He did what so many men promise but so few ever do. He left.

 

For years, he lived a life of duty. The house, the bills, the family holidays, the reliable routines. Outwardly steady, inwardly hollow. When love came calling in the arms of another woman, he convinced himself it was destiny. Unlike his wife, she made him feel alive again. She laughed at his jokes, admired his ambitions, soothed his silences. She asked him once where it was all heading. He smiled sadly and, in true Meatloaf style, replied: “I will do anything for love, but I won’t do that.”

 

Except, in the end, he did.

 

He left the marriage, the home, the familiarity of a life already written. He chose passion over duty, the unknown over the known. For a brief moment, he believed he was free.

But leaving was not liberation. It was a tearing.

 

The financial ties alone nearly broke him. Divorce meant dividing everything he had toiled for: the house he had built into a sanctuary, the investments he had sweated into, the savings he had guarded. Suddenly, the law of the land was clear: she would remain in the home, the children with her, while he moved into a dingy little place that felt more like exile than a fresh start.

 

And still, the bills kept coming. Child support. Spousal maintenance. School fees. Medical bills. The quiet demands of fatherhood and marriage that do not end just because the marriage does. He was still paying, still providing — only now from the sidelines.

 

The mistress, now his partner, welcomed him at first with warmth. Their honeymoon phase blazed with passion. But the fire soon revealed shadows. The reality of blended family life came knocking: her children wary of him, his children resentful of her. Holidays became logistical nightmares, birthdays sources of tension, every milestone another reminder of what had been broken. The freedom he craved carried its own shackles.

And yet, leaving is not always cowardice. Sometimes it is courage. Sometimes it is the only way to stop pretending, the only way to reclaim a life that has long since slipped away. To walk out of a hollow marriage is, for some, the bravest act they will ever commit.

 

For him, it was both. He was brave and reckless, selfish and sincere, villain and victim. He gained love but lost ease. He found passion but lost peace.

 

The untold truth is this: leaving is harder than staying. It demands resilience, sacrifice, and a willingness to live with the judgment of others. It can be the beginning of a new life, or the unravelling of everything. It can save you or scar you. And every case deserves to be judged on its own merits, not painted with a single brush.

Was it worth it? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But he will never be counted among the men who stayed in silence, who lived dutifully but unloved. He made his choice, and he bore the price.

 

And yet, sometimes staying is the easier option — and that too is fair enough. For some, endurance offers its own kind of stability, even if it is quiet, loveless, or constrained. Both paths carry their own costs. Both demand their own kind of courage.

 

The #Unshakable truth? Neither staying nor leaving makes anyone a coward. Each choice carries weight, sacrifice, and consequences that only those who live it can truly measure.

 

‘See’ you next week.

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