Three Weeks of Marriage and Thoughts of Divorce
I’ve only been married for three weeks, and already, I can’t bear it. I want to file for divorce because every day with Edward feels like a trial that makes my heart ache. My mum, Margaret, keeps saying, “Emily, wait. Don’t destroy what you’ve just built so quickly. Give it time—things will settle.” But how can I wait when I already feel like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life? I loved Edward, believed we’d be happy, and now I sit here wondering: how could I have been so wrong?
When we were dating, it was like a fairy tale. He was attentive—buying me flowers, sending sweet texts, promising we’d build the family I’d always dreamed of. I saw in him the man I wanted to raise children with, travel with, laugh at silly jokes with. Our wedding was three weeks ago—beautiful, with a white dress, dancing till dawn, and toasts to everlasting love. I looked at Edward then and thought: this is my happiness. But the moment we started living together, the fairy tale turned into a nightmare.
The first warning signs came the day after the wedding. We returned from our short honeymoon, and instead of helping me unpack, Edward flopped onto the sofa with his phone. “I’m knackered. You sort it,” he muttered. I swallowed it, telling myself he must be exhausted. But then it became the norm. He never washes up, leaves socks strewn about the flat, and when I ask for help, he retorts, “You’re the wife. That’s your job.” *My* job? I work too, come home just as late, and still cook dinner because he “can’t stand takeaway.” I thought marriage was a partnership, not one person serving another.
But it gets worse. Edward started showing a side of himself I’d never seen. He snaps at everything—if I leave a mug on the table, ask him to take the bins out, or simply want to talk about something important. The other day, I tried discussing our plans—when we’d start saving for a car, how we’d celebrate our anniversary. He cut me off: “Emily, stop nagging. I’ve got enough on my plate.” What, scrolling through social media? I look at him and don’t recognise the man who swore to love me forever.
The worst is how he treats me. Last night, I cooked dinner after a long day at work, and he wandered into the kitchen and said, “Hmm, your roast isn’t as good as my mum’s.” I nearly threw the ladle at him. *Not as good as his mum’s?* Then go back to her! I’d tried to make something nice, and he couldn’t even say thank you. Then he added, “And you could put more effort into how you look. That dressing gown makes you look frumpy.” That was the final straw. Three weeks married, and he’s already criticising my appearance? I locked myself in the bedroom and cried half the night. Not because of his words, but because I realised: this isn’t my Edward. He’s a stranger, and I don’t want this life.
I called Mum and told her everything. She listened and said, “Marriage takes work, love. You’re adjusting. He’ll get used to it, and so will you. Don’t rush into divorce—give him a chance.” But what chance? I see no effort from him—no apologies, no help, no appreciation. I feel like a housemaid, not a wife. Mum says I’m overreacting, that all couples go through this. But I don’t want to “go through” it. I want to be with someone who respects me, not someone who thinks I owe him constant service.
This morning, I told Edward, “If this carries on, I’ll file for divorce.” He looked at me like I was joking and said, “Don’t be daft, Emily. It’s fine.” *Fine?* For him, maybe. For me, it’s hell. I don’t recognise myself anymore. Where’s the cheerful, confident girl who danced at her wedding? Now I just bend over backwards for a man who couldn’t care less.
I’ve started seriously considering divorce. I know it won’t be easy—explaining it to family, dividing our things, starting over. People will whisper, “Three weeks married and already divorcing? What kind of wife is she?” But I don’t care. I won’t stay with someone who makes me miserable. I dreamed of a family, not a life as a servant. And if Edward doesn’t change, I’ll leave. Better alone than with someone who doesn’t value me.
Still, somewhere deep down, I cling to hope. Maybe Mum’s right—maybe it’s just “adjusting.” Maybe Edward will realise he’s losing me and try. I’ve given myself a week. If nothing changes, I’ll see a solicitor. Until then, I’ll hold on, though every day with him feels like a test. I look at our wedding photo and wonder: where’s the Edward who promised me happiness? How did I misjudge him so badly? But one thing I know: I deserve better.
