I gave my all—he gave nothing. While I worked full-time at the bank and ran the household alone, Aiden barely lifted a finger. No help, no appreciation—just demands. When I came home late, exhausted, he barked for dinner and told me to shop while he lounged on the couch. I was too worn out to argue.
Even when I was sick, I still served him. His response? “You’re too slow,” followed by the slam of a door. That day, something inside me cracked.
The breaking point came when I overheard him whispering to another woman: “She’s home, not today… This weekend—we’ll fight, then I’ll take you away.”
I didn’t cry. I acted.
When he left, I changed the locks, boxed his things, and stood firm as he returned. “I know everything. Take your stuff. I’m done.” Divorce filed the next day. A month later, it was final.
Now? I’m rebuilding. Therapy, self-love, clarity. I’m no longer a wife begging for respect—I’m a woman who reclaimed her life.
I wasn’t weak. I was tired. Now I’m free.
