Divorce in May: He Left for Someone ‘Younger and Prettier’ and Slammed the Door Behind Him

Divorce in May: He left for someone younger and prettier and slammed the door
I parted ways with my husband in May. He walked out, slamming the door behind him, for someone “younger and more beautiful.” But thats neither here nor there.

My husband was an ordinary man. Before marriage, he seemed thoughtful and kind, full of all the clichés from romantic poetry. Later, the trial version ended, and the full version revealed its limits.

Nothing criminal, of course. But there was a thorn. He began counting every penny. And always with a twist.
Yes, he earned, on average, two hundred pounds more than I did (our wages fluctuated, but not by much). To him, that meant he was the “breadwinner,” while I carried the household on my back. Yet when it came to expenses, his calculations were peculiar.

If something was “for the house,” then he was spending it on my behalf.
“For the house” meant the car with monthly payments of three hundred poundsthe same car he used to drive me to Tesco once a week.
“For the house,” which really meant “for me,” were the blankets, towels, pots, and the bathroom repairs.

“For me” were the childs clothes and toys, the nursery fees, and the doctors visits.
“For me” was paying the bills because I handled them. If the money left my hands, it was “my spending.”
All of it was “for the wife.” So, “for the husband,” as it turned out, only loose change remained from the family budget. In his eyesand his familysI was “a drain on finances.” I earned less and spent nearly everything he brought in. He loved asking me, at months end, with a smirk, how much was left. And of course, there was never anything.

In our last year together, his favourite line was: “We must cut back on your expenses. You always want too much.” And cut he did.
At first, we agreed to each keep a hundred pounds for personal spending, with the rest going to shared costs. Then he decided to pocket the difference in our wages. So, he kept two hundred. I still had my hundred.
Later, he recalculated and slashed his contribution by another hundred. His reasoning? “Your shampoo costs five pounds, and I wash my hair with soap.”

By the end, in that final year, I had five hundred pounds a month for the house, groceries, car payments, and our child. Two hundred came from him. Three hundred from me. It was never enough.
I stopped saving my hundred and poured my entire wagefour hundred poundsinto the house. I scraped by on occasional bonuses and odd bits, all the while hearing how wasteful I was. How he was the one keeping me afloat. And how hed tighten the belt around me even more.

“Why didnt you leave sooner?”

I was a fool. I believed him. And his mother. And mine. They convinced me it was all truehe supported me, and I simply couldnt manage money. I wore threadbare clothes, counted every penny, swallowed painkillers, and delayed dentist visits because the NHS waitlist was endless, and I couldnt afford private care.

Meanwhile, he spent three hundred pounds a month on indulgences. He prided himself on “budgeting wisely.” New phones, designer trainers, an absurdly priced subwoofer for the car.

Then, we divorced. The great “provider” flew into the arms of a woman who didnt wear second-hand clothes, who went to the gym instead of spending nights scraping together meals from leftovers or knitting socks for our son from spare wool.

Of course, I wept. How would I survive without his “support,” with a child to raise? I braced myself, staring at the future in dread.

Then my pay arrived. Or rather, it landed as usualbut this time, there was money left. A lot of it. Before, Id already be in overdraft by payday.

Next came the first full month. The money grew.

I sat down. Wiped my tears and took out a sheet. I added it up. “In” and “Out.” True, his wageor rather, the two hundred pounds hed tossed my way (while keeping three for himself)was gone. So were the car paymentsthree hundred pounds.

Groceries? I spent less than half. No one grumbled that chicken wasnt “proper meat.” No one demanded pork chops, steak, or heartier stews. No one turned up their nose at cheap cheese. No one asked for beer. Sweets didnt vanish in minutes.

And no one said, “Your bakings rubbish. Get a pizza.”

I GOT MY TEETH FIXED!!! Good Lord, I GOT MY TEETH FIXED!!!

I threw out my worn clothes and bought new onessimple, but decent. Went to the hairdresser for the first time in five years.

After the divorce, he begrudgingly sent something for our son. Seventy pounds, covering nursery and football club.

At Christmas, he gave me an extra fifty, with the note: “Buy the lad a proper present. Dont waste it on yourselfI know how you are.”

“On myself.” I laughed. With money in my pocket since the split, Id bought my boy everything he wanted. A small telescope, Lego, a kids watch.

With a bonus, I finally redid his room. At Christmas, I gave him a huge cage with two guinea pigs and all the fixings.

In December, I accepted a promotionbefore, Id never have considered it. “When would I manage everything at home?” Now I do. No need to cook feasts, no need to cram the cupboards full.

And best of all? No one calls me a parasite. No one grinds my nerves to dust. (Well, except his mothershe still drops by “to see her grandson” and photographs everything: the fridge, our clothes, the flat.)

Now Im on the sofa, eating pineapple, watching my son carefully feed the guinea pigs”Mum, did I put the food in the right spot?”and I feel whole. Without him. Without his money.

And damn the cottage I had to sell to give him half the flats value. Freedom and peace are worth far more.

Author unknown.