*”I Don’t Need You Anymore”: How a Husband Left His Wife When She Was Finally Allowed to Become a Mother*
When Eleanor walked home from work on a Friday evening, she couldn’t have imagined this day would shatter her world. Pushing open the door, she called out as always:
“Darling, I’m home!”
Silence. The house felt unnervingly still.
“Odd… he should be here by now,” she thought, heading to the bedroom.
She nudged the door open—then froze. Edward, her husband, stood by the bed, hurriedly stuffing clothes into a suitcase.
“Edward… what are you doing?” she whispered, struggling to believe her eyes.
“I’m leaving,” he replied flatly, not even glancing at her.
“Leaving? Why?! What’s happened?”
“It’s your father,” he snapped.
“My father? What’s he got to do with this?”
Eleanor was lost—his words, his meaning, the sheer absurdity of it all. Meanwhile, the life she’d built with warmth and patience crumbled before her.
They’d met when she was twenty-eight. Edward, eight years older, had seemed confident, charming, worldly. Back then, she thought she’d found the real thing. Family, friends, everyone insisted it was time to marry. The clock was ticking, they said—her youth slipping away. She’d started sizing up every suitor as a potential husband, and it scared them off.
But Edward was different. They’d met through a colleague at a café, talked for hours—and that was that. He was gallant, attentive. And when he learned Eleanor owned her flat, drove a new Mercedes, held a senior role at the council, and had a father in business—his care and affection grew tenfold.
A year later, they threw a lavish wedding. Her father paid for everything. Edward didn’t object. In fact, he was thrilled to take a manager role at one of his father-in-law’s shops.
At first, marriage seemed a fairy tale: holidays abroad, fancy dinners, gifts. Only one thing soured it—Edward never paid for a thing. Eleanor covered it all. At first, she didn’t mind. Then she asked. Then she begged.
“Why am I carrying us alone?” she complained to a friend. “I want to feel like a woman—cherished, looked after!”
But Edward just laughed.
“Sweetheart, don’t be daft. We’re fine. Drop the melodrama.”
At work, he hardly lifted a finger, scrolling his phone most days, stashing his earnings in a private account. Eleanor never suspected.
Then she fell ill. Seriously ill. A month in hospital. Her parents visited daily; Edward, rarely. When she finally came home, she gasped—filth, piled dishes, rubbish strewn across the floor.
“You didn’t clean?!” she cried.
“Why would I? That’s women’s work,” he drawled.
“I was in hospital, Edward! So I’m supposed to clean now?!”
“Well, you’re back, aren’t you? Get to it.”
Shaking with weakness, she called a cleaning service. The doctor warned recovery could take a year. No thoughts of pregnancy yet.
When, after a year, the doctors finally gave her the all-clear, she trembled as she told her husband.
“Imagine? We can… we can start trying!”
“Eh. Busy now. Not in the mood,” he grunted, glued to his controller. His new console—bought with her money—was his sole obsession.
Weeks passed. His excuses piled up. Then one evening, he dropped the bomb:
“Eleanor… I’m leaving. And I don’t want a child with you.”
“What are you saying?!”
“I don’t love you. Never did. You were just convenient. Flat, money, car. Now I’m bored. Sick of you. I don’t need you anymore.”
“Edward, you… you can’t do this! You saw how I fought to get better, how I waited—”
“Your problem. Not mine. I’m a free man.”
He snapped the suitcase shut, tossed in his console—and walked out.
Eleanor didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, sat staring at the walls. Three days later, her frantic parents arrived. Her father barely contained his rage seeing her like this.
They took her to their countryside home. Edward was fired that same night. Soon after, her father pulled strings to drain his son-in-law’s secret account. Every penny—gone.
Edward was left broke, jobless, homeless. He barely scraped together rent for a dingy room. What next? He had no clue.
Eleanor, though, found a new job months later. There, she met a man named Geoffrey. Not young, but steady, kind. From the first glance, he treated her with quiet respect.
Half a year later, a small miracle: two lines on a test. Tears, laughter, a call to her parents—and endless gratitude to herself for finally saying *enough*.
