“From the moment a woman embraces being a wife, it’s her dream to have a happy marriage till ‘death do us part’. This was what I’d hoped for, too, when I tied the knot with the man who had won over my heart. We’d been married for six years when all my hopes and aspirations for us crumbled to dust.
Looking back, I don’t think I could have predicted the way things would eventually turn out. There was nothing unusual in the way we met and started dating – we’d built our relationship on the foundation of mutual affection and in the first few years, all was well. We weren’t blessed with children, but it didn’t drive a wedge between us and we were happy to spend our days together, just the two of us.
After three years of wedded bliss, I noticed that my husband was spending a lot of his time at home with me. I encouraged him to seek out his friends, so he wouldn’t feel bored and restless. He gave me no reason to doubt the trust I’d placed in him. Even after he started hanging out with his friends once every week, he was a loving and dutiful husband who made sure to be home before 11pm.
But, over time, I began to notice changes in his behaviour. He would head out more frequently and come home only early in the morning – this wasn’t at all like the man I’d known and married. Unable to bear the pain and anxiety any longer, I braved myself to question him about his whereabouts. His answer didn’t raise too many red flags – he’d just been out all night with his friends – and I let him off the hook with an ultimatum: he had to spend less time with them and not stay out too late.
As much as I hated myself for controlling his life, I couldn’t banish the toxic dread lodged deep in my heart. My greatest fear was finding out about a mistress, tucked away in a secret love nest.