I will never forget the beauty I saw when I first set eyes on you. I never tired of telling you how handsome you were (often to your intense irritation). You were ambitious; it was infectious. You made me promises I never imagined you wouldn’t keep.

Life was exciting. We enjoyed nights out, exotic holidays, I felt loved and wanted. We married and had two children. Then everything changed. I soon realised that I wasn’t your priority and never would be.

You no longer have any zest for life, no interest in anything other than your gadgets. Conversation is one-way, no questions are asked and responses to anything I might pose are one syllable (paired with a grunt and a roll of the eyes). Meals have only ever been cooked by me and you have never attempted to prepare anything, I have asked that you try but to no avail. At night, we lie side by side, never touching, never speaking. I don’t cry myself to sleep any more, my tears don’t get me anywhere, no one can hear.

The pressure is often more than I can bear. I want to scream: ‘Where is the man I fell in love with?’

You haven’t touched me since the conception of our second child. All I want is to be held, to be brought a cup of tea in the morning, to be told I am appreciated, to enjoy life’s simple adventures with the man I am meant to share my life and my world with. You are irritated by any plans I make to ensure our free time as a family is spent as best we can together. All you want to do is sleep.

We both work full-time and we both earn the same but you treat me as your intellectual inferior. When your work day has finished, however, mine continues the moment I walk through the door of our house. Laundry, preparing meals for the children, food shopping, children’s homework, buying presents for parties, constant reminders. The pressure is often more than I can bear. I want to scream: “Where is the man I fell in love with?”

The pain is most palpable when we are among people who are clearly very much in love. The slightest touch that speaks volumes, a kiss on the neck which induces the saddest feeling within me simply in the knowledge that you will never do that to me. I need moments like those; they should be my fuel rather than the anger that now replaces the love that once was.

My friends acknowledge that I am in a hopeless situation and I freely accept that I have allowed it to get this bad. When I have mentioned it to my parents, the response is always, “Darling, he works very hard, please don’t put pressure on him.” I don’t respond. I want to weep and my heart breaks a little bit more.

I am scared that my children are being raised in a world where it is acceptable to allow a mother to do everything, where snapping is acceptable communication, a world where love isn’t everyone’s priority. It isn’t acceptable now and should never be considered so.

Your approach to life is the antithesis of mine. I want to laugh until it hurts; I don’t remember the last time you laughed. I want to run into your arms when you come home, and I want you to run into mine. I want to share the load.

I am so sad. For you. For me. For our children. For the life that we were meant to have together. But I can’t stay for the sake of the children; I know it would only prolong an increasingly unbearable agony. I always thought I was unbreakable, but continuing down this road will surely break me. Please don’t let that happen. Please let’s just hold our hands up, admit defeat and walk away as friends.

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