Wed been married for what felt like a lifetime. I first met my husband, Richard, at university in Oxford. I didnt have eyes for anyone else I chose him and never looked back. Perhaps Im absurdly old-fashioned, one of those relics who believes in loyalty to a single man.
We walked down the aisle in our third year, too young and almost naive, really. Im not sure how strong our love was, but we managed to share the same home for so many years that must count for something. Our friends looked up to us, pegging us as the perfect couple, though we werent the only ones who paired up. Perhaps it was because we faced each hurdle together, hand in hand, no matter how grim things became.
By our fourth year, we found ourselves parents. Still, we didnt throw in the towel; many of our lecturers showed a bit of compassion, and we never took advantage of them. With determination, we finished our degrees, earned those hard-fought certificates, and toasted our achievement in a buzzing pub near campus. Richard was supportive, always there we split the chores, no fuss.
I couldnt picture myself with anyone else. He was my ideal, my true companion. We complemented each other perfectly, rarely arguing. Surely, children born in such contentment must be truly happy, so, two years later, we decided it was time for a daughter.
Why wouldnt we? I had a dependable, caring husband, a healthy son who was growing more independent by the day. A daughter would simply complete the picture.
It looked to the world like I was the luckiest woman alive. Richard adored me, he was always pitching in. Even after long shifts, hed come home, laugh and play with the children, giving me rare moments to myself. Nothing suggested disaster was looming, until suddenly, I felt him pull away.
He started coming home late, finding fault in everything. Aggressive and restless. One night, exasperated, when I asked, How are you? he replied coldly that my duties were to make his shepherds pie, clean up after the children, and be available for him at night.
After that, I shrank away from both the kitchen and the bedroom. Id hoped Richard would see how hed changed and sort himself out, but things spiraled. Before long, he started drinking nightly, disappearing for hours on end. The loving father vanished, replaced by a storm that swept through our home.
One evening, he came barging in, voice raised to a shout.
Im sick of all this the screaming kids, your endless joggers! I was never proud of you. You dont bother with make-up, you dont dress up for me. I dont want to be seen out with you! All you care about is money, yet no one asks what I want!
Desperate, I rang my mother-in-law, but she only pleaded with me to reconsider divorce, defending her son at every turn. That was the last straw. I packed our things and moved the children and myself into a cramped rented flat. A good friend helped my daughter into a local nursery, and I picked up extra shifts at work. Its hard, but we get by. At least now, no one is raising a hand towards us.
At the divorce hearing, the truth finally came out: Richard was mentally ill, something his parents had hidden from me deliberately. They had engineered our match believing my quiet temperament would suit their unstable son. My mother-in-law had even arranged for treatment in Germany, but nothing worked. He was meant to stay on medication to keep things on an even keel. I do pity him, I truly do, but I cant live in fear, not for me, not for our children. I just pray the children dont inherit his burden.
