I met Aidan at a chilly October beach bonfire—his laughter and the flicker of flames in his eyes instantly drew me in. He noticed the small things—how I take my coffee, how I microwave muffins just enough for gooey chips—and even brought me homemade soup when I was sick.
We married two years later. At 30, my marketing career was taking off while Aidan thrived in software engineering. He urged us to start a family immediately, offering to support us financially. I quit my job.
But everything changed. His warmth vanished. My mornings were ruled by chore lists taped to the fridge. I became an unpaid housekeeper in my own home. When I mentioned freelance work, he dismissed me, saying, “You’re home now.”
One night, at his 35th birthday party—after I’d cooked and prepared everything—he publicly accused me of freeloading and not buying him a gift, humiliating me in front of our family. My parents stood up for me: my father told him I deserved respect, and my mother demanded he pay me if it was a job.
I revealed I had been working remotely—quietly supporting us both—and that I’d bought him a gift: a surprise trip to the Maldives. And told him I’d filed for divorce.
I left that night for a nearby café, letting the warmth of a cappuccino and cake soothe me. Two days later, I flew to the Maldives alone. The ocean, sunshine, and solitude reminded me of who I was. I returned stronger, filed the papers, and by the time I left, Aidan was nowhere to be found.
Now, I feel clarity—not regret. I mourn the man I thought he was, but I’m grateful I walked away before losing myself… and thankful we had no children.