When people see a couple smiling in public, they rarely know the battles that happen behind closed doors. My name is James, and my wife is Lydia. For years, we lived in Thika, Kenya, and from the outside, our marriage looked perfect. We had jobs, children who were doing well in school, and a comfortable home. But what people didn’t know was that our marriage was slowly collapsing in ways we could no longer control.
It all started with small disagreements—things that couples usually argue about. But with time, the arguments grew sharper and more frequent. We fought about finances, responsibilities in the house, how we raised the kids, and even unnecessary misunderstandings that didn’t make sense. Some days, we would sleep facing opposite directions without saying a single word. The silence in our home became heavier than the arguments.
Before long, we stopped spending time together entirely. I began staying out late because the house no longer felt peaceful, while Lydia withdrew emotionally. She spoke less, avoided conversations, and built walls around her heart. We were becoming strangers who only shared a roof, not a marriage. Our two children noticed the tension; even their teacher once asked if everything was okay at home. That question broke me.
Things reached the breaking point when Lydia told me she was considering moving out with the children for her own peace. She said she was tired—tired of fighting, tired of sadness, tired of pretending that everything was fine. That night, after she spoke those words, I couldn’t sleep. I knew I was about to lose the most important people in my life.Get full story.
