**Diary Entry – 2nd January**
The first time he shoved me off the bed, I told myself it was an accident. Now, I’m filing for divorce.
In a small town near Manchester, where winter winds howl like omens of sorrow, my life—which began with dreams of happiness—has turned into a nightmare. My name is Emily, I’m 27, and just a month ago, I married Daniel. But what happened on our first New Year’s together was the final straw. My heart is torn between pain and resolve.
**The Fairytale That Became a Trap**
When I met Daniel, I thought I’d found my soulmate. Charming, attentive, full of warmth—we spent a year laughing and making plans. He promised me a family, a cosy home, children. I believed him completely. Our wedding was small but sweet, surrounded by loved ones. For a moment, I felt like the luckiest woman alive.
Then, within weeks, I noticed small cruelties—things I brushed off as stress. The first warning came at a pub night with his mates. He’d had too much to drink, and when I tried to steer him home, he snapped at me. I made excuses—”Just a bad night.” But the coldness grew. His affection turned to indifference, his laughter to sharp words. I clung to hope, telling myself it was just the adjustment period. Then, New Year’s Day shattered every illusion.
**The Nightmare of the First**
We celebrated New Year’s Eve alone. I cooked, decorated, imagined it was the start of our happy future. Daniel was in high spirits at first—champagne, jokes—but by midnight, the drinks darkened his mood. When I suggested bed, he snarled, *”Don’t ruin my night.”* I slipped away, hoping he’d sleep it off.
At dawn, I woke to a violent shove. Daniel, eyes bloodshot, sent me crashing to the floor. *”You’re in the way,”* he muttered. *”Get up and make yourself useful.”* The pain in my side was nothing compared to the shock. This wasn’t the man I’d married. When I tried to speak, he rolled over as if I were nothing.
**The Truth That Crushed Me**
That shove wasn’t a one-off. In a month, I’d seen the real Daniel—his “accidental” jabs, the way he mocked me in front of friends, his utter disregard for my feelings. He’d call me “hopeless” if dinner wasn’t perfect, demand I cater to his every whim. At 27, I felt like a ghost in my own home.
My mum, Margaret, wept when I confided in her. *”Marriage is hard work, love,”* she pleaded. *”Give him time.”* But how could I? Love shouldn’t leave bruises—not on the body, not on the heart. When I confronted Daniel, he laughed. *”You’re too sensitive.”* That laugh broke me more than the shove.
**The Choice That Will Save Me**
Yesterday, I decided: I’m leaving. It terrifies me—starting over at 27, with shattered dreams. But staying terrifies me more. I won’t live waiting for the next push, the next cruel word. Some friends whisper, *”What if he changes?”* But I know the truth. The mask slipped. I saw who he really is.
I deserve love. Safety. Respect. Even if it means walking away alone. Let people talk. I’m choosing myself.
**A Step Into the Unknown**
Divorce isn’t an end—it’s a beginning. Maybe I’ll return to my dream of design school. Maybe I’ll book a train to Edinburgh. I’m young. This pain is the price of freedom, and I’ll pay it. Daniel thought he could break me. He was wrong.
This isn’t a story of defeat. It’s a reclaiming. I walked down the aisle with love. I’m walking away with strength. That New Year’s Day was hell—but it gave me clarity. No one will push me again. Not off a bed. Not out of my own life.
I choose me.
