I'm Marta, 32 years old, with two children, and a generally kind husband. Dado—that's his name. He's known in his office as hardworking and responsible. He has no vices. All his income goes straight to me, and I'm the only one who divides it up for his expenses and allowances.
On the outside, it seems like I have nothing more to ask for. But as we've been together for a while, there are things I can't keep to myself. He does something strange whenever we're alone.
Before we had sex, he would suddenly slap me. It wasn't hard, but it was enough to make my chest tremble with shock and nervousness. He would say that I had a boyfriend, that I was unfaithful. He would ask if it felt better with another man, over and over again, as if he wanted me to hear it even though he knew it wasn't true.
When I don't answer, he presses me harder. Until I just cry. He'll hug me, apologize, and say he doesn't understand why he's doing that. And then, he'll kiss me and have sex with me like nothing happened.
At first, I thought it might just be a moment, maybe it was just stress from work. But it happened again and again. As time went on, it became harder to accept. Not because of the pain of the slap—because it was really only a mild one—but because of the pain of his words. It was like he was gradually making me believe that I was inadequate, that there was something wrong with me, even though there wasn't.
I got to the point where I spoke to him calmly. I didn't yell, I didn't argue. I just wanted to understand why he was doing this. He looked away from me, then said, “I don't know either. I don't want to hurt you.” He kept saying that he loved me. But even if he did, I didn't know if it was right for me to just accept it.
I don't want to break up our family. I see how he is with our children—loving and reliable. But at night, when it's just us, he becomes a different person. And it hurts in my chest to think that this might have a deeper source.
Now, I'm thinking that maybe we need help. I can't bear the burden alone. Maybe it's time for us to consult a specialist, someone who can help clarify where this behavior comes from and how to help it. I don't hate him, but it's not right to just ignore it either.
I hope that the time will come when we can fix this—that the night won't have to end in hurt and blame. I still want to believe that our love can be fixed and put into the right shape. Not because I want to be a martyr, but because I believe that when there is illness, it should be treated. Not hidden. Not endured while you are slowly being crushed inside.
To the women reading this, I hope you know that you are not alone. This behavior should not be tolerated, no matter how kind the person is in other aspects of life. There are ways to ask for help, and there are people who are willing to understand.
This is the secret I've been keeping for a long time. I've only just finally let it out in its entirety.
