Seven hundred thirty-one days ago, Wifey and I signed on the dotted line and became husband and wife.
Those of you who have been reading my rants and whining for a while know the story, but I am going to hit the high points again. Bear with me.
The first few weeks were fun. Awkward and frustrating at times, mostly because of communication challenges, but fun. Then reality hit her. She got homesick. She started to worry about her eldest son, who was still in her home country. She felt powerless, seven time zones away, when she found out about financial and family health issues. Both she and TheBoy butted heads with Roomie from time to time. All this added up to her becoming withdrawn, unhappy and depressed. The fun time was over, five weeks later. Less than ninety days from the date of our nuptials, she was back “home”.
She had walked away from me, our marriage, and about three thousand dollars of fees paid to .gov to get the two of them permanent resident status. I was not happy. I assumed she just wasn’t all that into me after all. Why else would she walk away?
I found out about a year later that a big part of her decision was the living arrangement. I don’t know if the disagreements with her sister were more serious and/or frequent than I knew, or if the fact that we were sharing a roof with my ex-wife was just too much to accept, regardless of the fact that the ex was also her sister. Maybe it was both.
I was working part-time at BigBoxRetailer, and had been unsuccessful at finding more gainful employment. To be honest, I wasn’t trying all that hard. I did browse monster and career builder regularly, and applied for the more appealing opportunities, but after almost three years of concentrated effort with only a handful of interviews to show for it, I was only going through the motions.
In other words, I didn’t have much choice as to where I lived unless I wanted a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere. Wifey knew this, and decided to walk away instead of telling me how much it bothered her, figuring that I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
Here I am, in my own place, working to make it into a real home. I often wonder, what if?