I’m not interested in marriage—I don’t want unnecessary complications later in life.
I’m 56 years old and have been living with a man I love and feel comfortable with for the past two years. But he keeps bringing up the same question: “Why don’t we get married?” And I feel increasingly that I not only don’t want it, but I’m afraid of it. At this stage of life, after weathering many storms, one doesn’t dream of marriage as a magical event. You seek stability, warmth, and simplicity. But marriage involves responsibility, legal paperwork, property rights, the dissatisfaction of grown children, and endless “what ifs.” And I’m tired of those “what ifs.”
His name is Anthony, and he’s five years older than me. We met by chance at a wellness resort where I went to recover after a severe illness. Initially, everything was light-hearted: walks, late-night talks, trips to nearby towns, and a shared sense of humor. Then real life began. He moved into my three-bedroom flat that I inherited from my parents. My son is an adult now and works in London. My daughter is a student and lives with me. Anthony is also divorced, with two daughters from his first marriage who live with their mother.
We share our life, the daily routines, enjoy weekend getaways, yet we finance ourselves independently. He has his pension and car. I have my flat, a plot of land in the countryside, savings, and a car bought with my own salary. Anthony supports his daughters—often more than needed. I, too, support my daughter but encourage her independence.
Our life is in perfect balance. We don’t fight or argue. We each have our own space. Yet, he wants a stamp in the passport. But I don’t.
It’s not because I don’t love him. It’s just that I’ve been married before. That marriage ended painfully—with shouting, division of assets, court cases, and humiliation. My ex-husband tried to claim the flat I spent years saving for, pretending to be the victim. It took me years to learn to trust again.
Now Anthony asks again, “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, my efforts, my life to become subjects of division should our personalities clash. We’re not kids. We won’t be having children, won’t be starting life from scratch. Everything is already established. Why demolish and rebuild?
Then there are my children. They’ve never said anything against Anthony, but I notice my daughter keeps her distance even while being polite. My son doesn’t say anything about him. I’m convinced that getting married would start discussions: “What if he claims the flat now?” “What if Mom decides to sign something over to him?” They already have enough challenges in life. I’d like to sell my flat one day, buy myself a cozy one-bedroom place, and give the remaining money to my children. To help them afford a mortgage or at least decent accommodation. If I marry, it all becomes complicated. It’ll turn into “joint property.”
I don’t want extra paperwork, nor do I want court battles if things go awry. I just want to live with the person I love and be sure he’s with me not for a residence permit, not for my flat, and not out of fear of being alone.
But recently, Anthony has changed. He’s quieter, withdraws into himself, and accuses me more often of not loving him. He’s becoming touchy and sarcastic, saying I’m “calculating.” It hurts to hear that. Because I’m with him out of love, out of a desire to be by his side. I just don’t want marriage.
We’re not starry-eyed twenty-somethings who believe a legal stamp will change anything. It won’t. It’ll only bring more complexities. At our age, love isn’t about weddings, rings, or changing surnames. It’s about having someone to lean on during tough times. It’s having a person to share quiet evenings, watching TV, knowing they’re there, and feeling at peace.
Yet Anthony seems to think that without a legal stamp, I’m not serious. And I’m thinking more often: maybe true maturity is loving without contracts and obligations?
I don’t know how our story will end. Maybe he’ll leave, hurt. Or maybe he’ll understand. But I won’t abandon my stance. I’ve been through too much to lose myself again in a relationship. I want peace, respect, and inner tranquility. Not disputes, property battles, and a formal “husband.”
I don’t need a status—I need a person. And if he can’t understand that, maybe he’s not the person I’ve been waiting for.
