Loneliness in Marriage. He Left Me for Another.
With Gregory, I spent twenty years. There were ups and downs, but I never regretted a single day beside him.
I always tried to be a good wife—pleasing him, never arguing. What else could I do? A woman must be wise, or she’ll end up alone. So many lonely divorcees circled him like moths. Twice, I forgave his infidelity. Once, he nearly walked out, but I told him I couldn’t live without him. He stayed, frightened.
He liked his drink, but then again, who doesn’t? At least he worked, bringing in just enough. I juggled two jobs, scraping by. We managed.
When our daughter was born, and I was on maternity leave, he turned sour. He begrudged every extra bite, scolding me to save. But when I returned to work, I bought what I pleased—for myself, for Emily.
One morning, he stumbled home, reeking of ale. When I asked where he’d been, he snapped, raising his hand. I stayed quiet. A wife must understand—a man needs his space.
Then it wasn’t just a raised hand. I wore dark glasses to hide the bruises, blaming them on a careless stumble.
It happened again. And again. Soon, it was every week. The doctors who fixed my broken nose and ribs begged me to go to the police. But how could I? Gregory was my love, my life. If I turned on him, he’d leave.
And our daughter needed her father.
Though he barely noticed her. He’d wanted a son. But a second child never came, no matter how I prayed.
As Emily grew, she begged me to leave him. A rare plea—children usually cling to any parent. But she feared him. He was strict, and punishments came swift.
Years slipped by. I turned forty. Emily moved out with her beau.
Gregory grew quieter, hardly speaking, hardly seeing me. I loved him silently, never glancing at another man, tending to his every need.
Then one evening, he came home early, restless. Paced the flat like a trapped animal, hesitating.
“Greg, what’s wrong?” I broke the silence.
A pause. Then—
“I’m done. I’m leaving.”
The floor tilted. I gripped the chair.
“Leaving? Where? What about us? Our family?”
“What family?” he roared. “Look at you! I’ve wasted my life tolerating you. Now I’ll live for myself—with a woman who deserves me!”
“There’s someone else?” My tears fell.
“Obviously. You’re a withered husk. I’m a catch—any woman would want me. But you? I’m sick of your doting.”
He snatched his coat and bag.
“I’ll get my things tomorrow!” he shouted, vanishing.
Just like that, twenty years ended.
Later, I learned he’d been with another woman for three years. That’s where he went.
Today, I turned forty-five. Five years divorced, yet still unmoored.
In court, he fought over every spoon, took everything but the flat—my mother’s, luckily. It all felt like a nightmare. How could this happen?
I did everything for him.
Now, I understand. You can’t live for someone else. You can’t forgive unrepentant cruelty. You can’t shrink yourself, endure abuse. And I put Emily second—now she barely speaks to me, resentful of her ruined childhood.
What a waste.
The clock ticks loudly. Another birthday alone. But I know now—I’ll live my remaining years in joy, free from another’s whims.
A knock.
I opened the door. There stood Gregory, grinning, holding a pitiful bunch of daisies.
“Hello, love. I’m back for good. Realized you’re the best. Let me in?”
“No. Leave. Don’t come back.”
I shut the door. Finally, I’m ready to leave loneliness behind—and start anew.
*This story is real, heard from a friend.*
What do you think—did she do right? How should a woman behave in a marriage?
