My mother never cheated.
There was never a third person in their marriage.
But she was a difficult person to live with.
She complained about everything endlessly.
Nothing was ever quite good enough for her.
If my dad came home tired after work, she’d scold him for not helping around the house.
If he did help, shed tell him he was doing it all wrong.
If he brought shopping, shed say it wasnt what she asked for.
If he didnt cheat, shed hint that he wasnt behaving like a real man.
I remember those silent evenings, the tension around the table, doors slammed with force.
My dad tried to bear it for a long time.
I saw how he changed jobs to earn more money, how he stopped meeting his friends, how hed come directly home every evening.
Yet Mum always found something to criticise.
Shed inspect his clothes, interrogate him about whom hed spoken to, what time he’d left work, why he was five minutes late.
There was no violence, no explosive rows, but the atmosphere was heavy and draining.
Living in that house meant tiptoeing around, trying not to trigger the next outburst.
The night my father left wasnt because of another woman.
It was after a long argument.
I was in my room and heard him say, I cant take this anymore.
Im tired of feeling like Ill never be enough. Mum replied, if he walked out, he was a coward.
He didnt shout.
He simply packed his things and walked out.
I rushed to the window and watched him go, slowly, never looking back.
Afterwards, Mum told her own version.
She would tell anyone whod listen that he abandoned her, left her alone, that he never had the character to be a proper husband.
I believed her.
For years, I was angry with Dad.
I rarely visited him.
I spoke to him coldly.
He never spoke ill of Mum.
He didnt defend himself.
He just told me he loved me and respected my feelings.
Over time, I started noticing that Mum treated me the same way.
Nothing I did was enough.
If I studied, it wasnt good enough.
If I worked, it wasnt the right job.
If I rested, I was lazy.
And then it hit mesomething painful to admit: Dad hadnt left because of infidelity, but because he was emotionally exhausted.
Recently, I spoke honestly with him.
I asked directly why he had left.
He said, Because I was losing myself.
I began to believe I truly wasnt good enough. I cried so much that day.
Because I realised Id judged him without ever knowing the full truth.
Today, my parents remain separated.
Mum is still the samediscontent, bitter, at odds with everyone.
Dad lives alone, peacefully, without drama.
And I carry a strange mix of guilt and relief within me.
Guilt for not understanding sooner.
And relief, because now I knowIm not all the things Mum says I am.
