I am a 32 years old woman (in the civil industry, building others’ dream homes), and I was married in 2018 to a man who was a year younger (also in the civil line and a coach in the fitness industry), who’s now 31. Like any young woman in love, I entered the marriage with dreams of happiness, a future built together, a child raised with love, and a partner to share every joy and sorrow with.
But almost as soon as our life began, those dreams began to rot at the roots. I became pregnant not long after we got married, and in June 2019, I gave birth to our beautiful son the light of my life, my reason to breathe. But around us, everything started to fall apart. What should have been a home of warmth and celebration turned into a battleground.
My husband, who once held my hand with promises of forever, began showing his true self. He became verbally, physically, emotionally, and financially abusive. He fought constantly, lashed out over the smallest things, called me names that still echo in my ears, and struck me in moments of rage I could never have imagined.
He took no responsibility for anything not for our child, not for our home, not for the pain he inflicted. He blamed everyone and everything: me, the world, COVID, unemployment, bad luck. But never himself. His addiction to marijuana only made everything worse. He smoked it every day, from morning till night, choosing to remain in a haze rather than face reality.
When I asked him who mattered more me, his wife, or our child he told me, without guilt or shame, that he was “married to marijuana” and that it was his “first wife” because it came into his life before I did. That sentence alone sums up where I stood in his life: never a priority, never a partner, just someone to control.
I gave him multiple chances again and again, even after separating, hoping he’d evolve for the sake of our son. But even with money in hand, he has never paid a rupee for our son’s school, clothing, medical needs, or any bill that a father should feel responsible for. He has never even asked what our child needs. Instead, he reappears in my life every now and then, proclaiming “love,” only to ask for physical access to me expecting everything while offering nothing.
And in October 2024, under the mask of love, he choked me during an argument, claiming that I needed to “feel” his love through aggression. That moment still sends shivers down my spine. His addiction destroyed us, but what destroyed me even more was his total absence of accountability. He never told his parents about me until after our son was born because he wanted to “settle well” before breaking the news and always shut me up from informing them.
He didn’t let me inform my own family about the pregnancy or birth until our son was 10 months old. Because of this, I lost out on all the love, care, and emotional support I was supposed to receive from both sides of the family. I went through pregnancy, childbirth, and new motherhood in isolation.
And while I battled emotional trauma, I also endured physical suffering: multiple abortions that left deep wounds in my heart, and a lingering back injury due to the epidural during labor. That pain follows me every single day. I live with it while carrying my son, while rushing for school pickups and drops, while sitting through long work meetings just to earn enough to put food on the table.
And I do it all alone having been raised by a single mother myself, who is now aging and also under my care. I am not just a mother. I am a provider, a protector, a caretaker, and a survivor. I balance everything from homework to doctor visits, grocery bills to emotional breakdowns without ever asking for help because I know no one is coming to save me.
And still, this man, this absent father, this abusive husband, dares to return into my life, claiming he deserves another chance as if love is enough to erase the pain, the abortions, the violence, the lies, the abandonment, and the years of trauma. But I remember everything. I carry it in my spine, in my bones, in my eyes, and in my heart.
I have raised a child alone, rebuilt myself brick by brick, all while supporting my own parent because I know what it means to have no one. And now, more than ever, I know I can never go back not for apologies that never come, not for love that was never real, and not for someone who only sees me as a fallback, never as a human being with scars that still bleed. I’ve been through too much, and I refuse to let him steal even one more breath of peace from my life.
Question: All men reading this, please enlighten me what necessary step should be taken to prevent this?
Option 1: Should I let him back in our lives?
Option 2: Should I continue living my life as it is?
You can share all your Confessions with me over Gmail or Google Chat Praveenpandu6102@gmail.com