My mums already setting the table for the holiday dinner shes waiting for us. Do you want me to offend her? my husband said, raising his voice.
That was my reality last year. I stood by the hob, numbly stirring the soup. My thoughts were tangled, and I kept replaying our breakfast argument. Yet another row about where wed spend New Years Eve had turned into all-out warfare.
Five years of marriage.
Five years of compromise.
To be exact my compromises. Hed simply hit me with a fait accompli.
No more discussion. Were going to my parents, end of story.
His words felt like a sentence.
I glanced at the calendar. 30th of December. The date in bold red practically sneered at me. Tomorrow tomorrow a tough conversation awaited me.
In the first year of our marriage, everything was different. We made our own decisions where to go, what to do, whom to spend time with. At what point did that change? When did I allow someone elses wishes to overrule my own?
Our flat, usually warm and welcoming, suddenly felt like a stuffy cell. I opened the fridge it was nearly empty. I hadnt shopped on purpose. Wed agreed this year, just the two of us, no noisy family tables or obligatory visits.
How many times had we agreed on something?
And how many times were those agreements steamrolled by his iron will?
I remembered our first New Years together. Hed suggested we stay at home. We decorated the whole flat with fairy lights, ordered our favourite takeaway, watched films all night. Where did that gentle, thoughtful man go? When did he become this cold, unbending person who listened to no one?
The front door banged so hard it rattled the walls. He was home early. I tensed as I heard his heavy steps.
Have you packed? he asked from the hall, not even bothering to say hello.
No. And Im not packing. We agreed just us this year.
Inside, everything shook, but I decided to stand my ground. For once.
He tossed his bag onto the sofa, clearly irritated.
We agreed? When, exactly?
Ages ago.
Mums already cooking the holiday meal shes waiting for us. Do you want to insult her? he shouted.
But what about insulting me?
Did my feelings matter at all?
I remembered last New Years. I gave in again. Sat at the table all night, listening to endless chat about other peoples children, rising bills, neighbours I barely knew. Later, I cried quietly in the bathroom while everyone else had fun.
Every single year its the same. Your parents. Your rules. Your choices. And what about me? Am I invisible?
He rolled his eyes.
Here come the theatrics. Whats so terrible about being with family?
His family. Always his. What about our family the two of us? Doesnt that count?
I remembered how three years ago, Id longed for just the two of us to have a holiday together. But he just announced wed be going to his parents cottage. Fresh air and countryside what else could you want?
Arent the two of us a family? I asked quietly. Why cant things go my way at least once?
He poured himself water, his movements sharp and annoyed.
Because you act like a child. Wanting to just sit at home watching films What are we, teenagers?
Childish.
But his endless desire to please his parents that was mature, apparently.
Were a married couple who barely spend any time together, my voice trembled. When did we last have an honest conversation?
I dont have time for romantic nonsense. I work, pay the mortgage. You dont even have to work and still, you act like a spoilt brat.
Again, it all boiled down to money. As if feelings didnt exist.
So my feelings are nonsense? Fine. Go by yourself. Im staying.
He spun round sharply.
Youre making a fuss over nothing!
Its not nothing! This is our life! But it matters more to you not to upset your parents than to understand why your wife is miserable!
I remembered how last year his mum spent the whole evening dropping hints about children. I smiled, seething inside.
Miserable? he sneered. Youve got a roof over your head, a husband who works, you dont have to lift a finger and youre miserable?
Yes! Because happiness isnt just about stuff. Its about attention. About respect. About being heard.
Years of pent-up hurt boiled over all at once.
Do what you like, he said wearily. Im off to my parents.
He left. Started packing. Every sound cut into me. A few years ago, Id have run after him. Now I didnt.
On 31st December, I spent the evening alone. The TV didnt help. At midnight, I waited for one single call. It never came.
On the morning of New Years Day, I saw everything clearly: this couldnt go on.
I pulled out my big suitcase. With every piece of clothing I packed, I felt lighter.
When he came back and said, Lets just forget it, I simply shook my head.
Im leaving.
Youre making a scene over nothing!
No. Im leaving because Im disappearing in your life.
I took my suitcase and walked out.
It was quiet outside. I walked along the snowy pavement and, for the first time in years, felt free.
Later, I started over. Courses. Work. Dreams. My own decisions.
The divorce papers arrived three months on. I signed them without reading.
And for the first time in forever I felt truly free.
A question for you:
How long would you stay in a relationship where you have everything, but nobody even hears you?
