My Mother Never Cheated. There Was Never a Third Person in Their Marriage. But She Was Difficult to Live With—Always Complaining About Everything

My mum never cheated.
There was never a third person in their marriage.
But she was a difficult person to live with.
She constantly complained about everything.
Nothing was ever quite good enough for her.
If my dad came home tired from work, she would scold him for not helping.
If he did help, she said he was doing it wrong.
If he brought home groceries, she would tell him he hadnt picked up what she wanted.
If he remained faithful, shed hint that he wasnt behaving like a proper man.
I remember silent evenings, the tension at the dinner table, and doors slamming loudly.
My dad tried to hold on for a long time.
I saw him change jobs to earn more, stop seeing his friends, and come straight home after work.
But my mum always found something to pick at.
Shed check his clothes, ask who hed been talking to, what time he left for work, why he was five minutes late.
There was never physical violence, no wild outbursts, but the atmosphere was heavy, constant, and draining.
Living there meant tiptoeing around, careful not to trigger another round of complaints.
The night my dad left wasnt about another woman.
It followed a long argument.
I was in my room and overheard him say, I cant do this anymore.
Im tired of feeling like Im never enough. My mum replied that if he left, it meant he was a coward.
He didnt shout.
He simply packed his things and walked out.
I rushed to the window and watched as he walked slowly down the street, never once looking back.
Afterwards, my mum told her own side of the story.
She told everyone he’d abandoned her, left her alone, that he didnt have what it took to be a husband.
I believed her.
For years I was angry with my dad.
I rarely visited him and spoke to him coldly.
He never said a bad word about my mum.
He never justified himself.
He just said he loved me and respected my feelings.
Over time, I started to notice my mum repeating the same patterns with me.
Nothing I did was ever enough.
If I studied, it wasnt good enough.
If I worked, it wasnt the right job.
If I rested, I was lazy.
Thats when I realised the painful truth: my dad hadnt left because of an affair, but because he was emotionally exhausted.
Recently, I spoke openly with him.
I asked directly why he left.
He said, Because I was losing myself.
I started to believe I wasnt worth anything. I cried a lot that day.
Because I realised Id been judging him without knowing the whole truth.
Today, my parents are still separated.
My mum remains the same discontented, bitter, at odds with everyone.
My dad lives alone, quietly, without any drama.
And I carry within me a strange mix of guilt and relief.
Guilt for not understanding him sooner, and relief that I now know I am not all the awful things my mum says I am.