6am. Thats the exact time Oliver dragged me out of bed not once, but twice. At first, I thought it was some odd accident, but when it happened again the following morning, I realised this bizarre ritual had begun right after our visit to his mums house in a tiny Yorkshire village.
Wed only been married for six months, but after this, I knew I wanted a divorce. What shook me most was his reason for treating me this way. I need to write it all out, to try and make sense of it.
Ive always been a city girl London born and bred. Early starts never really featured in my life. These days I work for an international corporation, so my shift pattern is often dictated by different time zones. When its daylight here, its the middle of the night elsewhere, and I often find myself working odd hours.
Oliver, on the other hand, grew up on a farm. Even after moving to London, he clung to his country habits. He wakes up without fail at half past six and expects a classic English breakfast with a steaming cup of tea.
I always have breakfast at seven, never miss it, he declared when we first met.
I remember laughing, thinking it wouldnt be a problem. Surely hed be fine if I caught up on sleep during the day, since I often work late into the night.
For the first half year of our marriage, things were more or less fine. I tried to humour his routines when I remembered, and we made it work. We found a kind of rhythm, and everything seemed alright.
But everything changed after that weekend in Yorkshire. His mum lives in a proper old cottage the kind you daydream about, tucked away on a country lane, rose bushes lining the fence. I expected endless cups of tea, homemade scones, lovely conversations by the fire. The reality was rather different.
From almost the minute we arrived, she seemed to have it in for me. She never missed a chance to correct me, even about the most trivial things.
But the real trouble started the next morning.
You ought to wake her up the way we do around here, Olivers mum declared over breakfast, while I was still fast asleep upstairs. Only later did I realise Oliver had decided to take her words literally, intent on teaching me the village way of rising early.
That first morning when he yanked me out of bed, I was in shock.
What on earth are you doing?! I shouted, half terrified, thoroughly irritated.
You never hear the alarm. Mum says this is the best way to get up, he replied, completely unbothered.
But I work nights! I need to sleep properly or I cant function!
In this family, we do things a certain way, was all Oliver would say, as if that explained everything.
The next morning, it happened again. It felt as though Oliver and his mum had joined forces to make my life miserable.
I just couldnt comprehend how someone Id promised to spend my life with could change so dramatically under his mothers influence.
Back in London, I barely recognised him. He kept repeating, Mum knows best. His stubbornness made me realise just how fundamentally different we were.
Now Im preparing the paperwork for the divorce. My patience is well and truly gone.
I keep asking myself am I overreacting? Or should I have tried harder? Would anyone else have put up with this?
