I’m not looking to get married—I have no need for unnecessary complications at this stage of life.
I’m 56. Two years ago, I began living with a man I adore who makes me feel at ease. Yet he frequently raises the same question: “Why don’t we get married?” The more he asks, the more I realize I don’t want to, and honestly, I’m afraid. At this age, after enduring life’s storms, one doesn’t dream of weddings as magical events. You long for stability, warmth, and simplicity instead. Marriage is responsibility, paperwork, property rights, discontent from grown children, and endless “what ifs.” I’m tired of those “what ifs.”
His name is Alex. He’s five years older than I am. We met by chance at a spa where I went to recover from a serious illness. Initially, things were easy—walks, late-night talks, trips to nearby towns, shared humor. Then real life began. He moved into my three-bedroom flat, a gift from my parents. My son, now an adult, works in London. My daughter is a student and lives with me. Alex is divorced, with two daughters from his first marriage. They both study and live with their mother.
We live together, share chores, relax, and take countryside trips, yet manage our finances separately. He has his pension and car. I have my flat, a plot of land in the countryside, savings, and a car bought with my salary. Alex supports his daughters, sometimes more than necessary. I help my daughter too but try to teach her independence.
Our lives are settled. We don’t argue or have disputes. Each of us has personal space. But he wants a marriage certificate, and I don’t.
It’s not that I don’t love him. It’s because I was married before. That marriage ended bitterly—with fights, property disputes, court, and humiliation. My ex-husband tried to take the flat I spent years saving for by pretending to be the victim. It took me years to trust again.
Now Alex asks, “Why don’t you want to be my wife?” He doesn’t understand. And I can’t explain without hurting his feelings.
I don’t want my home, efforts, and life to become subjects of division if we don’t get along in the future. We’re not kids. We’re not having children together. We’re not starting life from scratch. Everything is already in place. Why dismantle and rebuild?
Also, my children. Although they haven’t said anything against Alex, I see my daughter keeping her distance, though she’s polite. My son doesn’t comment on him at all. I’m sure if we marry, questions would arise. “Will he claim a share of the flat now?” “What if Mum decides to transfer something to him?” Life’s hard enough for them. I plan to sell my flat later, buy a small, cozy one-bedroom for myself, and give the remaining money to my children. So they can secure a mortgage or rent a decent place. If I marry, everything complicates. It becomes joint property.
I don’t want extra documents or future legal battles if things go awry. I just want to live with my loved one and be sure he’s with me not because of the property but because of love.
Recently, though, Alex has changed. He’s become withdrawn, often accusing me of not loving him. He’s irritable, sarcastic, and claims I act out of calculation. It hurts. Because I’m with him out of love, wanting to be close. I simply don’t want marriage.
We’re not twenty-somethings, believing a marriage certificate will change anything. It won’t. It’ll only add complications. At our age, love isn’t about weddings, rings, or surnames. It’s the hand extended in tough times. It’s the person with whom you can share a silent evening in front of the TV, knowing they’re there, bringing peace.
Yet Alex believes I’m not serious without the stamp. I find myself thinking that perhaps this is real maturity—loving without contracts and obligations.
I don’t know how our story will end. Maybe he’ll leave, feeling hurt. Or maybe he’ll understand. I won’t budge from my stance. I’ve been through too much to lose myself again in a relationship. I seek peace, respect, and inner calm—not disputes, asset division, and a formal “husband.”
I don’t need a status—I need a person. If he doesn’t see that, maybe he’s not the person I’ve been waiting for.
