Connect with us

З життя

The Finale: 16 Years of Humiliation and Endurance

Published

on

The End! For 16 years, I endured humiliation at his hands…
Everything changed in spring…
I never imagined that anything could shake the swamp I had been living in for those long 16 years.

I had long lost hope.

At 22, I got married, believing I had found “the one,” the only person I would spend my life with. Emma meant everything to me. She captivated me, drawing me in with a kind of magical allure. I was so blinded by her that even her quirks seemed charming to me.

Like her habit of throwing open the window in winter and yanking the duvet off me to wake me at dawn.

Or her favourite “joke”—making me spin around like a model for her friends to evaluate before “purchase.”

She made all the decisions for me.

She chose where I would work.

Where we would go on holiday.

Who among my friends I could keep in my life and whom I should cut out.

And I let her do it.

Because I thought that was how it was supposed to be, that this was love.

I was blind.

I believed that having a child would change everything…
When our married life began to crumble, I genuinely thought a baby would save our marriage.

I was wrong.

Emma abandoned me in that struggle.

She didn’t care about my fears or concerns, or that the doctors gave us little hope.

She easily accepted that she already had children from her first marriage, meaning we might not have any of our own.

But for me, that was painful.

For her, it became an opportunity to demean me further.

She made me feel guilty for everything.

— You can’t give me a child!
— You can’t even cook; at this rate, I’ll have an ulcer from your meals!
— You’re not a man if you can’t handle something so trivial!

I felt worthless.

I tried to fight back. I sought out doctors, underwent tests, and completed treatment courses.

But it was all in vain.

She broke me down, and I endured it.
Eventually, I gave up.

I withdrew into myself, stopped interacting with others, and distanced myself from everyone.

I became a shadow of my former self.

I no longer recognized that confident young man who once dreamed of a family, of happiness, of children.

I looked in the mirror and saw a pitiful person, who was afraid to speak out.

When I attempted to argue that I didn’t deserve constant humiliation, that I wanted respect, Emma laughed in my face:

— You? Who even are you? You’re pathetic! You’re worse than any homeless person on the street!

She knew I had nowhere to turn.

She convinced everyone around us that I was useless, weak, and pointless.

And I started to believe it myself.

She kept telling me that without her, I would fail, that I had no chance of surviving alone.

And I stayed.

But in March, everything turned upside down…
I had only one friend left—Sophie.

She had long moved to Greece for work but returned in spring: her husband had fallen gravely ill.

Then he passed away.

Sophie was left alone in her home. Her sons had been living abroad for years.

I began visiting her after work, sometimes staying overnight.

At first, Emma didn’t like it; soon, she started making scenes, and eventually, she resorted to threats.

— You’re not going there!
— I’ll drag you out by your hair!
— I’ll keep you locked up at home!
— I’ll file for divorce!

One evening, Sophie looked at me and said:

— God willing, she’ll file for divorce!

We exchanged glances, and in that moment, it hit me: this was my chance.

Sophie offered me a place to stay when she moved back to Greece.

If I didn’t have to pay rent, I could survive on my salary.

I agreed.

I left. I chose myself.
Since then, I’ve been living in her flat.

I wake up in the morning, walk to the window, gaze at the old house where I once lived with Emma, and softly say:

— Good morning, Stas!

I reflect on my life and realize: I am free.

I am no longer afraid.

I’ve started smiling again.

I’ve learned to live once more.

I glance towards Emma’s house and silently say to her:

“There’s always salvation, my dear!”

I put on a clean shirt, step out of the house, and walk down the street with my head held high.

Now, I cannot be broken.

Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Ваша e-mail адреса не оприлюднюватиметься. Обов’язкові поля позначені *

13 + 5 =

Також цікаво:

З життя1 годину ago

Leanne, think carefully a hundred times before turning down the child! It will be too late later.

April 12th I found myself replaying that night over and over in my mind, begging myself to think twice before...

З життя1 годину ago

Natasha Had Long Planned This – Adopting a Child from the Orphanage

Margaret had long been stewing over a particular planshe would adopt a child from an orphanage. Her husband of six...

З життя12 години ago

You’re Not the Mistress — You’re the Maid

You’re not the lady of the houseyoure just the help, Molly, dear, just a little more of this salad for...

З життя12 години ago

I Married My 82-Year-Old Neighbour to Prevent Him from Being Placed in a Care Home…

I married the widower next door, Arthur Bennett, whos eighttwo, just to keep the care home at StAlbans from taking...

З життя15 години ago

Oh, my boy has arrived!” Evdokiya exclaimed with joy.

Ah, my lads arrived, my mother, Evelyn, shouted with delight. I stood at the door, cap in my hand, and...

З життя15 години ago

A Young Woman’s Journey

A young woman, cradling a little girl, stepped off the omnibus at the sign that read Willowmere Village of Willowmere....

З життя23 години ago

You’re Not the Mistress — You’re the Help

You’re not the mistress of the houseyoure just the servant, my motherinlaw, Agnes Whitaker, said, her voice as sweet as...

З життя23 години ago

The Weight of Solitude

Loneliness The lady turned down a marriage proposal from a cavalry officer, and he rejected her. It was better to...