Confession Time

(Before you start, this is not Tbg's story)


Let's begin with how I start my day, six days a week. My working week begins on Monday, ends on Saturday.  More often than not, it's the ring of the doorbell at about 7 AM that wakes me up each morning, that's the maid come in to clean and cook. I have a part time help, she comes in at that time every morning. No, I don't cook. 


Surprised? Don't be.


I live alone in this big city. I don't belong here per se. I was born in another smaller city. I completed my education there too. I started my first job there too. I fell in love there too. I got married there too. 


The maid comes in to cook and clean my small rented apartment, and I start to get ready for the day. She makes my breakfast and packs some lunch for me to take to work. After she's done, I shower, get dressed, and move to work. 


I have a desk job. Plain and simple. Keeps the ball rolling and pays the bills. This is a nice workplace. I like the people here. They are all busy with their own lives, and have no time to gossip and/or chit chat. Serious people. All work, and no play. Works like a charm for me.


At about 7, I leave work and head home. The drive takes me about half hour. When I get back, there's a packed dinner waiting for me at my door step already. That tells me the delivery boy has been here, and he's taken yesterday's empty pack. 


At about eight, after I've had a little drink to steady my nerves, I laze about and watch TV. You see there's nothing to do at home. The maid pretty much does everything in the morning. At about 9 PM I have dinner, and then switch on the computer to check my emails and then go off to sleep. 


Sundays I stay in most of the day. I have nothing much to do, nowhere much to go. 


Often, I wonder if this is what happens to most single people?


I'm in my mid thirties, divorced male. 


Do I see a few eyebrows going up? This is hard for me to do too, let's just do it and get it over with. This is my confession.


About 25 years ago, when I just started my first job, I met her and fell in love. We dated each other for a couple years, and one day decided we need to be together for ever. A little conversation with the parents happened, and the parents met up and one fine winter evening, we were married. Honeymoon on the hills, back home and life begins.


Now that I look back, I realize I must have been very spoiled, (read lazy). My wife used to get up really early in the morning, clean house, do the laundry, cook breakfast for everyone and pack our lunches too. I used to be lazy to get up early and assist her with anything. I clearly remember my mother getting very upset if I ever helped in the kitchen or any other housework. 


We left for work together, I used to drive her first, then go over to my workplace. She used to come back from work herself and I used to be home much later. I always found the house neat and clean when I got home, and dinner ready too. I never lifted a finger to get a glass of water for myself. After dinner I used to watch TV while my wife cleaned up. My mother never helped at all. And I never bothered to question her too. After all, when my mother was young, she used to do all the work, right? And what does one want sons for? Parents with sons are luckier, right? Isn't that what my mother taught me too?


I clearly remember my mother cribbing about my wife all the time. I never listened to any of it though. Just turned around, yawned, and dismissed it as old age crap. Now that I think of it, it seems to me either my mother was demented, or I was an idiot.


I guess both are true.


My wife kept quiet through all the torture. She never uttered a word. The house was always clean. The beds were always made. The food was always delicious. I miss her cooking the most. She had this magic in her fingers. I can sit right here where I am, close my eyes, and I can visualize her hands working magic in front of the gas stove. And oh, the aroma!


She was a very patient girl. She cooked, cleaned, kept the house tidy, kept everything in general order. I don't see why anyone would complain about her, but it seems my mother always did just that. Complain. Nag, Nag, Nag. 


And my wife took everything quietly. Very quietly. The calm before the storm.


And then one fine day, she walked out. And I haven't heard from her since. My mother said I deserve better than her.


That was the last straw. I went up to my wife, pleaded her to come back. Begged. Begged some more. Nothing happened.


A week later, I had a lawyer calling me. And that was when I decided I must let go.


My mother was wrong. I did not deserve somebody better than her.


Rather, she deserves someone better than me. 


I quietly went over to the lawyer's office, signed the papers, and let her go. God bless her.


Ten days later, unable to see my parents face, I quit my job, and walked out of the house without looking back.


I moved to another city, struggled, and got this new job. I found an apartment to rent, and today my life is pretty much mundane. 


I have not been back home ever since. And don't plan to be. I have not tried to locate my ex wife ever since. She was right in walking out. I can only hope and pray to God she's alright and has met someone real nice who'll take good care of her. 


I should have spoken up against the mental and emotional abuse my mother inflicted against my wife, when there was still time. 


I have nothing more to say. 

Tbg adds: It's harder for men to speak up. I'm hoping this one would make more men come forward and talk. Conversation helps.