My childhood dreams, pure and naive, seemed to come true as if by the wave of a magic wand when I was only twenty years old. And what, exactly, were those dreams? In the most cliché way possible, I dreamed of a prince on a white horse.
I wanted a lavish, joyful wedding—me in a stunning white gown, standing next to a handsome groom who adored me. Our fairy tale would be just beginning. Ahead lay an entire life—long, wonderful, and filled with a string of happy events. I was wet behind the ears back then—young and socially inexperienced. While my friends were gaining life lessons by falling wildly in love and getting their hearts broken, swapping boyfriends or pining over unrequited crushes, I was preparing for a wedding with the most wonderful man in the world, a man who quite literally idolized me.
My fiancé was twelve years older than me, a detail I found incredibly attractive. To me, it meant he had experience with women; he had, as they say, "sown his wild oats," which meant I wouldn't have any reason to be jealous. He was a successful artist with the looks to match—piercing dark brown eyes and a build like an athlete...
We met at the opening of an art gallery where I'd gone with a friend. He was alone, wandering the room pensively with his hands behind his back. When he noticed us, he brightened up and approached. One thing led to another, we introduced ourselves, and then he invited us to a coffee shop. Victor was witty and polite. After exchanging numbers, we said our goodbyes. Later, my friend and I spent ages guessing which one of us such a gorgeous man had his eye on. As it turned out, it was me.
When I told my friend a couple of months later that I was marrying him, she—having struggled to process that the choice hadn't fallen on her—started acting spiteful.
"Are you out of your mind?" Sarah shouted enviously. "He's old! We know how these artists are—they're all players!"
"What do you know?" I shot back. "Plenty of women dream of marrying a mature man these days. Victor is established. He's level-headed and tired of playing the field. Besides, you have no idea what kind of spiritual connection we have. To me, that's the most important thing in a relationship."
"It's crazy. Getting married at twenty. You haven't even finished college yet. What if you get pregnant? What then?"
"For your information, that's exactly what I'm dreaming of. I'll just take a medical leave."
"Fine, suit yourself," my friend said, waving it off. "As for me, I'm in no rush to get married. I'm not done having fun yet..."
She's just jealous, I thought. Let her have her fun. I've struck gold with Victor. I'll spend my whole life feeling safe and protected with him. Plus, he's so interesting! Who knows who she'll end up with—if anyone.
Now I know: a person in love, soaring on the wings of mutual affection, is unjustifiably overconfident. Or simply blind. It feels like things will always be as good as they are in that moment. But in reality, happiness is, unfortunately, just a series of fleeting instants.
***
Our wedding was a triumph. My dress was custom-made by a famous designer who happened to be a close friend of Victor's. He even served as the best man. I was so proud that the guest list was packed with artists and poets who gave flowery toasts and danced beautifully—in short, people who knew how to have a good time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah, who was my maid of honor, sticking to the designer like glue, flirting and batting her eyelashes—wasting no time at all.
"You know he's forty-five," I whispered snidely when I caught her for a second. "He's been married three times and has five kids."
"I'm not planning on marrying him," she hissed back. "I'm fine with being the mistress. The man is loaded!"
The only thing that cast a shadow was that my parents were categorically against such an early marriage. For some reason, Victor just didn't sit right with them.
"Sweetie," my mom cried. "Why the rush? He's much older than you. And you've barely known him any time at all. It's like buying a pig in a poke."
"Mom, if you knew how much we love each other, you wouldn't be saying this. Fate has sent me the kind of love that happens once in a thousand years. Look, all my friends are jealous. You'll see—they'll get married and be divorced in two years. But my marriage to Victor is for life. Can't you see how he treats me? Just be happy for me!"
"Oh, honey, you don't know the world. Love has a way of fading. And only then do your eyes truly open..."
But I just brushed her off crossly.
***
After the wedding, I moved into Victor's spacious, cozy apartment. My husband spent every day in his studio, while I was in my junior year of med school. The days flowed by, peaceful and happy.
"Tell me about who you were with before me," Victor asked one evening as we sat on the couch, cuddled up in front of the TV. "I still know so little about you... How many men have there been?"
I guilelessly admitted that I'd had only two relationships before him. I didn't ask him the same question—I was secretly jealous of his past and didn't want to know anything about it.
"And who were they? Were they at the wedding?"
"Yes, one of them was. An old high school classmate. We've been friends since we were kids. He was my first love. And the second... just a guy from my department..."
"Is he still in your department?" Victor asked, his voice now carrying a distinct threat. "Come on, tell the truth!"
"Well, yes," I replied, bewildered.
"I see. So my wife became a woman while she was still a schoolgirl."
"So what? It's the twenty-first century. Who waits until marriage these days?"
"Young and reckless... And why wasn't the second boyfriend at the wedding? Maybe you two still have something going on? Tell me!"
It was the first time I had seen my husband in such a rage.
"Victor, calm down. Are you jealous? I haven't given you any reason to be..."
"You have. Just so you know, if you ever cheat on me—I'll kill you!"
"What is wrong with you? Are you sick? What right do you have to talk to me like that?" I gasped with indignation, knowing I had done nothing wrong.
"By the right of being your husband! Just so you're aware, I am incredibly possessive and I have no intention of changing. Do you have a photo of that second one? Your classmate... what was his name?"
"Alex. And no, I don't have a single photo of him. When we broke up, I tore them all up."
"You're not lying? And who dumped whom? Did he leave you or did you leave him? That's important to me."
"I left him. Satisfied?" I was getting tired of this senseless conversation.
"And he doesn't follow you? He doesn't call? Now I know who you're talking to when you take your phone into the bedroom. It's this Alex guy..."
"That's ridiculous!" I snapped. "I'm talking to my mother. I only leave the room so I don't disturb you. What has gotten into you?"
He didn't answer, but he clearly didn't believe me. After that incident, I began to notice a growing tension between us. He became suspicious. Several times I caught him secretly rooting through my purse and my coat pockets. Finally, I confronted him, and after that, he started going through my things openly.
He also forbade me from taking my phone into the bedroom and ordered me to speak only in his presence. He checked all my calls every single day without shame. He strictly monitored the time I returned from lectures. I could only talk to Sarah during breaks between classes. Evening hangouts at coffee shops were out of the question. My husband stopped taking me to gallery openings, too. We didn't go out to visit anyone. We lived like hermits. It was all so depressing.
"So, tired of being a married lady yet?" Sarah asked me one day. "I see your husband keeps you under lock and key. And you just put up with it. Why?"
I didn't want to discuss my life. And I kept remembering my mother. She had been right: by marrying Victor, I had barely known him. Unfortunately, princes come in different varieties. Mine turned out to be a monster. His mood swings became more frequent. He grew bitter and withdrawn. Where had all those wonderful traits gone—the ones he used to charm me with when we were dating?
"Everything is great," I lied to my friend. "I'm not bored at all. How about you?"
"Oh, I've got a sweet setup! My designer rented an apartment for us to meet. We mess around there twice a week. I'm seeing another guy on the side, too. You want us to drop by and visit sometime?"
Blushing, I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Victor doesn't like guests..."
***
One day I felt under the weather and decided to skip my classes. He came home late that evening, looking angry.
He was reading the newspaper in the kitchen while I was washing the dishes when the phone rang in the other room.
I went to pick it up. It was Sarah.
"Listen, your husband has totally lost it. You weren't in class today, so listen to this. Your hubby showed up at the college and asked me to point out your ex. I did. And guess what? He started a huge scene. They actually got into a fight. They really went at it. Our classmate has no idea what's going on. Is your Victor actually crazy?"
"Who is it?" my husband asked, wrenching the phone out of my hands.
That was the last straw. Sinking into a chair, I burst into tears of helplessness. I didn't want his "mad love" anymore. I felt like I hated him. How could one person have so much malice?
"I had a man-to-man talk with your boyfriend today," he said. "He won't come within ten yards of you now."
"You're insane! You're a bully! A monster!"
And then he hit me across the face.
Sobbing, I ran into the bedroom, grabbed my phone, and dialed my parents' number. It was late, but I wanted to get out of that house immediately and never come back.
Finally, I heard my father's voice.
"Dad, please, I'm begging you—come get me right now, or this lunatic is going to kill me!"
"I'm on my way," he said shortly.
Two days later, I filed for divorce.
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