I met him when I was nineteen. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/939b78/620x0/1/0/2025/04/13/p4cqe9ybvpwzzdvehpjma4xnyo1euuzb3dveuh4bu.jpg" alt = "older pair @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (93,105,116.0.53)" > < p > He was handsome, confident, hard -working. My friends m & oacute; I caught a good candidate for my husband. I m & oacute; I had caught the love of life. The wedding was modest but honest. On & ndash; in a navy blue suit. I & ndash; in a dress sewn through the neighbor. We started the cooperation with two suitcases and a dream of home, children and old age for two.

< p > for forty -five years I was a wife. This faithful, this understanding, the one who endured long hours of his work, his explosions, his silence. I raised children, looked after his sick mother, put off the money, cooked his favorite dishes. Sometimes I waited for p & oacute; łnocy, until & oacute; I thought that this is what love looks like — patient, understanding, quiet.

< p > until one day, at breakfast, he looked at me differently. Not with tenderness. Not from the shadow of the & oacute life. Only cool. Foreign.

< p > & ndash; We have to talk & ndash; he said. & ndash; I don't want to pretend anymore. I never loved you. It just was so comfortable. Now I have someone else. Younger. With her I feel known in a man.

< p > I froze.

< p > & ndash; But & hellip; We have children. Grandchildren. House. Life & Hellip; & ndash; I whispered.

< p > & ndash; Exactly. I have already done my job. And now I want something for myself. I have money. I can afford it.

< p > packed the suitcase. He did not take the memories. He didn't take the photos. He did not take me.

< p > I stayed in an empty house, with a cup, who kept the oacute; With his bathroom bathrobe. And with the question: was I really just a background for 45 years ? Can I live alongside someone for so long & hellip; and never really be loved ?

< P > Now I learn to live again every day. Not because I want to. But because I have to. With b & oacute; lem, with regret, with a broken heart. But also with the hope that even if he never loved me — I really loved. And that makes me stronger than he will ever.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116