In the depths of my despair, I sit here, nursing the wounds inflicted not only on my body but also on my heart. The woman I once cherished, the one I vowed to spend my life with, has reduced me to a shell of my former self.
Once, I was the provider, the one who catered to her every whim. But when misfortune struck and I lost my job, the tables turned. She became the breadwinner, and with that, her respect for me vanished. Her words became daggers, piercing my soul with each utterance.
Denied the intimacy I once craved, I succumbed to desperation. I brought a woman to our home, seeking solace in the arms of a stranger. But fate had a cruel twist in store. My wife, who had claimed to be away, returned unexpectedly and caught us in the act.
Her fury was a tempest that consumed everything in its path. She humiliated the other woman and assaulted me mercilessly. The bruises on my body are a testament to her rage, but the pain in my heart is far more profound.
I cannot fathom continuing this charade of a marriage. The love and trust we once shared have been shattered beyond repair. Even if I recover from my physical wounds, the wounds to my dignity and self-worth will forever haunt me.
I must now face the difficult decision of whether to seek a divorce or give our marriage another chance. But as I sit here, broken and alone, I cannot shake the feeling that our bond is irrevocably severed. The woman I married has become a stranger, and I fear that the path to reconciliation is forever closed to us.
