I gave everything—my career, my strength, my heart—to a man who gave nothing in return. While I worked full-time at the bank and managed the home alone, Aiden did nothing: no cooking, no cleaning, not even a trip to the store. He didn’t see my exhaustion or care about my pain—only that dinner was late.
One night, after a long shift, he barked, “Where have you been? I’m hungry,” then demanded I buy groceries while he watched TV. I was too tired to argue. The next morning, sick and barely standing, I still made him breakfast. He sneered, “Too slow,” and slammed the door. That’s when something broke in me.
Later, I overheard him whispering to another woman: “She’s home, it won’t work today.” Her reply? A giggle and a plan for a secret getaway. That was it.
I changed the locks. My apartment, my rules. I boxed his things and met him at the door. “I know everything. Take your stuff—I’m filing for divorce.” He was speechless. The woman he controlled was gone.
One month later, I was free. I started therapy, found myself again, and promised never to settle for pain disguised as love. I’m not broken—I’m rebuilding.
