I thought it was the end of my world

I met my ex 13 years ago, on the school ski trip. He was charming and cool, jealous and manipulative, and we had a turbulent few years, as typical teenage relationships do. We split a couple of times throughout university, but ended up graduating together. Seven years of co-habitating, a change of cities, several changes of jobs, and our first owned home later, he proposed. We’d been through good and bad times; no disillusionment here. We didn’t have a romantic notion of love. We’d discussed our future and hopes for the ‘good life’ and family. Six months after our wedding, the problems started. From highly stressful times at work, to being away from a big city and friends – reality seemed too much for him. He shrank away from the marriage; whilst citing other issues, he also blamed a lot of his unhappiness on our relationship. He no longer wanted to spend time in it or with me. I wanted more than I ever had, too; to be the ‘right’ type of married couple that I thought married people should be, despite that not reflecting our prior 12 happy years. I fought for as long as I could and tried to be the ‘patient wife’ and uphold those vows we’d taken. But I told him to leave if he didn’t love me. He did.