My wife presents herself one way in public, yet she is entirely different behind closed doors.
I feel a need to share my pain—a pain that has lingered for years.
My wife possesses two distinct personas. In social settings, she is charming, polite, and radiant. However, once we slip into the confines of our home, she metamorphoses into an entirely different individual.
In public, she beams, speaks softly, and generously offers compliments. She’s courteous, kind, and attentive—everyone admires her.
Friends envy me, often remarking, “What a dream of a wife you have!”
But inside, I want to scream.
No one witnesses how she behaves at home.
Behind our closed doors, the reality shifts. At home, everything changes.
She speaks to me harshly, as if I were not her husband, but merely a servant.
She criticizes me for the smallest things: if a plate is out of place, if I return from work later than expected, or if I forget to buy something from the shop.
Her sweetest terms of endearment are “fool” or “dimwit.”
I don’t even dream of receiving compliments or hearing warm words.
I remember her differently.
Sometimes I ponder why I endure this.
But then I recall how she was when we first started dating.
Back then, she was the epitome of tenderness, caring, and femininity.
She gazed at me with loving eyes, her voice was gentle, and she knew how to encourage and instill confidence in me.
In those moments, I felt I had found my happiness.
But evidently, I was still a “stranger” to her back then.
Now, with her confident that I won’t go anywhere, the masks have been removed.
An Attempt to Leave
One day, I decided to teach her a lesson.
I packed my things, took the children, and went to stay with my sister.
When she returned home to find us missing, fear overcame her. She immediately began calling me, trying to ascertain where we were and what had happened.
The children later told me she wandered around the house, restless. Her hands trembled, looking lost and confused.
She called all our friends, her voice tinged with panic.
When I finally answered the phone, she was crying.
“Come back,” she simply said.
I returned.
That night, she held my hand without letting go for even a moment.
In the morning, she promised that things would change. That she would be kinder, that I would once again hear warm words from her.
I believed her.
However, as soon as life resumed its normal course, everything reverted.
To Stay or to Leave?
It shames me to admit that I don’t know what to do next.
Leave?
True, but at least the house is stocked with food, the fridge brimming with groceries, and the bills are paid. The children are fed and clothed.
Stay?
Yet that would mean living in a world devoid of warmth, affection, and even basic respect.
Perhaps I am destined to live without love.
But maybe, just maybe, that’s the lesser of two evils.
