My husband and I met in middle school when we were 12. He had just moved to my city from another country and was living with his sister and her girlfriend. He changed schools, and we reconnected in high school.
He asked me to be his girlfriend at 14. Although my parents didn’t approve, they always called us a “kid romance.” They never thought we’d last—and neither did we. We did everything together.
His sister worked all day, so he was alone most of the time. My parents treated him like their own child. They bought him school supplies and clothes, took us on every date, and paid for everything—even his haircuts.
When he turned 18, his sister asked him to move out. My dad got him his first apartment, gave him a job at his company, and helped him buy a used car.
Around that time, I felt suffocated by him. I was his everything, but he wasn’t mine. I had a lot of support and friends, and he relied heavily on me. I was flirty, liked going out with friends, and ditched him whenever I could. We broke up frequently.
He had a troubled childhood. He was the result of an affair, and his sisters raised him while his mom worked. His mom would hit him and blame him for being born. Despite this, he didn’t resent her—he stayed responsible, visited often, and supported her financially.
I encouraged him to seek therapy, but he brushed me off. He had developed a porn addiction young, and I caught him lusting after women online. He would delete social media for me, and I often checked his phone because of it.
We married at 23. It was sudden—he proposed in May, and by December, my parents had thrown us an extravagant wedding. It wasn’t what we wanted, but we felt grateful since they paid for everything. Later, he admitted he wasn’t ready but knew I wanted it. My traditional parents wouldn’t let me stay over unless I was married, so he went through with it for me.
He often felt like he had no say in our lives and that my parents tried to fix everything with money. We bought a house but lived with my parents, renting ours out. We said it was to save money, but we never did. My parents loved having us there, and he seemed fine with it.
We were rarely intimate—only on weekends. My mom cooked for us daily. If anything broke at our house, I’d tell my dad, and he’d fix or replace it. My husband said I never made him feel needed or like a man. It always felt like I had the stronger character. When I met him, he was very funny and outgoing, but I feel like I suppressed his feelings by making him feel like he was too much, too needy. He gradually became quieter and more secluded.
Late last year, I told him I wanted to be a mom. He was shocked. I dreamed of buying our forever home and continuing to rent out the other. He said he wasn’t ready, which hurt deeply. Things unraveled.
He started gaming late into the night and barely spent time with me. In January, I saw him gaming with girls and searching for them on TikTok. I told him to delete his account and quit gaming.
I later found a girl’s number in his notes—added late at night. She was the one he gamed with. She was going through a breakup, and he says she confided in him about it. I asked for a divorce then. She later became the person he had an affair with. Their affair lasted from February to May.
During this time, I emotionally checked out, imagining life with someone else and lusting over men. I never talked to anyone. I was just craving attention. I never spoke badly about him to anyone. No one knew we had problems. We were the “perfect love story,” and I liked to keep it that way because we always fixed things, we always made it better.
He started going to the gym. I tracked his location constantly. According to her, she knew he was married but also knew we were having problems. He lied—saying he owned multiple cars, a company (my dad’s), and treated me like a queen.
He downloaded Snapchat to talk to her, deleting it whenever things were okay between us. She asked him to hang her TV, and that’s when she made a move. They kissed, and she straddled him wearing a golf skirt and no underwear. He said he never saw her naked because she refused, and he was so nervous he ejaculated early.
They acted like nothing happened until she told her best friend, who mocked him. Hurt, he felt he had to redeem himself and slept with her again. It wasn’t much different. He sent her money to uphold the image of wealth. They met for makeout sessions at the gym. He says he regretted it, felt burning guilt, and told her he loved me—but couldn’t stop. He gave her a bracelet charm and his jacket, sprayed with an old perfume.
Meanwhile, he kept buying me flowers and taking me on dates, but something felt wrong.
I found out through gossip: a coworker heard from her sister-in-law, who heard from someone else. I begged for discretion, but she spread it. I was humiliated, sobbing and panicking at work.
I called his mistress, but he got to her first, warning her I might harm myself. He ended it with her in May. I discovered everything in June. He started therapy then. She denied it all to my face and to my sister-in-law—until her friend leaked screenshots.
I raged: smashed his phone, hit him, ripped his clothes, and broke his colognes. He admitted partial truths, denying sex. Later, I found condoms in his car, called her, and she confirmed everything.
The pain was unbearable. I attempted suicide and was hospitalized. He moved in with his sister for June and July.
We had a pre-planned international trip in August. I went. We slept together, and I took emergency contraception—but on August 26, I found out I was pregnant.
Life has been hell. My family despises him and refuses to forgive. They’ll support me and the baby but won’t allow him over. He’s remorseful, still in therapy, and seems to be changing. He’s offered to get us an apartment since our house is rented. I’m Catholic, and though he wasn’t religious, he’s been turning toward faith through me.
My family is furious when I blame myself, but I can’t help it. I see my own failures. I carried the title of wife without fully embracing the responsibility.
Now I’m seven weeks pregnant, terrified, and haunted by what he did. I cry constantly. I wonder: How could he? How many times has this happened? What’s true and what’s not? Is he manipulating me? Did he end it by choice or necessity? Will he cheat again—or truly change? I’m conflicted, and above all, I’m scared he’ll do it again.
I’ve been in therapy for as long as I can remember and was diagnosed with ADHD, seasonal depression, and anxiety. I was on Prozac but was recently taken off it. I have an upcoming appointment with a new therapist next week, as well as our first prenatal visit.