Ive made mistakes in my life, but the biggest one still lives right beside me, and I havent a clue what to do. I was twenty-five when I married a man named William. He was two years older than me. At the time, I thought he was almost a prince on a white horse.
He was always bringing me flowers, thoughtful gifts, carrying my heavy bags. We never argued, and were always able to sort out any problems calmly. We never lived together before getting married; neither of us believed in it we thought it was frivolous. So we simply tied the knot. My mum and dad gave us a bit of money for the wedding, but it wasnt enough to buy a house in London, not by a long stretch. I didnt really fancy renting either why pay some landlord and constantly be worried about whether they think were good or bad tenants? In short, Williams mum then suggested we move in with her. She had a two-bedroom flat in Manchester, she was always bored, and there was plenty of space. Why not, really?
I agreed quite easily. Williams mother seemed pleasant enough, and it wasnt hard to get on with her. But the moment I married William and moved in with my mother-in-law, I instantly learned far more about my husband. Turns out his mother still treated him as though he were a child. When living with her, he did absolutely nothing around the flat. She washed his pants and socks for him a grown man, for crying out loud. You have to admit, thats just not normal.
William just went to work and kept to himself. Its hardly surprising that, as soon as we began living together, all the household duties landed squarely on my shoulders. I had to cook for everyone, tidy up, do the laundry, even iron. Was this what I needed? Sure, my mother-in-law kept out of my way and didnt enter the kitchen while I cooked. But the fact she never even wanted to help, it made me feel like Id joined their family as some sort of servant.
And then the news got worse. Once, a plug socket caught fire, and I put out the flames. But when I asked William to remove what was left and fit a new one, it was like Id asked him to solve advanced mathematics. Turns out my husband didnt even know how to change a socket. To make matters worse, when the lightbulb needed replacing, he backed away, frightened, and said he wouldnt do it. So, I grabbed a stool and changed the bulb myself. In the end, it became clear my husband couldnt do anything at all. Fine maybe not a big deal. But he didnt even want to learn. Why bother, he said, better to call someone and pay them. But William didnt earn thousands of pounds, so we couldnt exactly afford to hire people for every little thing.
What drove me mad was the way my mother-in-law spoke to him, constantly treating her son like a seven-year-old, and hed answer her, shyly calling her Mummy.
William, have you put your socks on, have you changed your pants? William, have you washed properly? Hearing this sort of talk made me sick to my stomach. Hes a grown man, and his mother still asks if hes changed his pants.
Honestly, I really want a divorce. But what then? I havent got my own place and Ive already spent the money my parents gave me. Still, I cant bear all this any longer. How much more of this silence can I endure?
