We dated for a little less than a year and then got married. We complete ten years of marriage in a few months. Ten years where we’ve seen a lot of good things and bad – his almost fatal accident, my surgery, my father’s death, his father’s ill health, my mother’s insecurity, his mother’s possessiveness, work stress, job changes, his work travel, his all-consuming passion which became a second fulltime job, trips, birthdays, studies, exams, lifestyle related diseases, the stress which comes when you are otherwise healthy but just can’t conceive, all the ups and downs of life. Ten years during which his friends became mine and mine became his.
Our lives so entwined that I can’t even imagine how we never realised when it all fell apart. Probably the day when I had some good news at work and the first person I called was my best friend and not him. Or maybe when we realised that we hadn’t taken a vacation together in nearly 3 years. Or maybe when he called his friend to discuss something which was stressing him out and not me.
We are just two people living our own lives in the same house. When we go out, we have an unsaid understanding that we show the world all is well, we’re still the loving couple we used to be – the ones who set relationship goals for others.
Over the past year, we’ve fought like cats and dogs and sulked for days over tiny stupid things which would never have mattered earlier. We’ve stormed out of the house because the other person just refuses to understand. We broke the new wine glasses in anger. We’ve held each other and tried to make it all work, to get back to where we were. The world has no idea how we tiptoe around each other now at home.