We married in our late twenties, and now we are both 46. I always let him shine. Sometimes I listen to the song Labour and realize it mirrors my marriage. He chased his dreams, climbed the corporate ladder, and we raised two daughters together. Back in university, he was the brightest student in engineering, and by 35 he already had a hundred people under him. Today, he manages hundreds more.
But his ambition and competence turned into arrogance and hunger for power. He grew angry, suspicious, always seeing traitors around him. People disliked his micromanaging and began leaving. Just this past June, ten employees resigned after reporting him to HR for disrespect and yelling.
His direct subordinates tried to reason with him, but he dismissed them as traitors. I told him he needed to change his style, but he accused me of being against him too.
He started spending nights at the company site, even though he wasn’t part of production. He claimed he had to ensure everything ran smoothly. One of his managers told me my husband pressured him to stay overnight as well, but he refused because he had a family at home.
At home, things weren’t better. Our younger daughter, just 13, didn’t score highest on a test. He grew furious, called her lazy, took her phone, and forbade her from attending a birthday party. In his rare free time, he swims or jogs, keeping himself in shape, but spends little time with us.
Then came the hardest truth. He confessed he cheated with a young employee, someone hired only months ago for basic phone work. He said she made him feel he deserved what she offered, that he had worked hard for years. I admit our intimacy had faded—I wasn’t in the mood, and I disliked what he had become. He told me she never refused him, always respected his authority, unlike me.
I felt crushed. I had always feared he would cheat. He is tall, fit, successful. I was just his companion in the background. He confessed one night before sleep, saying he was sorry. If I had caught him, I would have divorced immediately. But he confessed.
It puzzles me. He barely interacts with his subordinates, tolerating only two or three close ones. This woman was just one of hundreds, in an entry-level role. How did they even get close?
Now my daughters are divided. One begs me to stay, saying she will never forgive me if I leave because she adores her father. The other insists I leave, warning me not to be a doormat.
And I still wonder—what did he mean when he said she never told him no? He never asked me for anything specific.
