I don’t know if he will ever truly understand, but I need to say this not for him, but for myself. When we met at that café, I thought I had found my life partner. We spoke about our dreams, our ambitions, and our future together. He made me believe in love, in companionship, in something real. He even wrote me a love letter once something so rare, so beautiful. It felt like the beginning of a lifetime.
And then, the real story began. Ours was an arranged marriage, but it never felt like a partnership. He had already planned to move out of his parents’ house, yet somehow, that decision was twisted into a narrative where I was the one breaking the family apart. I became the villain in a script I never wrote. Then came the fights over my jewelry, over my job, over my so called failures as a wife.
I wasn’t taking care of his parents well enough. I wasn’t ironing his clothes. I wasn’t waking up early enough to make breakfast. It never mattered if I was sick, exhausted, or mentally drained. I just had to obey. And the moment I spoke up, the entire family turned against me. I tried. I tried so hard to make things work. But all I received in return was mental abuse, verbal abuse, silence. He and his friends partied at home, and I became the unpaid maid cleaning up after them.
He lived like a bachelor while I carried the weight of being a wife. Even when we moved to different cities, I held onto hope. Maybe distance would make things better. Maybe we’d learn to miss each other, to appreciate what we had. But instead, things only got worse. He doubted me. He controlled me. He demanded my salary as if I owed it to him. And worst of all, he never truly saw me. He had no interest in me-not in my emotions, not in my desires, not in my pain.
Two years of my life went into this marriage, and all I have left are a few memories from the early days. Nothing more. I cried myself to sleep so many nights. And him? He slept peacefully, watching me break. I begged. I pleaded. I tried to talk, to fix things, to hold on to whatever was left. But he never even turned his face toward me. Where do I stand in his life? Do I even exist in his priorities?
I’ve searched for signs of effort, of commitment from him to make this marriage work, but I’ve found none. It has always felt like it was him against me, rather than us together against the world. Is it truly necessary for his father to grant permission for decisions as simple as purchasing a washing machine for our home? Must I live with his parents, separated from him, because he is studying? Have they ever treated me with kindness and respect? Has he?
He never embraced the concept of ‘us.’ To him, our marriage seemed like a box to tick-a societal expectation fulfilled, nothing more. The importance, the sanctity of our union, appears lost on him. I have endured depression and anxiety, reaching out to him through calls, texts, and attempts at heartfelt conversations. Yet, in return, I’ve faced character assassination, degradation, and cold indifference-even during times when I was hospitalized and needed him most.
He calls me an independent woman, insisting I should share 50% of the household responsibilities. Yet, he also accuses me of marrying him for his money, threatening to throw it in my face if I ever ask for support. The contradictions are as painful as they are confusing. But perhaps the most humiliating truth? Even now, he doesn’t have the courage to speak for himself. He doesn’t even have the right to decide about his own marriage.
He needs his father’s permission just to talk to me. And when I ask where we stand, when I ask what happens next, all he says is-“My dad will speak.” This is not love. This is not a marriage I’m not saying I was perfect. I made mistakes too. But I know this-I gave my best. I loved him. I supported him financially, emotionally, in every way I could. I walked into this marriage believing in forever.
But now, all I have left is the realization that love is not enough where there is no respect, no effort, no warmth. I imagined a lifetime with him. But today, I stand here alone.