Choosing Me…
It started with the little things…
“Don’t you think that dress is a bit much for dinner?” Daniel, my husband, would say, his voice soft but disapproving. Or, “Maybe you shouldn’t post so many pictures on Instagram. Not everyone needs to know our business.”
I thought he was protective, that his comments came from a place of love. After all, wasn’t he the man who had swept me off my feet with grand gestures and promises of a future filled with happiness?
But somehow, our love started to feel like walking on eggshells.
Over time, his words became sharper, his tone more cutting. My once-bright laughter dimmed under the weight of his subtle critiques. And then there was the night of the gala. A night that shattered the illusion of our perfect picture.
Daniel had been invited to speak at a high-profile event. I’d spent hours getting ready, slipping into a floor-length emerald gown that hugged me in all the right places. When I walked into the living room, he barely looked up from his phone. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked, his voice flat. I hesitated. “Why? Don’t you like it?” “It’s... fine,” he said, standing up and adjusting his tie. “Just don’t overdo it tonight, okay? This event is about me, not you.”
His words stung, but I pushed the hurt aside. I’d become an expert at that — pretending everything was fine even when my heart was breaking. At the gala, I played my role perfectly. I smiled, nodded, and laughed at the right moments. But beneath the surface, I felt like a puppet. My strings pulled by a man who had once claimed to love me.
The breaking point came when his colleague came over to say hello to us. “You look beautiful tonight, doesn’t she, Daniel?” the man said, glancing in my direction. Daniel’s response was a low chuckle. “Yeah, she cleans up well. But don’t let the looks fool you o she’s a lot to handle at home.”
The words felt like a slap, leaving me breathless. I excused myself and walked to the restroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Who was this woman staring back at me? Where was the confident, vibrant person I used to be?
That night, after the gala, I confronted him. “Why do you always make me feel like I’m not enough?” I asked, my voice trembling. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Because you’re not. You think I didn’t notice how you were trying so hard to outshine me on my big night? I don’t blame you. I should have gone alone,” he said simply.
I slept on the couch that night, staring at the ceiling, replaying his words over and over. For years, I had tried to fit into his mold, to be the perfect wife in our perfect picture. I had quit my job at the law firm, where I was on my way to making partner, just to become a stay-at-home wife and take care of the kids and my husband.
I began to wonder when I started disappearing. Maybe it was the day I hung up my suits for aprons. Or the first time I turned down a case because Daniel said, “A good mother should be home with her children.” I told myself it was sacrifice and that’s what good wives do. They give, and keep giving, until there’s nothing left to give.
That night, I looked around and realized I had built a life that didn’t feel like mine. My days revolved around everyone but me — the kids, Daniel, his schedule, his moods. Nothing hurt more than realizing how much of myself I had lost. And I wept bitterly that night.
Weeks passed after that night. He apologized once, in passing, like he was brushing dust off a table. “Don’t take things so personally,” he said, pulling me close. But even his touch felt different, more like ownership than affection.
And yet… I stayed.
Because how do you walk away from the life you built? From the man you once called your everything? How do you explain to your mother, to your children, that love stopped feeling like love?
So, I tried again. I started making his favorite meals. Tried to smile more. Tried to talk less. I did everything right. Or at least, I thought I did.
Until one morning, he looked at me across the breakfast table and said, “You’ve changed. You look fat”…
To be continued…