My Mother Never Cheated – There Was Never a Third Person in Their Marriage, But She Was Difficult to Live With and Constantly Complained About Everything

My mum never cheated on my dad.
There was never a third person in their marriage.
But she was a difficult woman to live with.
She was always complaining about something.
Nothing ever seemed good enough for her.
If my dad came home tired from work, shed have a go at him for not helping around the house.
If he helped, shed tell him he was doing it all wrong.
If he brought home shopping, shed claim it wasnt what she wanted.
If he stayed faithful, shed hint that he wasnt acting like a proper man. I still remember the silent evenings, the tension at dinner, the doors slamming shut.
My dad tried for a long time to stick it out.
I saw him changing jobs to earn more, giving up seeing his mates, always coming straight home.
But my mum always found another thing to nitpick about.
Shed check his clothes, ask him who he’d spoken to, what time he left work, why he was five minutes late.
There was never any physical violence or major rows, but there was this heavy, constant, exhausting atmosphere.
Living there felt like tiptoeing on eggshells, hoping not to trigger another outburst.
The night my dad left wasnt because of another woman.
It followed a long argument.
I was in my room, and heard him say, I cant do this anymore.
Im tired of feeling like Im never enough. Mum shot back that if he left, he was a coward.
He didnt shout.
He just packed his things and walked out.
I rushed to the window and watched him walk away slowly, never looking back.
Afterwards, mum told her version.
Shed say to anyone whod listen that he abandoned her, that he left her all alone, that he didnt have the backbone to be a proper husband.
I believed her.
For years, I was angry at Dad.
I rarely visited him.
When I did, I spoke coldly.
He never said a bad word about Mum and never made excuses.
Hed just tell me he loved me and respected how I felt.
Over time, I began to notice mum treating me the same way.
Nothing I did was ever quite good enough.
If I studiedit wasnt good enough.
If I workedit wasnt the right job.
If I restedthat meant I was lazy.
Thats when I realised something that was painful to admit: Dad didnt leave because of another woman; he left because he was utterly drained, emotionally spent.
I spoke to him openly not long ago, asked him straight why he left.
He told me, Because I was losing myself.
I started to believe I was worthless. I cried a lot that day.
I realised Id been judging him without knowing the whole story.
Today, my parents are still apart.
Mum is still the samediscontented, bitter, always arguing with someone.
Dad lives on his own, quietly, without drama.
And I carry a strange mix of guilt and relief.
Guilt that I didnt understand him sooner.
And relief, because now I knowIm not all the terrible things Mum says I am.