Plain and simple: I don’t need a man I have to drag along!
My name is Catherine Smith, and I live in Henley, a charming town nestled along the banks of the Thames. I’ve been with Michael for nearly three years, and for the past year, we’ve shared a roof over our heads. I know his family, and he knows mine. Since spring, we’ve both started working, which fueled our boldest plans: we talked about getting married, having children, a future that seemed so near and real. But everything shattered on one dark day at the beginning of June when Michael’s world was torn apart. His mother passed away—suddenly, mercilessly. She collapsed from a heart attack on her way home from work and died en route to the hospital. It was an overwhelming blow, the pain unbearable for all of them.
I stayed by his side constantly. Michael—the man I love, the one I decided to tie my fate with. I was there, sharing his sleepless nights, wiping the tears that streamed down his face, silently enduring as he drowned his sorrow in whiskey, emptying glass after glass. I held his hand as he spiraled into despair, into a dark abyss devoid of light. Even when he pushed me away, yelled at me not to witness his weakness, I stayed. I couldn’t abandon him in this hell. He was my everything, and I was ready to bear his pain alongside him.
But the months have passed, and Michael remains the same—broken, lost. He’s confined himself within four walls, isolated from the world. He hasn’t met up with friends and spends days without exchanging a word with me. Whatever I suggested—going out, getting distracted, moving on with life—he dismissed, staring at me with vacant eyes and remained silent. He sits at home all day, staring into space, doing nothing. He even took unpaid leave, risking losing his job permanently. I don’t know how to pull him out of this quagmire. I understand the loss of a mother is profound, but it feels like he died with her. When I attempt to say life goes on, that he should fight for the living, he retorts, “You’re heartless and cynical!” Perhaps he’s right, but I can’t help but think of something else.
What if this isn’t the end of our challenges? Life doesn’t spare anyone—new hardships, new blows await us. If he crumbles like a dry twig at each catastrophe, how will we cope? If I have to be the one constantly bearing the load, I simply can’t endure. Nor do I want such a fate! I need a man beside me—strong, reliable, with whom I can share burdens equally, not someone I have to drag along like a heavy weight. I’m exhausted from being his crutch, his lifeline, while he drowns in his sea of tears and makes no attempt to swim.
I’m afraid to admit this even to my closest friends. What if they judge me, call me cold, heartless? I can imagine the reproachful looks: “His mother died, and you’re thinking of yourself!” But I’m not made of stone—I suffer too, cry at night, watching him, this stranger, this lost person my Michael has become. Where’s the guy who laughed with me, who made plans, dreamed of our future? He’s gone, and I don’t know if he’ll ever return. I’m terrified—terrified of losing our love, terrified of staying with him like this, terrified of leaving and then regretting it.
I don’t want to abandon him in his time of need, but I can’t keep being his nursemaid. Every day I see how he fades, and I feel myself withering too. Work, home, his silence—it’s like a concrete slab crushing me. I dreamed of a family, happiness, and ended up with this—endless sorrow and loneliness together. How do I save our love? How do I pull him out of this swamp? Or is it time to save myself? I don’t know what to do. My heart is torn between pity for him and the desire to live my own life. Please, I beg you for advice—how do I bring him back to life or find the strength to leave if he’s no longer the one I loved? I’m at the edge of a cliff, and I need a light to find my way out.”
