My life after marriage was nothing like I had imagined.
There was no peace.
No understanding.
Only long, exhausting days.
He remained the same.
He and his family continued to insult me, criticize me. Harsh words repeated every single day.
No reason.
No right or wrong.
If they wanted, anything could become my fault.
He cheated.
That was my fault—because I wasn't good enough.
He came home drunk.
That was my fault—because I didn't know how to keep my husband.
He spent money, fell into debt.
That was still my fault—because I didn't know how to manage the household.
Everything in that house was blamed on me.
As if I were the cause of every bad thing in their lives.
Days like that repeated endlessly.
No pause.
No change.
I slowly grew used to being blamed.
Used to being hurt.
Used to staying silent just to keep things from getting worse.
But no matter how used to it I became—
the pain never disappeared.
Sometimes he would get angry for no reason.
His words became heavier.
Sometimes his actions came so suddenly I couldn't even react.
I didn't understand what I had done wrong.
But in their eyes, I was always the one at fault.
No explanation needed.
No proof required.
His family was the same.
They never stood on my side.
No one ever asked if I was okay.
No one cared what I was going through.
All I received was coldness.
Judging looks.
Words that made me feel like I didn't belong there.
Since the day we got married, he spent fewer days at home than outside.
There were nights I didn't know where he was.
What he was doing.
Or who he was with.
But I didn't dare to ask.
Because every question only led to irritation—
or another endless argument.
I slowly became exhausted in that marriage.
Not because of one major event—
but because of countless small things repeating every day.
Little by little, they wore me down.
Until I no longer recognized myself.
I didn't know what I was living for.
I didn't know how much longer I could continue like that.
And the more I lived in that exhaustion,
the more I thought about him.
Not because I was trying to compare—
but because the difference was too clear.
The way he had treated me.
The gentleness.
The respect.
The way he cared without making me feel pressured.
All of it made me realize what I was missing.
I remembered simple meals with him.
The way he would softly ask,
"Are you okay?"
The way he could sit beside me in silence—
and that alone made me feel safe.
Things I once thought were ordinary…
had now become things I no longer had.
I also remembered his family.
The first time I met them—
their kindness.
Their warmth.
The way they spoke to me.
The way they looked at me—
as if I belonged.
As if I could be accepted.
That was something I had never felt
in the place I was living now.
Here, I always felt like an outsider.
Someone who had to struggle just to exist.
Someone who had to endure.
But there—
I didn't have to do anything.
Just standing there, I already felt like I was in the right place.
Those thoughts began to appear more often.
They were no longer passing memories.
They became part of my daily thinking.
I began to understand something:
Once you have experienced something real,
it becomes very hard to accept its absence.
But I still did nothing.
I stayed.
I continued living in that marriage.
Not because I wanted to—
but because I didn't know what else to do.
I didn't know where to go.
I didn't know how to begin again.
And through all those days,
he still existed somewhere in my mind.
Not loudly.
Not clearly.
But enough to remind me—
that my life was never meant to feel like this.
Message of Chapter 23
Only when we live in a place without love
do we truly understand the value
of someone who once treated us with kindness.