Six months later, we were married. My children opposed it. My daughter, Claire, told me, “Dad, you barely know her.”
My son, Brandon, did not even attend the wedding. I was upset with them.
I believed they simply refused to understand that I could still be happy.
During those first few months, Gwen was wonderful. We traveled, dined at restaurants, and spent our evenings relaxing together on the patio.
I truly believed life had offered me a second chance. But one year later, she changed.
At first, they seemed like small things. She began criticizing my clothes, how I walked, and even my friends.
In front of visitors, she would joke, “Franklin needs everything explained three times.
Age is catching up with him.” Everyone laughed. I smiled too. But privately, it hurt.
A young woman named Chloe worked inside our home. She was twenty-nine, somewhat curvy, and always dressed modestly.
Her mother needed an important operation, and Chloe worked from morning until evening trying to earn enough money to cover the medical expenses.
Gwen disliked her. “Move faster,” she would frequently snap. “I’m not paying you to stroll around my house.”
Once, in front of several visitors, she even said, “Keep going like this and I’ll have to order you a new uniform.
