You stay at home all day and do nothing. Those were the words that made me decide: he needed to be taught a lesson.
Before I married, my friends warned mewhen a man gets married, he starts to think of his wife as his property, and his true nature comes out. But, foolishly, I believed that my husband, Matthew, was different. Before we wed, he was always gentle, never raised his voice, afraid of hurting me, desperate to keep me close. I was so sure I knew him. But I was mistaken, just like so many women before me. Its true, sometimes, that when a man wins a womans heart, he changes.
A few months after our wedding, Matthews mask slipped. He started complaining about my mother, Helen. Why does she ring so often? Why is she always dropping by every Sunday? Of course, I agreed; I worried about our marriage, so I asked Mum to give us space, calling her only when Matthew was out of earshot. But that wasnt the end of it.
Soon after, I became pregnant and lost my job at the charity shop. The pregnancy was difficult; the doctor told me to stay in bed, and naturally, they didnt renew my contract. Matthews remarks changed. You lounge about the house all day, doing nothing. As if growing his child wasnt enough. I stayed silentafter all, I was expecting, and what if he abandoned me?
When our daughter, Charlotte, was a year and a half, Matthews demands escalated. He wanted to be waited on hand and foot. As soon as hed return from work, I was expected to be by the door, slippers in hand, a piping hot meal ready on the kitchen table. He avoided every responsibility for Charlotte, as if raising our little girl was beneath hima womans burden, and nothing more.
I was shattered. Exhausted, isolated, and unseen, I finally reached breaking point. I packed Charlottes belongings and left for Mums house, seeking solace in her quiet cottage outside Oxford. I didnt speak to Matthew for two months. Life carried on. I found work at the library and started to feel whole again; every morning, I recognised the woman in the mirror a little more.
One rainy afternoon, Matthew appeared on our doorstep, gaunt and dressed in rumpled clothes, rain dripping from his hair. He knelt on the porch, voice trembling, begging for forgiveness. I told him simply: Youll need to take cookery classes. When I come home, youll cook. Youll clean. We do this as equals, or not at all. He agreed, of course. But time would tell if hed truly changed.
