**Loneliness in Marriage. A Husband Leaves for Another Woman.**
Frank and I shared twenty years together. There were highs and lows, but not a single day did I regret.
I always tried to be a good wife—pleasing him, never contradicting. What else could I do? A woman must be wise, or she’ll end up alone. Plenty of divorced women circled him, after all. I forgave his affairs twice. Once, he nearly left us, but I made it clear I wouldn’t survive without him. Fear kept him home.
Like many men, Frank enjoyed a drink. But he worked, brought in a wage—not much, but enough. I juggled two jobs myself. We got by.
When our daughter was born and I couldn’t work, he grew resentful—grumbling over every expense, demanding we scrimp. Once I returned to work, I bought what our girl and I needed without relying on him.
One morning, he stumbled in drunk. I asked where he’d been. He lashed out, raised his hand. I stayed silent—what’s a wife for, if not to understand a man needs his space?
Then, one day, he didn’t just threaten. I wore sunglasses to hide the bruises, blaming a cabinet door. It happened again. And again. Doctors patching my broken nose and ribs urged me to report him. But how could I? Frank was my love, my life. Besides, if I did, he’d leave.
Our daughter needed a father—even if he barely noticed her. He’d wanted a son. A second child never came, though I longed for one.
As she grew, Emily begged me to leave. Most children love their parents unconditionally—but she feared him. He ruled our home, and disobedience brought punishment.
Years passed. I turned forty. Emily moved in with her boyfriend. Frank grew quiet, indifferent. I loved him in silence, never glancing at another man, bending to his whims.
Then, one evening, he returned early, restless. Paced the flat like a man mustering courage.
“Frank, what’s wrong?” I asked.
A pause. Then—”I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.”
The floor tilted. I gripped the chair.
“Leaving? Where? What about us?”
“What ‘us’?” he shouted. “Look at you! I’ve wasted my life tolerating you. Now I’ll live for myself—with a woman who deserves me.”
Tears fell. “There’s someone else?”
“Obviously. Who’d want you? You’ve let yourself go. I’m still handsome—any woman would take me. But you? I’m done.”
He snatched his bag. “I’ll collect the rest tomorrow.”
And just like that, twenty years ended.
Later, I learned he’d been with her for three years.
Today’s my fiftieth birthday. Five years divorced, yet still I ache. In the settlement, he clawed back every penny, leaving me only the flat—my mother’s legacy. It all felt like a bad dream.
How did this happen? I gave him everything.
Now I know: you can’t live for someone else. You can’t forgive unrepentant wrongs. You can’t dim your light so another shines. You can’t endure abuse. And God help me—I put Emily second. Now she barely speaks to me, resentful of the childhood I failed to protect.
If only I’d understood sooner.
The clock ticks loudly. Another solitary birthday. But I’ve made peace with this: the rest of my life will be mine—joyful, untethered from another’s whims.
A knock. Frank stood there, grinning as if no time had passed. “Hello, love. I’m back for good. Realised you’re the best. Let me in?” He held out a bunch of daisies.
“No. Go—and don’t come back.”
I shut the door. For the first time, I knew: my loneliness ends now. The past stays behind me.
*P.S. This story’s real—a friend lived it. What do you think? Did she do right? How should a woman stand in marriage?*
