Just before I got married, Id heard whispered warnings from friends: when a man ties the knot, he suddenly feels as though he owns his wife and thats when his true colours start to bleed through.
But, being a hopelessly optimistic young woman, I was convinced my husband wasnt like all the rest. Before the wedding, he always treated me with such kindnessnever a cross word, careful never to upset me, desperate for my company at every turn. Yet, like so many women before me, I was mistaken. It really is true: once a man thinks hes won a ladys heart, something in him changes.
A few months into our marriage, it began. My husband started grumbling nastily about my mother. Why does she call you so much? Why does she pop round every week? hed demand. Rattled, desperate to protect my marriage, I found myself agreeing with him. I asked my mother to give us space, and only rang her when I was certain I was alone. But of course, that wasnt the end of it.
I soon found out I was expecting, and lost my joblet go because my pregnancy was deemed too high-risk, forcing me to rest at home. That was when he really turned. You lounge about all day and contribute nothing, he would mutter coldly. I bit my tonguewhat else could I do, pregnant and frightened of being abandoned?
Our daughter was only a year and a half when my husbands demands became unbearable. He expected to be treated like royalty. The moment he came through the door in our terraced house in Bristol, Id have to hover at the threshold, slip his slippers onto his feet, have a steaming cup of tea and a hot roast ready on the kitchen table. He wouldnt lift a finger for the babythat was a womans burden, apparently.
Day by day, I felt myself shrinking. Finally, exhausted beyond words, I packed a suitcase with baby essentials and took our little girl to my mothers flat, where the kettle was always warm and her hug never felt more needed. I didnt speak to my husband for two months. With each passing week, I found myself again; I returned to work at the local library and began to look more vibrant, more alive.
One dreary afternoon, he showed up at Mums flat in London, gaunt and dishevelled, looking nothing like the man Id married. He knelt, begged us both for forgiveness amid tears.
I told him if he truly wanted us back, hed have to sign up for a cookery course at the community centre. Next time, hed be the one preparing dinner and scrubbing up, or thered be no coming home. He agreedthough only time would tell if hed keep his promise.
