I dont understand why I became his wife.
Not long ago, we got married. I truly believed my husband loved me deeply and passionately. I never doubted it, until a strange incident shattered my confidence. It wasnt even about infidelityit was something far more perplexing.
Looking back, I think it happened because I cared too much. I adored him, loved him unconditionally, and forgave every little mistake. It was only natural that he became accustomed to my devotion, his self-assurance grew, and his opinion of himself soared. Perhaps he imagined that, with a snap of his fingers, any woman would drop everything for him. Yet, among others, he wasnt particularly admired No one else would tolerate his missteps or blindly trust him as I did.
Shortly before our wedding, he wanted some time alone, to go on holiday and prepare himself for married life. I couldnt change his mind, so I accepted it and let him take the trip.
Later, he described how he escaped civilisation, choosing to be somewhere without the internet or a mobile signal. He went by himself to the Lake District, wanting to soak up the beauty of nature. I stayed home, longing for him so completely. Each minute waiting for his return was agony.
A week later, he came back. It was, for me, the happiest day in the world. I greeted him with all the warmth and love I could muster. I cooked his favourite dishes, hoping to make his homecoming extra special.
But the next day, something peculiar started happening. He began darting into the hallway or slipping into the spare room far more frequently than usual. Then he started leaving the house several times a day, always with some flimsy excuse. One afternoon, as I went to the local newsagent, I found a letter in our postbox. It looked rather ordinary, addressed to me, posted by him while he was away. Yet when I opened it, its contents stunned me:
Hello. I dont want to mislead you any longer. Youre not the right person for me. I dont want to spend the rest of my life with you. Therell be no wedding. Please forgive me, dont look for me or call. I wont be coming back.
It was brutally short and cold.
Suddenly, I realised hed been checking the postbox anxiously the whole time. Silently, I tore up the letter, never saying a word about it to him, never letting on that I knew. But how can I spend my life with someone who doesnt want to share it with me? Why did he marry me and pretend everything was fine?
Now I understand: loving someone doesnt mean losing yourself. Cherishing another is beautiful, but self-respect matters more. If someone doesnt value you, its wiser to find the courage to value yourself.
