My decision to leave my husband came when I read a text he sent when my son was two years old.
I didn’t see it coming, but I should have.
From the moment our son was born, nothing changed for my husband. He stayed in our marital bed whilst I moved into the nursery to do night duty with our son. He continued his long Friday lunches, that always turned into Friday night drinks, because they were networking opportunities. He had always played Thursday night sport – he didn’t ever even miss one week.
I supported him 100 percent in his role of breadwinner for our family – including happily giving him downtime – and asking my parents for money to support his business.
I’m not trying to sound like a martyr – I strongly believed that there were roles between the parents because we both couldn’t do everything, and this was a marriage and we had to support each other. I was too young at the time to realise the feeling, and respect, wasn’t mutual.
Because the real problem was, the one thing I really wanted from him, he wouldn’t give me.
He absolutely hated telling me what his plans were.
Would he be home in time for dinner? Could I book a haircut on a Saturday morning? Was he having drinks with his mates straight from work?
Who knew – because he certainly refused to tell me. He claimed he didn’t have to.
It was a weird shift in our marriage that I hadn’t expected – this stubborn reluctance to tell us when he was going to participate in our lives.
As a result of his disinterest in participating in our adjusted family life, our marriage, where we had once been ‘best friends’ and an equal partnership, floundered. We fought, and fought about it; I just needed something from him to show we made a difference.