I still cannot quite fathom why I became his wife.
Our marriage was still fresh, the memories vivid as if etched yesterday. I truly believed my husband adored me beyond measure. There would never have been any reason to doubt it, had it not been for one peculiar eventsomething not even related to faithfulness. No, this went far deeper, and some might call it strange.
Looking back, I think it happened because I cared too much. I worshipped him, forgave every misstep, and loved him with an open heart. Of course, such unconditional affection became something he grew accustomed to; his confidence soared, and his sense of self swelled. Perhaps he imagined all, at his mere gesture, would fall at his feet. And yet, amongst others, he never earned much attention. Another woman might have held firmer boundaries, never placing blind trust in him as I did.
Not long before our wedding, he said he needed solitude, time to himself to clear his mind before married life began. He insisted on a holiday alone, and there was nothing to do but accept it and bid him farewell.
He later told me he sought isolationfar from the bustle, away from telephones and the world. He vanished into the hills to savour the peace and quiet, while I remained behind, my heart aching with longing. Every moment, I awaited his return, missing him more fiercely than words can express.
A week passed, and he came home again. That day shines in memory as one of the happiest in my life. I welcomed him back with all the warmth and tenderness I possessed, preparing his favourite mealmy hands trembling with joy.
Yet on the very next morning, something began to change. He grew restless, slipping out of the room or dashing to the hallway for reasons he never explained. Soon, he would step outside several times each day, each time citing some trivial excuse.
One afternoon, as I returned from the shop, I found a letter in the post. It looked common enoughaddressed to me, sent during his trip. But the contents shook me to my core. Inside, in his handwriting, he had written:
“Hello. I do not want to mislead you further. You are not the one for me, and I cannot spend my life with you. There will be no wedding. Please forgive me, do not look for me, do not call. I am not coming back.”
So brief, so stark, so unbearably cold.
Only then did I realise he had been checking the post each time he hurried away. I quietly destroyed the letter, never breathing a word, never letting on that anything at all had changed. Yet how could I go on living with a man who did not wish to share his life with mine? Why did he marry me at all, feigning contentment when his heart wished to flee? The question lingers yet, unanswered, as the years drift quietly on.
