Because my wife had the audacity to disagree with my mother, I had thrown her into the little closet-like storage space we shared.
That everything would get so out of control was unthinkable to me. Because my wife had dared to defy my mother, I had locked her in the little storage room we used as a closet just the day before. An act motivated by pride and rage that makes no sense. However, when I turned the doorknob the following morning, I was genuinely terrified by what I saw. That’s when I realized I had gone too far and couldn’t go back.
I was certain she would never go. Her family was located more than five hundred kilometers away in Lyon. She had me and no one else in Nantes, where we live. Not even all of our accounts were accessible to her. I had slept soundly, my mother placed like a queen in the guest chamber, with that haughty assurance.
Madame Colette, my mother, had always considered herself a martyr, a matriarch to whom all things were due. She insisted that my wife be completely obedient. And I kept saying to myself, “Taking care of your parents is normal.” You mean a wife can put up with a little?”
Marianne, however, was from a different area. During our studies, we had met in Nantes. My mother had opposed marriage as soon as we discussed it:
Her relatives live too far away! We will be ruined by each visit.
Despite the tears in her eyes, Marianne answered coolly:
– “Don’t worry. I will look after your family like your daughter-in-law. If required, I will only see my own once a year.
After a while, my mother reluctantly consented. She then always found a reason to prevent us from seeing my in-laws whenever I wanted to.
Tensions increased after our son was born. Every decision was imposed by my mother. I assumed that all she wanted was the best. Fatigued by the ongoing conflicts, Marianne refused. Even the tiniest things caused arguments to break out.
Then things in Rennes became worse one day. The infant’s fever was high. I accepted my mother’s accusation against Marianne. Marianne stayed up that night to tend to him while I slept.
All it took for me to lose control was a simple argument. I locked her in, but what I saw the following morning when I opened the door again literally scared me. I never thought this kind of thing would occur.
When I turned the doorknob the following morning, the storage room was deserted. Marianne was no longer there.
I was overcome with a whirling fear. My mother organized the family to locate her right away. We got the first lead from a neighbor:
Last night, I spotted her carrying a suitcase and crying. I even paid for a taxi to take her to the airport. She said that she was going to get a divorce since she was sick of being treated like a servant.
A shiver went through me.
Marianne then called. Normally soft, her voice was piercing:
— “I’m at my folks’ house. I’ll file in a few days. I have our son remain with me. Regarding the property, the law is on my side.
My mom blew up:
— “She is playing a bluff! She will return!”
However, I knew in my heart that she wouldn’t.
An official mail arrived three days later. Lyon Tribunal.
Reason: psychological abuse that I and my family have endured.
My mom became angry and flushed:
— “A divorced woman? How unfortunate! Let her go; she will return at some point.
Losing my son was the only thing on my mind.
The cousins weren’t holding back:
“You’ve shot yourself in the foot, Leo.”
— “Had your wife locked up? Are you aware of your actions?”
– “You know that everyone knows.”
I was consumed by shame.
I gave Marianne a call that night. She showed up with the child in her arms, sleeping. My heart became constricted.
— “Let me see him, Marianne. Please.
She gave me a non-shaking look:
— “Did you have him in mind when you locked me up? Did you have me on your mind? Leo, it’s over.
The days that followed were a never-ending tunnel. I was unable to sleep or work.
All I could see was what I had ruined.
My aunt Suzanne told me one morning:
It is rare for a woman who starts legal action to return. There are only two options left: either accept the breakup or provide a heartfelt apology.
It dawned on me then that divorce was not my biggest dread.
My son would never refer to me as “Dad” again.
Under the Breton sky that night, I made the choice I had never dared to make before:
must confront my mother and make an effort to recover what I had lost.
