plate.” What plate? Scrolling through Twitter? The man who vowed forever now feels like a stranger.
The cruelest blow is his contempt. Last night, exhausted from work, I made bangers and mash. He wandered in, tasted it, and said, “Mum’s is better.” I nearly flung the spoon at him. *Go eat at your mum’s, then.* I’d tried to make something nice, and he couldn’t even say thank you. Then he added, “And maybe put some effort in? You’re always in that ratty dressing gown.” That was it. Three weeks married, and he’s nitpicking my appearance? I locked myself in the bedroom and cried. Not because of his words, but because I realised—this isn’t my Jeremy. This is a man I don’t know.
I rang Mum in tears. She sighed. “Emily, marriage is hard work. You’ll adjust, he’ll adjust.” But *how*? He never apologises, never lifts a finger. I’m a maid, not a wife. Mum says I’m overreacting, that all couples go through this. But I don’t want to “go through” anything. I want respect, not duty.
This morning, I told Jeremy, “If this continues, I’ll file for divorce.” He laughed. “Don’t be dramatic, Em. It’s fine.” *Fine?* For him, maybe. For me, it’s purgatory. Where’s the confident woman who danced at her wedding? Now I’m just bending to please a man who couldn’t care less.
I’ve started researching solicitors. Yes, there’ll be gossip—”Three weeks? What kind of wife gives up so fast?”—but I don’t care. I won’t live with someone who crushes my spirit. I wanted a family, not a cage. If Jeremy doesn’t change, I’ll leave. Better alone than unloved.
Yet somewhere, hope flickers. Maybe Mum’s right. Maybe this is just the “adjustment period.” Maybe he’ll wake up before it’s too late. I’ve given myself a week. If nothing shifts, I’ll call the lawyer. Until then, I cling to our wedding photo, whispering: *Where’s the man who promised me happiness?* But one thing’s certain—I deserve more than this.
