Oh, how exhausting he was! It took me years to recover from that marriage.
He never worked, spent my money on alcohol, and even stole things from our home.
And I endured it all—for the sake of my son. I wanted him to grow up with both parents, to have some sense of stability.
But one day, when Gabriel was 12, he stood in front of me, looked me straight in the eyes, and said:
“Mom, why do you put up with this? Just throw him out!”
At that moment, everything became clear. I kicked my husband out without a second thought.
The relief was indescribable. For the first time in years, I could breathe.
Choosing Solitude Over Another Mistake
Over the years, I had a few admirers, but I never considered a serious relationship.
I was terrified of falling into another trap.
The last four years were the hardest.
Gabriel moved to Canada for work and eventually decided to stay there permanently. He built a life for himself, but I couldn’t bring myself to follow. It was too late for me to adapt to a whole new country.
Then, the pandemic hit. No visits, no social gatherings—just an unbearable silence that stretched for months.
Loneliness crept in, slowly suffocating me.
“At least find a friend to talk to,” my best friend encouraged.
But the idea felt impossible.
“You don’t understand,” I sighed. “I look at men my age, and they all seem old and frail. I don’t want to be someone’s caregiver. They’re not looking for a partner—they want a nurse.”
“Then find someone younger,” she said with a wink. “You still look amazing!”
Her words lingered in my mind.
A New Connection… Or So I Thought
Not long after, I struck up a conversation with a man who lived in the house next door.
Every day, he walked his dog in the park near our homes.
His name was Ion.
He was 49, tall, handsome, and charming. Divorced, with an ex-wife who had moved to Italy, and a grown daughter.
I was 62.
We started talking more often, and soon, he was courting me. Almost every day, he brought me flowers, made me laugh, and made me feel like a woman again.
Before I even realized it, he had moved into my home.
People around me whispered, wondering how a man so attractive and charismatic could be interested in someone like me.
I’ll admit it—I loved the attention.
Every day, I cooked his favorite meals, washed and ironed his clothes, and enjoyed taking care of him.
But then, one day, he casually said:
“You should start taking my dog for walks. It’ll be good for you to get out more.”
I hesitated. “Why don’t we go together?”
His response stunned me.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together too often.”
A sinking feeling settled in my chest. Was he ashamed of me?
And then, the truth hit me—I had become his maid.
Time to Take Out the Trash
That night, I sat him down.
“I think we should share the household chores equally,” I said firmly. “You can iron your own clothes. And you can walk your own dog.”
He scoffed.
“Listen, if you want a younger, good-looking man, then you need to make him happy. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
I stood up, my heart pounding, and pointed at the door.
“You have 30 minutes to pack your things and leave.”
He blinked in disbelief. “What? I can’t! My daughter already invited her boyfriend to stay at my place.”
I crossed my arms. “Then go live with them.”
And just like that, I threw him out without hesitation.
What’s Left for a Woman Like Me?
I won’t lie—it hurt.
Am I really at an age where love is no longer an option? Is companionship nothing more than a convenience for men looking for a housekeeper?
I still long for tenderness.
But one thing is certain—I will never again settle for being someone’s unpaid servant.
If love is meant for me, it will come with respect. Otherwise, I am better off alone.