I’m not looking to get married—I don’t need extra hassle in my later years
I’m 56 years old. For the past two years, I’ve been living with a man I love and with whom I feel at ease. Yet, he frequently brings up the question, “Why don’t we get married?” Increasingly, I realize not only that I don’t want to, but that I fear doing so. At this age, after many life storms, one stops dreaming of marriage as a miracle. Instead, one desires stability, warmth, and simplicity. Marriage brings responsibilities, bureaucracy, property rights issues, adult children’s disapproval, and endless ‘what ifs.’ And I’m weary of those ‘what ifs.’
My partner’s name is Alex. He’s five years older than me. We met by chance at a health retreat I attended to recover from a serious illness. Initially, everything was easy: walks, late-night talks, day trips to nearby towns, and a shared sense of humor. Then real life began. He moved into my three-bedroom flat, which I inherited from my parents. My son is grown and working in London, while my daughter is a student living with me. Alex is also divorced, with two daughters from his first marriage. They both study and live with their mother.
We share a life together, balancing day-to-day chores, enjoying weekends out of town, yet keeping our finances separate. He has his own pension and car, while I have my flat, a plot of land outside London, savings, and a car I bought with my salary. Alex supports his daughters—sometimes more than necessary. I also support my daughter, but I encourage her independence.
Everything is settled between us. We don’t argue or question each other’s feelings. We both have personal space. Yet, he wants the commitment of marriage. I do not.
It’s not due to a lack of love. It’s because I’ve been married before. That marriage ended badly—with arguments, property disputes, court hearings, and humiliation. My ex-husband tried to take the flat I had saved for years to buy, pretending to be wronged. It took years for me to rebuild trust.
Now, Alex asks again, “Why don’t you want to be my wife?” He doesn’t understand, and I struggle to explain without hurting his feelings.
I don’t want my home, my hard work, and my life to become a subject of division if we clash. We’re not young. We won’t have children together or build a life from scratch. It’s all already built. Why tear it down to rebuild?
Moreover, my children have never voiced anything against Alex, but I notice how my daughter keeps her distance despite being polite. My son never mentions him. I’m sure that if we marry, questions will arise. “Is he now entitled to the apartment?” “Will Mom change the inheritance?” Life isn’t easy for them as it is. I’d like, in the future, to sell the flat, get myself a cozy little one-bedroom, and give the remaining money to them. So they could afford a mortgage or at least rent somewhere decent. Marriage would complicate things; it would make everything “joint property.”
I don’t want additional paperwork or court battles if things go wrong. I just want to live with the person I love and be sure he’s with me for myself, not for a legal status, a flat, or fear of being alone.
Recently, Alex has changed. He’s grown silent, withdrawn, and more frequently accuses me of not loving him. He’s becoming sensitive and sarcastic, claiming that I’m doing everything “calculatedly.” It pains me to hear that. Because my motivation is pure love, the desire to be together. I simply don’t want to marry.
We’re not young twenty-somethings believing a piece of paper changes anything. It doesn’t. It only adds complexities. At our age, love is not about weddings, rings, or sharing surnames. It’s the hand extended to you in tough times. It’s the person you can sit with in silence watching TV, knowing they’re there, and feeling calm.
Yet, for some reason, Alex believes my seriousness is tied to that piece of paper. I increasingly think that perhaps true maturity is loving without contracts and obligations.
I don’t know how our story will end. Maybe he’ll leave, feeling offended. Or maybe he’ll understand. But I won’t change my stance. I’ve lived too much to lose myself again in a relationship. I crave tranquility, respect, and inner peace. Not disputes, property divisions, or a formal “husband.”
I don’t need a status—I need a person. And if he doesn’t understand that, maybe he’s not the man I’ve been waiting for.
