The Fear Ends Here

This week has left me drained in a way I can’t fully explain. Living in this cycle is like being on a ride that never stops — begging, threats, silence, then sudden “love.” Over and over again.

On Wednesday, he begged me for forgiveness. He promised me things he’s never done before — said he wanted to change, to try, to make me happy. I told him no. He didn’t stop. He pressed, and pressed, until I finally said that my friends wanted me to get a restraining order. That’s when he snapped.

He went mad, shouting about how he’s “never hit me in 25 years,” as if the absence of bruises erases all the other scars. He told me if we divorce, I won’t be able to afford a house, I won’t be able to go out because there will be no one to mind the kids, that he’ll cut all ties, not just with me, but with our children too.

When those threats didn’t get him what he wanted, he shifted to silence. He ignored us all for three days. Blank stares. Blocking me on WhatsApp. Walking past me and the kids like we weren’t even there. We didn’t exist.

I had a busy weekend with the kids and even a party to go to, but instead of supporting me, he punished me. He said, “If you want to talk to me, go through a solicitor.” The house felt heavy with his absence, not the good kind, but the kind that presses down like a weight.

And then, the switch flipped again. He came back chatty, full of questions about my night out, sitting too close, rubbing my arm and my leg even when I asked him to stop. When I told him I was uncomfortable, he just grinned and stayed where he was.

He kept saying he loved me. He kept saying he was sorry. But not once did he say for what. Not once did he admit the hurt he caused.

I told him again: you can’t go from ignoring me and the kids for days to suddenly deciding everything’s fine. You can’t punish us with silence and then expect me to melt when you turn on the charm.

And yet, I didn’t shout. I didn’t storm out. I just sat there, numb. Because I’m exhausted. Because part of me fears his reaction if I push too hard. Because years of this cycle have worn me down to a shadow of myself.

Sometimes I think the only way he’ll ever understand is if I move out. But I don’t have the money for that yet. So I’m here, trying to hold my ground, feeling like I’m running out of strength.

I know I don’t want this. I know I can’t live like this. But when you’re in it, when the cycle keeps spinning, it makes you question everything.

What I do know is this: love isn’t supposed to feel like walking on eggshells. Love isn’t supposed to drain you until there’s nothing left. And the longer this goes on, the more certain I am that I deserve better.