My Mother Never Cheated. There Was Never a Third Person in Their Marriage. But She Was Difficult to Live With – Always Complaining About Everything

My mum never cheated.
There was never a third person in their marriage.
But she was honestly a difficult woman to live with.
Shed always find something to grumble about.
Nothing ever seemed good enough for her.
If my dad came home after a long day at work, shed have a go at him for not helping out.
If he did help, shed complain he was doing it all wrong.
If he brought home groceries, shed say they werent what she wanted.
If he didnt cheat, shed drop hints that he wasnt manly enough.
I remember those silent evenings, the tense atmosphere around the dinner table, doors swinging shut harder than they needed to.
Dad tried to stick it out for ages.
I saw him change jobs to earn more, give up nights out with mates, even started coming straight home every day.
But Mum would always find something else to pick at.
Shed go through his shirts, ask who hed spoken to, what time hed left, and why he was five minutes late.
There was never any shouting or physical stuff, but the air in the house was heavy, constant, and draining.
Living there felt like tiptoeing around just to avoid another blow-up.
The night Dad left wasnt because of another woman.
It was after yet another heated argument.
I was upstairs, and I heard him say, I cant do this anymore.
Im tired of feeling like Im never enough. Mum shot back that if he left, it meant he was a coward.
He didnt shout or anything.
He just quietly packed his things and walked out.
I ran to the window and watched him leave, walking slowly, never once looking back.
Afterwards, Mum started telling her side to everyone.
Shed say Dad abandoned her, left her on her own, didnt have the backbone to be a husband.
And honestly, I believed her for years.
I was angry with Dad, rarely visited him, and when I did, I spoke coldly.
He never said a bad word about Mum, never tried to justify himself.
Just told me he loved me and respected how I felt.
But over time, I began to notice Mum was playing out the same patterns with me.
Nothing I did was ever enough.
If I studied it wasnt good enough.
If I worked it wasnt the right job.
If I took a break I was just lazy.
Thats when I realised something painful: Dad hadnt left because of some affair, but because he was emotionally worn out.
Not too long ago, I sat down and talked to him openly.
Asked him straight-up why hed left.
He said, Because I was losing myself.
I started to believe I really was worthless. I cried so much that day, because I realised Id judged him without knowing the whole story.
Today, my parents are still apart.
Mums still the same, always unsatisfied, always bitter, always arguing with everyone.
Dad lives alone, quietly, no drama.
And I carry this strange mixture of guilt and relief inside me.
Guilt that I didnt understand him sooner, and relief that I know now Im not all the terrible things Mum says I am.