A heartbreaking story. I once thought that if we got back together after our divorce, we could give our child a complete family.
So I did everything I could: I got up at six thirty to cook, drove the kids around, took care of every chore, and shouldered our living expenses and old debts. I put up with her coldness, laziness, sensitivity, and suspicion. I endured the misery of a sexless marriage and her selfishness as she let her family brainwash her into endlessly supporting her relatives, without limits.
I thought sincerity would be met with sincerity, and tolerance with gratitude.
But all I got was her treating me like a threat, even watching the child’s New Year’s money around me like I was a thief; responding to every problem with childish impulsiveness, blocking and deleting me; and claiming to love our child, yet refusing to answer the child’s calls when we finally separated.
Two years of raising a child alone made me the most responsible father, but I couldn’t warm a heart that had never belonged to our little family.
After repeating the same mistakes again and again and reaching the end of my patience, I finally understood:
A clean break is better than forcing a family to stay together.
From then on, I raised the child alone and started my life over. She disappeared from our world for good.
No turning back, no getting back together. We went our separate ways and lived our own lives in peace.
This isn’t a story of mending a broken relationship. It’s a dream I finally woke up from.
