Suki Jones 

Meeting my soon-to-be ex-wife at the graduation ball felt like a moment steeped in fate—a chance encounter that would lead me down a path I never expected. I was there with "the one that got away," swirling in nostalgia and unfulfilled potential. But as fate would have it, she caught my eye, and in that crowded room, a connection formed. She ticked all the boxes: a good family, shared cultural values. Yet, in my heart, I sensed the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Our relationship unfolded like a complicated web, woven through daily phone calls that lasted for three months before we met in person. The constraints of her strict family loomed large, casting shadows over our budding romance. Her brother kept her under lock and key, while I drifted through nights of escapism. I sought comfort elsewhere, finding a fleeting connection with Rhi, a woman ten years my senior. We both played our parts—she needed someone, and I was running from the truth. Each weekend spent at her place felt like a betrayal, a temporary fix to a deeper void.

After five long years, we married in a traditional Sikh ceremony. On that day, I thought I loved her. The wedding was a celebration of our families and cultures, and I believed I was making the right choice. But even as I stood there, surrounded by family and friends, a nagging doubt lingered in my mind—a whisper that I was marching down a path I wasn’t meant to tread.

Our first dance was emblematic of our relationship—awkward and constrained, guided by the rules of propriety. I longed to hold her close, but fear of judgment kept us apart. I chose to stay sober that day, wanting to cling to every moment, yet inside, I wrestled with the realization that something felt off.

Before the marriage, the years that followed our initial connection had become a continuous cycle of disconnection and resentment. We hardly spent any nights together, and my frustration grew. I felt like a ghost in my own relationship, haunting the periphery of her life while she remained bound by familial ties. I wished she would stand up for us, carve out space for our relationship, but she didn’t. Instead, the silence between us grew louder, amplifying my discontent. In my loneliness, I sought solace outside our union, justifying my infidelity as a means of survival in a relationship that had long ago faded into emotional neglect.

Looking back, I realize that I was a fool blinded by societal expectations. The pressure to conform to traditional values pushed me into a marriage that lacked true intimacy and understanding. Our disconnection deepened as I became increasingly aware of our differences—my need for order clashing with her carefree spirit. Even during the rare nights we shared in hotels, I felt a constant tension. Her belongings sprawled everywhere, an embodiment of chaos that rattled my sense of control.

As I navigated this murky terrain, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was trapped in a narrative not of my own making. Each day felt like an act of performance, a carefully curated façade to appease family and friends while I spiraled deeper into isolation. I wrestled with guilt, anger, and a profound sense of loss—not just for the relationship, but for the person I had become.

If I could turn back time, I would tell my children to marry for love and compatibility, not obligation. I’d urge them to seek genuine emotional connections and to live together before making a lifelong commitment. I’ve witnessed countless marriages crumble under the weight of unspoken expectations, and mine was no different.

In the end, I must confront the reality of my choices. My infidelity was not merely a betrayal of trust; it was a manifestation of my own unresolved issues—a desperate attempt to fill a void that I refused to acknowledge. It’s easy to point fingers, but the truth is far more complicated. I realize now that my ex-wife tried; she made efforts to bridge the emotional chasm between us, but I was too entrenched in my own desires and disappointments to meet her halfway.

As I move forward, I carry the weight of these lessons. The journey through darkness has been painful, but it is also a necessary step toward understanding myself. Each reflection serves as a reminder of the importance of love, connection, and the courage to live authentically. My hope is that by sharing my story, I might encourage others to break free from the chains of expectation and to pursue a path that honors their true selves.