Divorce in May: He left for someone younger and prettier and slammed the door
I split from my husband in May. He walked out, slamming the door, for the woman who was younger and prettier. Thats the headline; the rest are details.
My husband was ordinary. Before we married, he seemed attentive and gentle, full of the clichés of romantic poems. After the honeymoon, his trial version ran out and his licence proved limited.
Nothing criminal, of course, but there was a thorn. He started counting pennies, always with distortions. Yes, on average he earned about two hundred euros more than me (our wages varied a bit, but not much). That made him the provider, while I carried the household on my back. He calculated expenses with a peculiar formula.
If a purchase was for the house, then it was his spending on my behalf.
For the house meant the car with a threehundredeuro monthly payment, which he used to drive me to the supermarket once a week.
For the house, i.e., for me, were blankets, towels, pots, the bathroom renovation.
For me were the kids clothes and toys, the nursery, the pediatrician visits.
For me also meant paying the bills, because I handled that. And if money left my hand, it was my spending.
All of that was for the wife. Consequently, for the husband only a few coins slipped out of the family budget. In his and the familys eyes, I was a financial hole. I earned less and spent almost everything he brought in. He loved, at months end, to ask me sarcastically how much was left. Of course, nothing ever was.
Family games
In the last year of marriage, his favourite line was: We have to cut your expenses. You always want too much. And he cut.
At first we agreed to keep a hundred euros each for personal spending while the rest went to shared costs. Then he decided to keep the difference between our salaries as well. In other words, he saved two hundred; I kept my hundred.
Later he recalculated and reduced his contribution by another hundred. The excuse? Your shampoo costs five euros, and I wash my hair with soap.
By the end of that year, I had five hundred euros a month for household bills, groceries, the car payment, and the child. Two hundred came from him, three hundred from me. It never was enough.
I stopped setting aside my personal hundred and poured my whole salaryfour hundredinto the household. I survived on occasional bonuses and small extra jobs, constantly hearing that I was wasteful. He was the one supporting me, and he kept tightening the belt.
Why didnt you divorce earlier?
I was naïve. I believed him, his mother, and my own mother. They convinced me that everything was true: he was the breadwinner, and I just didnt know how to manage money. I wore threadbare clothes, counted every cent, swallowed painkillers, and postponed dental visits because the public clinic was under renovation and I couldnt afford a private one.
Meanwhile he splurged three hundred euros a month on whims. He boasted about managing his personal budget. He bought new phones, branded sneakers, an absurdly priced subwoofer for the car.
Then we divorced. The great provider flew into the arms of someone who doesnt wear secondhand clothes, who goes to the gym and doesnt spend nights inventing meals from the little that remains, nor knits socks for the child from leftover yarn.
I, of course, cried. How could I survive without his support, with a child to raise? I tightened the belt even more, staring at the future in terror.
Then the salary came. Or rather, it arrived as always, but this time there was money in the account. A lot of it. Before, I was already in creditcard debt when the paycheck hit.
Later a bonus arrived, and the cash grew.
I sat down, wiped my tears, grabbed a sheet of paper and started adding In and Out. Yes, his salarywell, the two hundred euros he used to give me (since he always kept three hundred for himself)had vanished. The car paymentthree hundred euroswas gone too.
In groceries I began to spend less than half of what I used to. No one complained that chicken wasnt real meat. No one demanded pork, steak, or a heartier soup. No one turned their nose up at cheap cheese. No one asked for beer. Sweets no longer disappeared in minutes.
And no one said, Your cakes are terrible. I want pizza.
I finally went to the dentist! My God, I finally went to the dentist!
I threw out the old clothes and bought new, simple but decent pieces. I went to the hairdresser for the first time in five years.
After the divorce, he began to send a little money for the childseventy euros, enough for nursery and football school.
At Christmas he gave me another fifty, with the note: Buy the kid a decent present, and dont spend on yourself, I know you well.
On yourself. I laughed. With money in my pocket since the separation, I bought my son everything he wanted: a simple telescope, Legos, a childrens watch.
With a bonus I finally refurbished his room. For Christmas I gave him a huge cage with two guinea pigs and all the accessories.
In December I accepted a promotionsomething I would never have considered before. When would I do everything at home? I thought. Now I do. I no longer have to cook massive stews or fill the house with endless food.
And the best part: no one calls me a parasite. No one crushes my nerves. (Well, only the exmotherinlaw shows up to see the grandchild and photographs everything: the fridge, the clothes, the house.)
Now Im on the sofa, eating pineapple, watching my son feed the guinea pigs carefullyMom, did I put the food in the right spot?and I feel good. Without him. Without his money.
And let the grandmothers house I had to sell to give her half the apartment value go to hell. Freedom and peace are worth far more.
Divorce in May: He Walked Out for Someone ‘Younger and More Beautiful’ and Slammed the Door Behind Him
