It’s hard to believe I’ve been married to Harry for 15 years. We have three boys, Benny, Cody, and Sonny, and I’ve dedicated my life to them.
I spent my time ensuring they had what they needed, always ready with a meal, a clean uniform, and a hug when they needed it. I quit my job after we got married, choosing to stay home and manage the house.
It was supposed to be the best choice for our family.
But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a choice.
Over the years, Harry would throw little jabs at me and comment about how easy my life was compared to his. “Must be nice,” he’d say. “You get to stay home all day and do nothing.”
At first, I tried to brush it off. After all, he worked long hours to support us. But lately, it got worse and more personal. The remarks stung.
This morning, though, was different.
Harry was giddy about his presentation, this app he’d worked on for six months. I could hear the excitement in his voice as he entered the kitchen, where I was preparing breakfast.
“Sara! Where’s my white shirt?” he demanded.
I glanced at the pile of laundry. “It’s in the laundry with the other whites, Harry.”
He stormed toward me, his face flushed with frustration. “I told you I needed it for the presentation today! That’s my lucky shirt! Is it really that hard to remember ONE THING? All you do is blah, blah, blah, and NOTHING AT HOME!”
Tears welled up, but I held them back. “Harry, stop this. It’s just a shirt.”
“You can never be a good wife if you can’t even do something simple for me!” he yelled, storming out of the house.
My heart broke as he left. And it broke after knowing that my husband didn’t see the efforts I’d put in to keep our lives running smoothly. My efforts were invisible to him, and so was I.
The realization hit me hard. I couldn’t take this anymore.
That evening, Harry came home expecting an apology and everything to return to “normal.” But the house was eerily quiet. The kids were gone. And there, on the table, was a note.
It read, I want a divorce.
Confused and worried, he called my sister Zara.
“Sara’s in the hospital,” she told him.
He rushed to the hospital and found my sister there. She told him I was there because of him. Because he’d told me I was not “wife enough” for him. And that was true.
Harry opened his mouth to explain, but she cut him off.
“She’s not just a ‘wife,’ Harry,” she said. “She’s a person. She was your partner, but you couldn’t see that.”
At that point, Harry was embarrassed, but it was too late. The doctors told him I had a mild attack and needed rest. They allowed him to see me for only ten minutes.
I saw him enter the room with a smile, but it faltered the moment he saw me lying there, pale and exhausted.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” he began. “Please, let me explain. I—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Harry,” I cut him off, my voice shaking but firm. “I’m done. Divorce is the only thing I want.”
“What? Why? You’re taking it too far, alright?”
“I had dreams, Harry,” I whispered, the bitterness slipping out with the words. “I had ambitions. I chose you over every opportunity… and it ruined my life. I’m too young to feel like this. Too young to feel like a crone in my own skin. I can’t do it anymore.”
He looked like I slapped him. “But… what about the kids?”
“They’re staying with you. You can’t just keep making excuses, Harry. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”
“I—Sara, please, don’t leave me,” he pleaded, stepping closer.
“I’m already gone,” I said, turning my face away. “It’s over.”
As he left the hospital, Zara told him to pick up the kids from her house. She told him they were his responsibility from now on.
Harry’s struggle to keep everything together was evident in the chaos that surrounded him.
He couldn’t manage the kids’ routines, the household chores, and his responsibilities at work.
Every morning, he scrambled to get them ready for school while preparing for another day of missed deadlines and frantic work. It was too much.
One morning, he was called into his boss’s office.
“Harry, we can’t keep doing this,” his boss said. “You’re late constantly, and your performance has been slipping. I’m sorry, but we have to let you go.”
Harry couldn’t believe it.
He thought he was doing everything right, but in reality, he was barely keeping his head above water.
When he told me about it, part of me felt sorry for him, but the other part felt vindicated.
This was what I had been telling him all along. Being a parent and maintaining a household wasn’t as simple as he’d made it out to be.
Weeks passed, and when I felt better, I called Harry to meet me at a café.
I needed to talk to him about the kids. About our future.
“I want custody of the kids,” I said firmly.
“What?” he shouted. “You want custody? I’ve been the one looking after them all this time. You have no idea how hard it’s been balancing work and everything else.”
I met his gaze without flinching. “Oh, now you know what it feels like? Now you know I wasn’t just staying at home and DOING NOTHING?”
He went silent. It was too late for explanations now.
I had already filed for custody, and I was ready to fight for my children.
I can’t wait to have them back in my life. I can’t wait to start a life where I wouldn’t have a man belittling my efforts every other day.
