My husband was supporting his ex-wife with our money so I gave him an ultimatum.
I knew about his ex right from the start. He never hid the fact that hed been married, that he had a daughter, and that he paid child maintenance. I even thought it was the right thing to do noble, in fact. I respected him for taking that responsibility seriously.
But, over time, I came to realise something far more unsettling: what I saw as responsibility was actually an exhausting, ever-present sense of guilt. It clung to him like a shadowone that someone had learned to wield expertly.
His payments never failed. The amounts were substantial. Yet beyond those was an endless list of additional expenses.
Their daughter needed a new laptop for school. The old one was too slow, and the other kids had much better ones. My husband would sighand buy it.
She had to attend a summer language camp. Without it, shed fall behind. My husband nodded, even though the fee was as much as our entire holiday.
Christmas gifts, birthday presents, something for Easter, and just becauseeverything had to be the finest, the priciest, the flashiest. Because a dad should be generous.
His ex-wife knew just how to press the right buttons. Shed call, her voice tinged with resignation:
Shell be so disappointed, you know? I cant manage it all on my own.
And he understood.
He understood so intensely that he lost sight of everything else. The life we shared together. The plans, dreams, and future that we tried to build.
But the money for our future trickled away, drop by drop, all for a past that refused to let go.
I tried to talk to him.
Dont you think its gone too far? She has everything. Weve been saving for months to buy a washing machine. Wake up
Hed look at me, guilt written all over his face.
Shes my childhow can I say no? People say its a difficult age. She needs my support.
And what about my self-respect? Our life together? I asked, sharper now.
He looked at me, confused.
Are you jealous? Of a child?
It wasnt jealousy.
It was about fairness.
Wed been living on thin iceconstantly funding someone elses urgent needs that never seemed to end.
Our washing machine was on its last legs. It banged, shuddered, stalled halfway through cycles. I longed for a simple, quiet washing machine. Id been saving from my salary, spotted a good model on sale. The day to buy it was set.
I could already imagine doing my laundry without wondering if the machine would break down.
That morning, my husband was unusually quiet. He wandered around our flat as if searching for something on the floor.
Just as I grabbed my bag to leave, he said:
Itook the moneyfor the washing machine.
My hands went cold.
You took it? Where did it go?
For my daughter. It was urgentshe needed dental treatment. My ex called late, in a panicsaid the child was in agony and needed a private dentist, very expensive I couldnt refuse
I leaned against the kitchen doorway.
Sowas she treated?
Yes, yes! he brightened, as if the worst had passed. All sorted. They said it went brilliantly.
I stared for a moment, then quietly said,
Call her. Now.
What? Why?
Call herand ask how the child is. And which tooth was hurting.
He frowned, but dialled. Their conversation was short. As he listened, I watched his confidence drain away, replaced by discomfort.
He hung up.
Wellshes fine. Its all over.
Which tooth? I repeated.
It doesnt matter
WHICH TOOTH? My voice sounded foreign, harsh.
He sighed.
She saidit wasnt pain. It was scheduled. Whitening. Apparently its normal at that age. The childs been waiting a year
I just turned away and sat down at the kitchen table.
Our money for an ordinary, decent lifehad gone to a tooth-whitening because someone decided it was necessary.
The worst part? He hadnt even questioned it. Hadnt checked. Just handed over the money. Because guilt makes a lousy guideand a perfect lever for blackmail.
Afterwards, the house fell silent, cold.
I barely spoke to him. He tried to patch things up with little gestures, but it was like sticking a plaster over a bullet wound.
It became painfully clear I wasnt fighting his ex-wife.
I was fighting the ghost he carried.
The ghost of a failed marriage. That gnawing belief that he hadnt done enough. That he needed to make up for it.
And that ghost was ravenous.
Always demanding fresh sacrificesmoney, time, nerves, my dignity.
Everything came to a head on the daughters birthday.
I forced myself to ignore the tension inside and bought a lovely, well-chosen book the same one shed once mentioned in passing.
But the extravagant gifts came from Mum and Dad: a brand-new phone, the sort only the most privileged kids in her class owned.
His ex-wife was dressed like she was straight out of a magazine. She welcomed guests with the grace of a hostess and a smile as sharp as a blade.
When it was time for presents and the girl picked up my book, her mother said loudly to the whole room, smiling:
There you go, sweetheartthose who really love you give you what you dream of. She gestured to the flashy gift. And this nodding dismissively at my book is just from some lady. Justto tick a box.
The room froze.
Every eye turned to me.
Then to my husband.
And hesaid nothing.
He didnt defend me. Didnt correct her. Did absolutely nothing.
Staring at the floor. At his plate. Somewhere deep inside himself. Small, hunched, as if wishing he could disappear.
His silence was louder than a slap.
It signalled agreement.
I endured the party with a stone face. Smiled, nodded but inside, it was already over.
Not a pause. Not a crisis.
The end.
When we got home, I didnt make a scene. Scenes are for those who still care to fight.
I went to the bedroom, pulled the old dusty suitcase from the top of the wardrobethe one my husband arrived with years ago.
And I started packing his thingsslowly, methodically, calm.
Shirts. Trousers. Socks. Everything put away.
He heard the noise, came in, and froze at the sight of the suitcase.
What are you doing?
Im helping you pack, I replied evenly.
What? For where? What is this nonsense? Just because of today? Shes always been like that
Its not about her, I cut him off. Its about you.
I placed the last item in the case.
Youre living in the past. Every pound you earn, every thought, every silenceits all there. While I live in the present. The present where theres no money for a washing machine, because its been spent on tooth whitening for someones whim. The present where Im humiliated in public and my husband stares at the floor.
I zipped up the case. Stood it upright.
And looked him in the eye.
Go. Go to her. Help her with everything. Her teeth, her lessons, all her endless dramas and manipulations. Keep making amends, if you must. But do it there, not here. Clear this space.
What space?
The place of a husband in my life. Its already takenby the ghost of another woman. And Im tired of sharing my bed, my money, and my future with it.
I took the suitcase, placed it by the front door.
He picked it upand left.
I never looked back at the door.
For the first time in ages, I felt the air belong to me.
My home was mine.
My soul had its own room at last.
Two months later, our marriage was officially over.
