Ill tell you a story that has weighed on my heart for years, one I usually keep to myself. Perhaps I foolishly think others suffer more, but today I finally admit aloud that I am not happyindeed, I have felt unhappy all my life.
Thirty years ago I married Laurent. Not for love, but because it seemed the right choice. My parents kept insisting he was stable, that with him I would never lack anything. I followed their advice.
Back then I believed love wasnt essential; stability was everything. How wrong I was.
Humiliations became routine
From the start, Laurent never hesitated to embarrass me in public.
She cant even boil an egg! he would joke in front of his friends, and everyone would laugh.
In bed, shes like a tree trunk, hed snarl, unaware that I was looking away, mortified, right beside him.
I stayed silent. I endured. I tried to prove I deserved his affectioncooking dinner, being gentle and attentiveyet all I received was coldness and contempt.
Then our children arrived. I told myself I would hold on for them.
One roof, two separate worlds
When our sons grew up and left home, Laurent didnt even bother to hide the fact that he no longer needed me. He had a separate room built in the house where he now lives alone. Neighbors and friends assumed we were a perfect family; outwardly nothing seemed to have changed. We shared the same roof, the same kitchen.
No one knew that even the refrigerator was divided. On his containers he wrote in large letters L.L. so I wouldnt accidentally touch his food. I survived on what I could affordplain porridge, potatoes, occasional bean soup. I could only use the kitchen when he was absent; it was his kingdom, his territory. Mornings and lunches were eaten in my bedroom, and if I happened to cross his path, his irritated stare struck me like a bolt.
He would sit down with fine sausages, cheeses, a bottle of wine, and eat without offering me a bite. I felt like a ghost in my own house.
Indifference tinged with hatred
Sometimes we shopped together, each buying only what we intended to consume. Water, electricity, and phone bills were split down to the cent.
To the outside world we still appeared a couple. Even our children, who rarely visited, were unaware of the reality. And I kept enduringhis heavy glare, his contempt, his icy silence.
The worst part was the weekends. Those days turned the house into a battlefield.
Youre nothing
He roamed the house as if every square inch belonged to him. If I accidentally left something on his side of the table, it sparked a confrontation. He creaked all day and exploded over the slightest thing.
Youre a cow! hed shout at me.
As simpleminded and narrow as a stone on the road!
For years I clenched my fists, biting my tongue. Then, one day, something snapped inside me.
He started yelling again, for reasons I cant even recall. Sitting opposite him, I watched his face contort with rage. In that moment I wanted to grab a vase and hurl it at his head, to make him feel the pain that had lived inside me for so long. I didnt. I simply stood up and retreated to my room. I didnt scream back, no tears fell.
Because I knew: that man meant nothing to me any more.
I still tremble, but living like this scares me even more. I remain under the same roof with this man. I dont know if Ill ever find the strength to leave. Im afraid.
More than anything, Im terrified of dying here, never having known true happiness. I pray for only one thingthat my sons never walk the same path, that they live with people who love, value, and respect them.
And me for now, Im merely surviving.
The Missing Joy: I Endured His Insults for the Sake of the Children
