An open letter to my husband on why I want a divorce.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons.

Dear husband, 

One day soon I'll put on that red dress. You know the one, it's your favourite. I'll do my hair in soft curls around my face and put on those heels I can't wear for longer than an hour.

I'll put on lingerie. You won't see it, but it will make me feel sexy and powerful.

We will go to our favourite restaurant. The one you proposed at 15 years ago. I still remember the hope in your eyes.

I couldn't even wait for you to ask, as soon as you knelt down, I said yes. I couldn't wait for it all. 

I guess I can tell you now; I knew it was going to happen. I found the ring in your glove box the day before. The same ring I'd picked out and told my mum about. Yes, I had planned it all.

I planned our beginning, and now I've planned our ending.

I know what you will order. I know the small talk we will make. I wonder if you will still want to have dessert? We always share the cheesecake. Did you know I always wanted chocolate mousse?? But cheesecake is your favourite. 

I'll wait until you have finished dinner, I'll have a sip of my wine and without an ounce of nervousness, I'll look you dead in the eye and ask you for a divorce.

Watch: People admit when they knew it was time for a divorce. Post continues after video.

The worst part will be the shock. The surprise in your eyes. The utter disbelief as your mouth dries up and your chest tightens.

Looking at your slack jaw and wide eyes will make me angry. I'll try not to show it as I grip my wine glass a little tighter. 

You won't understand, because you think things have been better.

There was no more yelling. No more nagging. God, remember the nagging? You won't miss that!

How did we get here? I understand the confusion, because you have just arrived. I've been here a long time.

It was after I left the fog of raising our children while you worked hard to support us. I’m so grateful for that. I was always so grateful.

But then I returned to work. I also began to return to the version of me before my name was "Mum". 

I assumed this was when things would change. How foolish I was. I remain the cook, the cleaner, the finder of lost items, the planner. The tooth fairy, the Easter bunny and Santa f**king Claus. 

This, dear husband, was when the toxic resentment began to grow. It built inside my gut and quickly spread through our marriage.  

So I started to fight for us. To beg. 

I tried dividing jobs. Sharing the load. This would always last a week or so before you stopped.

I tried rosters on the fridge, and I went on strike. I even planned spontaneous date nights. 

You see, I didn't always want to burn us to the ground. I really thought I could ignite the spark.

Finally, I asked for therapy. You didn't want to, remember? You said we didn't need it. 

So then I stopped asking for things all together. I guess what you never realised was - the fighting stopped, because I stopped fighting for us.

I’m sure you felt relieved. Things must have been better. It was so much quieter. No nagging. No one trying to change you or make you do things.

Our sex life even improved. Because why not? I might as well still enjoy an orgasm. The stakes were lower, I no longer relied on you or saw you as my person. There was no more pressure for us to be anything than what we actually were. A ticking time bomb.

On my endless to do list I added new items. Items just for me. I began to make a five-year plan, one that no longer includes you. I opened a new bank account and started to divide my pay check differently. I should thank you actually, you helped me with the plan, to quell any doubts along the way.

Every wet towel you tossed on the floor, every dish that sat forgotten on the coffee table was just another nail. Another wall built into my future home. A home we won't share.

Listen to No Filter where Mia Freedman is joined by Cathrine Mahoney to talk about modern relationships and life after divorce. Post continues after podcast.

Now as I write this, I stare across at you, dozing on the couch in blissful ignorance. I imagine how you will tell our story to your mates. I'm sure you'll tell them it came out of nowhere. I wonder if those mates, no doubt equally stunned, will go home to tell their wives. And those wives will smile with the knowledge that all women hold - It never comes out of nowhere. 

So yes dear husband, one day very soon I'll put on that red dress. I'll reserve us a table at our favourite restaurant and the bomb will finally go off. 

Then I'll order a chocolate mousse.

Feature Image: Getty.

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