I gave everything to my husband, but he was never satisfied. I managed a demanding job at the bank, took care of the house, and handled everything alone while Aiden did nothing—no cooking, no cleaning, not even grocery shopping.
He ignored my exhaustion, brushed off my struggles, and only seemed to care about dinner being ready. One night, after working late, he snapped, “Where have you been? I’m hungry.” Then told me to go shop for food while he watched TV. I was heartbroken, but too tired to fight.
The next morning, sick and barely able to stand, I still made him breakfast. He scoffed, “You’re too slow,” and slammed the door. That day, I finally broke down. I realized Aiden hadn’t supported me in a long time. And then came the final straw.
I overheard him whispering to another woman in the hallway: “She’s home, it won’t work today.” The woman giggled, “When will we meet then?” “This weekend. I’ll pick a fight and we’ll go on a trip.”
I was done.
Once he left, I changed the locks—my apartment, my rules. I packed every piece of him into boxes. When he returned, confused and angry, I met him at the door. “Take your stuff and go. I know everything. I’m filing for divorce.”
He was stunned. The obedient wife he knew was gone.
I filed the next day. A month later, it was final.
Now, I’m healing. I’ve started therapy, learned to love myself again, and I’ll never let anyone treat me like that again. I’m not broken—I’m free.
