What started off as the potential for a happy life together, quickly turned to angst for both jolly guy and I. We argued all the time. Mostly about money and effort with the house and kids. I get it, most guys are traditional in the sense of the woman having better skills to handle the house and children and being that I had been doing it on my own for years, just added to the comfort level I guess he had that I had everything covered. After a few weeks and being knee-deep into the addition I realized that he was very comfortable not really doing much when it came to the house and kids unless it had to do with the pool. I was working full-time, taking care of 4 teenage girls, managing the money, running the house. I was tired to say the least and being we were already on unsteady ground any sudden movement could set me off. I could see him start to avoid me and I didn’t really blame him, I was becoming increasingly miserable, but I was trying my hardest to fake it. Telling myself time and time again that I could do this. It will all work out. We just have to get through this rough patch. One day I came home and he was making dinner…..just for his kids. “You’re mar everyone right?” I asked, knowing the answer. “Oh” he said. Without warning I erupted. I was yelling and screaming and threatening and going nuts. I think for a split second I had an out-of-body experience where I could see my head twisting around and green crap spitting out of it. It was not normal to get this upset, but I was. I was resentful and angry and hurt and nothing I seemed to do made any difference in the grand scheme of things. Not sex, not home cooked meals, not taking care of the house or spending time with the kids. Nothing. And I was feeling defeated and yet not anywhere near ready to give up. He was not an innocent bystander in my tirade. He was slinging shots left and right about how he works too and how tired he is and blah blah blah. That’s all I heard all the time. If I hear one more time “But I work” I could have spit right in his face. Guess what? We all work! That doesn’t absolve you of responsibilities inside this house. I was so mad that night. I went to bed and he and I didn’t speak. The argument lasted well into the next day. It was towards the end of December at this point and I was at work when he text me this “I think you should get your things and move out. This isn’t working.” I read it again because I wasn’t sure I was reading it correctly. So we fight, things are tough and I have nowhere to live and you think now is a good time to say it’s over? Should have thought of that before I moved in and left my house. I left work and drove straight to his job. I went inside and asked to speak to him outside. I knew things were bad, but not that bad. Not over bad. Not get out bad. Just bad bad. I looked him in the face and told him I loved him, told him we are in this together and just because things are going to get rough sometimes and that doesn’t mean that I am willing to quit on us. I did love him, I did want this to work. Not because of the stupid house, but because we were creating a family and I didn’t want to give that all up. He looked me right in the face and I was on eggshells waiting to hear him say I love you to, we can do this, but that’s not what he said. What he said was “I’m not sure I’m still in love with you” I took a step back and before I could stop it from happening the tears ran down my face. I got in my car and drove away with a hole in my heart and a lump in my throat. And I had nowhere to go so I went home. His home. And I cried.