For 17 years, I thought I knew the man I married. Then he started making cruel jokes about my wrinkles and gray hair, comparing me to younger women online. What happened next restored my faith in karma.
Hi everyone. I’m Lena, and I’m 41 years old. Until about a year ago, I genuinely believed I was living in a happy marriage with my husband, Derek.
We’d been together since we were kids. We had two beautiful children, Ella, who’s 16 now, and Noah, who’s 12. We had a home filled with family photos and memories.
Looking back now, I realize I’d been living in a routine that was slowly eroding who I was, piece by piece, without me even noticing it was happening. It started so small that I almost didn’t catch it. Around the time I hit my late 30s, Derek started making what he called jokes.
The kind that sounded playful on the surface, like harmless teasing between a married couple. But they had this edge to them that stuck under my skin like tiny splinters. If I came downstairs in the morning without makeup on, he’d look up from his coffee and grin.
“Wow, rough night, huh? You look exhausted.”
When I found my first gray hair while getting ready one morning, I showed it to him, half laughing about it. He laughed too, but then he said, “Guess I’m married to Grandma now.
Should I start calling you Nana?”
At first, I told myself it was just Derek being Derek. But as the months went by, I started to notice something had shifted. The teasing became the only thing he said about my appearance.
There were no more compliments or moments where he told me I looked beautiful. One Saturday morning, I walked into the living room to find him scrolling through Instagram on his phone. When I glanced over his shoulder, I saw a young fitness influencer on his screen.
Derek didn’t even notice I was standing there until I moved, and then he looked up at me and muttered, “See, that’s what taking care of yourself looks like.”
I laughed it off, but something inside me cracked a little bit that day. The cruelty didn’t stop there. It actually got worse.
I remember one night in particular. Derek’s company was having their annual party, and I’d actually made an effort. I bought a new dress, did my hair, and put on makeup.
I came downstairs feeling pretty good about myself, and Derek looked me up and down. “Maybe just a touch more makeup,” he said finally. “You don’t want people to think I’m out with my mom.”
I stood there in our hallway, holding my purse, and I felt something inside me just collapse.
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