**Loneliness in Marriage. He Left Me for Another.**
**Diary Entry**
I spent twenty years with Edward. Through thick and thin, the good and the bad. And yet, I never regretted a single day by his side.
I always tried to be a good wife—pleasing him in every way, never contradicting him. What else could I do? A woman must be wise. Otherwise, she might end up alone. And God knows there were enough divorced women circling him. I forgave his affairs, twice. Once, he even tried to leave—but I told him I couldn’t live without him. He stayed, out of fear, maybe.
Edward liked a drink—but then again, who doesn’t? At least he worked, even if it wasn’t much. We got by. I took on two jobs myself. That was our life.
When our daughter was born, I was on maternity leave, unable to work. He grew worse—grumbling about every penny, insisting we tighten our belts. But once I returned to work, things settled. I could provide for myself and little Emily.
One morning, he came home drunk. When I dared ask where he’d been, he shouted and raised his hand at me. I stayed silent. A wife must understand—a man needs time away from family now and then.
Then, one day, it wasn’t just a threat. I hid bruises behind dark glasses, blaming them on a clumsy run-in with the wardrobe door.
It happened again. And again. Until it was routine. Doctors stitching my broken nose and ribs said I should report him. But I couldn’t. Edward was my husband, the man I loved.
Besides, if I did, he’d leave for good. And what would that mean for Emily?
Not that he paid her much mind. He wanted a son, not a daughter. We tried, but it never happened.
When Emily grew older, she begged me to leave him. Most children love their parents no matter what. But she feared him—she’d suffered under his temper too. Edward ruled our home. We obeyed, but never well enough to avoid punishment.
Years passed. I turned forty. Emily moved in with her boyfriend. Edward grew quieter, barely speaking, barely looking at me. I accepted it, loving him in silence, never glancing at another man. I lived to keep him content.
Then, one evening, he came home early—restless, distracted, pacing.
*”Edward, what’s wrong?”* I finally asked.
A pause. Then: *”Enough. I’m leaving.”*
The room spun. I gripped the chair.
*”Leaving? Where? What about me? What about us?”*
*”What ‘us’?”* he barked. *”Look at yourself! I’ve wasted my life tolerating you. Now I’m living for myself—with a woman who deserves me!”*
*”There’s someone else?”* My tears fell freely.
*”Obviously. Who’d look twice at you? You’ve let yourself go. I’m still a man with options. I can’t stand the sight of you anymore.”*
He grabbed his bag, shoved on his coat. *”I’ll get my things tomorrow!”*
Just like that. Twenty years—gone.
Later, I learned he’d been seeing her for three years.
Today’s my 45th birthday. Five years since the divorce, and I still haven’t fully recovered.
Edward fought for every penny—took anything not nailed down. The flat was safe—Mum left it to me. The whole ordeal felt like a dream. How could this happen? After everything I did for him?
Now, I understand. You can’t live for someone else. You can’t forgive cruelty without remorse. You can’t diminish yourself for a partner who crushes you. And I put Emily second—now she barely speaks to me, resentful of the childhood she lost.
I wish I’d known sooner. So much life wasted.
The clock ticks loudly. Another birthday alone. But at least now I know: whatever time I have left, I’ll live for myself—in peace, in joy. No more bending to another’s whims.
The doorbell rings. Edward stands there, grinning like nothing’s wrong.
*”I’m back—for good. Realised you’re the best I’ll ever get.”* He holds out a sad little bouquet of daisies.
*”No. Leave. And don’t come back.”*
I shut the door. For the first time, I’m ready to leave the loneliness behind—and start anew, without ghosts from the past.
**P.S.** This isn’t fiction. A friend lived it.
What do you think—did the wife do right? How should a woman stand her ground in a marriage?
