**Diary Entry**
How strange it feels to put this into words after keeping it buried for so long. I suppose Ive always told myself others have it worse. But today, I need to admit itIve never been happy. Not truly.
Thirty years ago, I married Oliver. Not for love, but because it seemed the “sensible” choice. My parents insisted he was reliable, that Id want for nothing with him. So, I followed their advice.
Back then, I believed love was secondary. Stability mattered most.
What a dreadful mistake that was.
*Humiliation became routine.* Even in our youth, Oliver never hesitated to belittle me in front of others.
*”She cant even boil an egg properly,”* hed joke to his mates at the pub, and theyd all laugh.
*”In bed? Might as well hug a log,”* hed sneer, grinning while I stared at my shoes, cheeks burning.
I never fought back. I endured.
I tried to earn his affectioncooked his meals, bent over backward to be kind. Yet all I ever got was cold indifference, sometimes outright scorn.
Then came the children.
I told myself: *For them, Ill endure.*
*Under one roof, worlds apart.* When our boys grew up and moved out, Oliver didnt bother pretending he needed me anymore.
He built himself a separate room in the househis own domain. To neighbours and friends, we were still the “perfect couple.” Nothing seemed amiss. We shared the same kitchen, the same roof.
But no one knew even our fridge was divided.
He scrawled *”O.W.”* in bold letters on his food boxes so I wouldnt dare touch them. I made do with what little I could affordplain porridge, potatoes, the occasional tin of soup.
I was only allowed in the kitchen when he wasnt home. Mornings and afternoons, I ate alone in my room. If I accidentally crossed his path, hed glare like Id committed some crime.
There hed sit, slicing his expensive cheeses, pouring himself wine, never offering me so much as a crumb.
I was a ghost in my own home.
*Indifference laced with contempt.* Occasionally, wed go to the shops togethereach buying only what wed consume. Bills were split down to the last penny.
Yet outwardly, we were still a “couple.” Even our sons, who visited rarely, had no idea.
And I kept enduring.
His heavy silence, his disdain, the way hed look right through me.
But weekends were worst.
The house became a battleground.
*”Youre nothing.”* Hed prowl about as if he owned every inch. If I accidentally left a teaspoon on *his* side of the table, war would break out.
Grumbling under his breath all day until hed snap over nothing.
*”Youre a cow!”* hed shout, spit flying. *”Thick as a plank and just as useless!”*
For years, I clenched my fists. Bit my tongue.
Then, one day, something inside me shattered.
He was ranting againI dont even remember why. As I sat across from him, watching his face twist with rage, I wanted to grab the nearest thing and hurl it at his head. I wanted him to feel a fraction of the pain Id carried for decades.
But I didnt.
I just stood up and walked away.
No shouting back. No tears.
Because I finally understoodhe means nothing to me now.
*I tremble, but staying terrifies me more.*
Im still here. Still under the same roof as this man.
I dont know if Ill ever find the strength to leave.
Im afraid.
But more than that, Im afraid of dying here without ever knowing real happiness.
I pray for one thingthat my sons never follow this path. That they marry someone who loves them, respects them.
As for me
For now, Im just surviving.
