I’ve been married three times, always striving to become an ideal wife, but now I fear ending up alone in my later years.
Three times I tied my fate with marriage, each time pouring my heart into being a model spouse—caring, patient, ready to sacrifice for my loved ones. Yet, my attempts to build happiness led to bitter disappointment, leaving me tormented by the fear: what if I face old age in emptiness and solitude?
My first husband, James, left me with harsh words: “I’m tired of you.” He was bored of me, our children, my care, and efforts. “You’re dull,” he sneered, glaring at me. “All you can do is make stews.” Back then, I believed a woman’s happiness lay in being a homemaker, a mother, a support for her husband. I didn’t know how to keep him, what to do to make him stay. And suddenly, I was alone—with two small children, feeling lost and crushed.
My second husband, Thomas, came into my life when I dared hope for something different. I was learning from my mistakes, trying to be wiser, demand less, and forgive more. But fate struck again: money was dangerously scarce, and we both exhausted ourselves at work until I got sick. Not critically, but seriously enough to need support. That’s when I saw his true colors. There were no loud arguments; he quietly packed his things and left for someone else. A sick wife and three kids—why bear such a burden? He slipped away from my life as silently as a shadow in the night, leaving me to struggle alone.
My third husband, Michael, was a real test for me. When we met in a small town near Birmingham, he was a broken, aimless man. I literally pulled him from the abyss: helped him get back on his feet, gave up half my salary, supported his dreams. Dragged him forward like a barge hauler, never sparing myself. He did nothing for me—not a kind gesture, not a hint of gratitude. I convinced myself that a man is the head of the family, and I must support him, even if it meant carrying the entire weight. Recently, he looked at me coldly and declared, “You’ve let yourself go. Old and unkempt.”
He’s only three years younger than me, yet sees himself as young and vibrant, while deeming me a wreck unworthy of attention. And this comes from a man I fed and raised off his knees for years! I was overcome with anger. I couldn’t tolerate it anymore—stopped giving him money, and he quickly called me greedy, pointed out all my “flaws,” as if I owed him forever. His words were as cutting as knives but opened my eyes: I no longer want to live for someone who doesn’t value me.
Now, here I stand at a crossroads in my forties, with a shattered heart and empty hands. Years of pouring energy into these relationships, what do I have to show for it? Emptiness. I’m terrified of what the future holds. Who needs me now? Are older women truly unloved, or am I mistaken? These thoughts gnaw at me like a frigid wind on an autumn night, and I’m at a loss for answers. Three attempts at building a family, three strikes, and the dread of loneliness pounds at my door louder each day. Is this really all I’m destined for? Will I remain alone, watching life pass me by?
