One day he stormed into the house shouting: “I’ve had enough of the kids’ screaming and all your household drama”

Ive been married for many years now. I first met my husband at university here in London. I didnt date anyone else at the time; I simply chose him and stayed loyal, one of those old-fashioned women who is true to just one man, never even glancing at anyone else.

We tied the knot in our third yearyoung and rather naive. I cant say with certainty that we were madly in love, but it must have been something very real, because we managed to live under the same roof for so long. Our friends at uni always looked up to us as the model couple, even though there were other pairs in our class. Perhaps it was because we stuck together so well, weathering every hardship side by side.

In our fourth year, our son was born. We didnt quit our studies, though; most of our lecturers were understanding of our situation, and we never took advantage of their kindness. Through perseverance and sheer determination, we finished our degrees together, received our certificates, and celebrated as a family. My husband was always there for mewe shared everything at home, from washing up to the school runs.

I couldnt picture myself with another man. My husband was my ideal, my soulmate. We complemented one another so well that we rarely ever argued. It felt right that more happy children should grow up in such a loving family, so two years on, we decided our son needed a little sister.

Why not? My husband was so attentive, our son was growing into a healthy, independent boy a daughter just seemed to finish the picture.

To anyone else, it mightve looked like I had the perfect life. My husband loved me and was always lending a hand. Even with his shift work, he came home each night, played with the children, and gave me precious time for myself. Nothing suggested anything was wronguntil I noticed my husband growing colder, more distant.

He started coming home late and nitpicking everything I did. He was constantly irritable, tense. One evening when I asked, How was your day? he snapped that my job was to make cottage pie, wipe the childrens noses, and warm his bed at night.

With that sort of talk, my enthusiasm for cooking and the bedroom both disappeared. I hoped hed reflect on his behaviour and try to be better, but things only got worse. With time, he turned to the bottle and started disappearing all night. The loving father vanished; in his place came someone I dreaded coming home.

One night he burst through the door and shouted:

Im sick to death of the kids shrieking and you lounging round in joggers. I was never proud of you. You never bothered with make-up or dressed up for me. I cant stand being seen out with youyouve let yourself go! All you want is my money, but nobody cares what I want!

I phoned my mother-in-law, but she only took his side, begging me not to get a divorce. That was it for me. I packed our bags, took the children, and moved into a rented flat. A good friend helped me get my daughter a place at nursery, and I picked up a second job. Lifes tough now, but were managing. At least no one is threatening us anymore.

It was only during the court proceedings that I discovered my husband suffers from mental illness. His parents had kept this from me intentionally. Theyd pushed for our marriage, thinking Id be the perfect compliant match for their troubled son. My mother-in-law even paid for his treatment in Germany, but nothing worked; he had to take medication just to get by. I do pity him, truly, but I cant keep living with someone so unstable. All I can hope is that the children havent inherited his illness.