I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes lost in my own image in the pure white wedding dress. This should have been the happiest moment of a girl’s life. However, in my heart arose an indefinite worry, an insecurity that seeped into every cell. A few days ago, he, Tan, called me. His voice was trembling, full of guilt, confessing about his erectile dysfunction. The shock was so great that I could not believe it. For several nights in a row, I stayed up, just to face one question: should I continue?

My best friend, Thao, held my hand tightly, her eyes full of pity: “Ly, are you sure? Can a marriage without fulfillment be happy? Don’t tie yourself to a lack, Ly.” Thao’s words were like a knife cutting into my bleeding heart. I had also thought about stopping. But then, the memories of our love, of the promises, came back. I told myself, marriage is not just about the body. There is also love, affection, and gratitude. I believe that, as long as two people work together, all shortcomings can be made up for. I chose to believe in love, believe in my own courage.

On the wedding day, I held Tan’s arm and walked down the aisle, surrounded by everyone’s blessing. He was thinner, his face was haggard, but his smile was still warm. I held his hand tightly and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll be by your side.” On our wedding night, we lay next to each other, chatting aimlessly. He hesitated and was afraid. I gently turned him around and held him in my arms. “Don’t worry, I love you,” I whispered. He held me tightly, tears welling up in his eyes. At that moment, I believed I had made the right choice.

In the early days of our marriage, I tried very hard. I learned to accept, learned to comfort myself that love was the most important thing. I put all my energy into work, into taking care of the family. I cooked his favorite dishes, redecorated the house to make him feel most comfortable. Whenever he showed inferiority, I gently comforted him: “You are the best husband to me. I love you not because of that.” I thought that, with sincerity, I could heal the wounds in his heart.

But it seemed that my sacrifice had become a burden. He still lived a closed life, rarely sharing with me. We became distant, living in the same house but like two strangers. Loneliness crept into every corner of the house, suffocating my heart. I used to wonder, was I wrong? Had I lied to myself about a happy marriage? But then I reassured myself: “It will be okay, Ly. It takes time. Everything will get better.”

And then, the real storm hit.

That day, he left in a hurry, leaving his phone on the table. The screen lit up with a sweet message: “I miss you, my dear husband.” My heart stopped beating. A string of sweet messages, words of praise, admiration, and flattery appeared. The girl called him “husband”, praised him as a strong, gallant man. I trembled as I clicked to see the money transfer transactions, the luxurious gifts such as watches, expensive handbags. Everything felt like a slap in the face. He, a weak man in bed, spent money to satisfy his empty ego by supporting a young girl. Pain and humiliation surged inside me.

I chose to face him directly. I thought he would at least bow his head, would know how to repent, but no. He sat there, cold and calm. He listened to me tell him all the grievances and sacrifices I had endured. Then he turned around, his eyes full of reproach: “You made me feel more inferior. You don’t understand the psychology of men. You made me feel useless. I had to seek respect from the outside.” My whole world collapsed. Everything I had tried and sacrificed for the past three years was finally blamed for his betrayal.

From that day on, the house was like a storm. He still left early and came home late. I was silent but my heart was on fire. I lived like a shadow in my own house. Pain, humiliation, and stupidity surrounded me. I no longer recognized myself. The smile faded from my lips, my eyes were always empty. Everything became meaningless.

One night, pain and curiosity drove me to follow him. I saw him come out of a hotel, holding a gift bag. The girl ran up and hugged him tenderly. I stood in the dark, the rain soaked my body, but the coldness was worse than the coldness of the rain, the pain and humiliation. When I got home, I sat on the floor, tears falling like I had never cried before. Everything I had ever thought, ever believed in, had collapsed.

Where did I go wrong? Was it wrong to believe too much in love and affection? Was it wrong to think that I was strong enough to make up for a man who was weak in both body and personality? I used to think that love could heal all wounds, but now, I realize that my love has become a sharp weapon that cuts into my heart.

The next morning, I woke up and looked in the mirror. I saw a haggard woman with puffy eyes. I was no longer myself. The decision to stay or leave, I knew, was no longer my choice. I needed to find myself again. What should I do? That question kept echoing in my head. I stood before this marriage, like a ship stranded in the middle of the ocean, not knowing where to go, where to return.

I knew what I had to do. For the first time in years, I felt the urge to act instead of resigning myself to it. I decided to leave. I would not argue, I would not blame. I would not say another word to give him an excuse. I would silently pack my things, take what was mine, and leave this house.

One normal morning, I prepared breakfast for him as usual, then I went into the bedroom, neatly packed my clothes into the suitcase. I put a letter on the table, just a few short lines: “I can’t go on. I need to find myself again.” He walked in, looked at me and the suitcase with a confused look. “Where are you going?” he tried to ask. “To find the old Ly,” I replied, my voice strangely calm. He didn’t say another word, just stood there silently looking at me. I walked out the door, without looking back.

In the first days of living alone, I felt empty, but not lonely. I was allowed to be weak, allowed to cry, allowed to be true to my feelings. I called Thao, sobbing like a child. Thao listened, then gently said: “You are brave enough. Now live for yourself.” I began to find my forgotten passions: reading, painting, traveling alone. Every day, I felt healthier, stronger.

He tried to contact me. He sent long messages, telling me about the emptiness in the house, about his regrets. He said he was wrong, that he didn’t appreciate me. I read them, but didn’t reply. I didn’t want to hear any more explanations, any more apologies. I needed time to heal.

Then one day, he came to find me. He stood at the door, thinner, his eyes sunken. This time, he did not justify himself, did not blame. He just stood there, silently looking at me. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice choked, “I didn’t understand. I was wrong. I lost the woman who loved me the most.” Tears fell from his eyes. It was the first time I saw him cry.

I didn’t answer. I looked at him, deep into his eyes. I saw regret, loneliness, and weakness. I realized, he was also a victim of inferiority. This marriage had hurt both of us. I wasn’t angry at him anymore, I just felt a vague sadness. I couldn’t go back to him, but I could forgive him, and myself.

My life gradually got back on track. I focused on my work, my hobbies, and finding myself. I learned that happiness does not lie in trying to fill the void of others, but in filling the void in my soul myself. I am no longer afraid. I am strong enough to face everything.

One day, he came to me again. He didn’t talk about coming back, but only about what he had learned after I left. He said he had gone to therapy, had faced his complexes. He sold the luxury items he had bought for that woman, and used the money to help people in difficult circumstances. He said he had found some peace of mind.

We didn’t get back together. But we’re still friends. I forgive him, and he forgives himself. I still believe in love, but I know it has to come from respecting yourself and respecting the other person. My marriage is over, but a new chapter of my life has begun. I’ve found happiness, not the perfect happiness I was hoping for, but the happiness of peace, of growth, and of finding myself again. I’ve weathered the storm, and now, I’m standing on my own two feet.