My husband wants a child but I don’t, so now we’re getting a divorce.

As a little girl, I had always dreamed of becoming a mother

For hours I played with my dolls, gave them names and cared for them as if they were my real children. The desire to become a mother was deeply rooted in my heart. “When I grow up, I want at least three children,” I often told my mother, who always smiled lovingly.

Now, at thirty, my thoughts had completely changed

The dream of motherhood had been replaced by a longing for freedom and adventure. Children now seemed like an attack on my life, limiting and exhausting. The idea of spending my nights with crying babies and filling my days with endless worries no longer appealed to me. In recent years, my desire to explore the world had grown stronger and stronger. I wanted to travel, discover new cultures, and lose myself in unfamiliar cities. The thought of being stuck in a routine of diapers and school runs made me feel suffocated. “There is so much more to life than having children,” I often thought as I watched travel shows on television and dreamed of exotic destinations. My husband, Joe, had always wanted to become a father, however. This difference in our desires often led to heated arguments. “You always wanted children, Isa,” he reminded me regularly, his voice full of frustration, “What changed?”

I tried to stay calm and explain how my feelings had changed

“I know, Joe. But people change. My dreams have changed. I want to travel, see the world. Children just don’t fit into that.” Joe couldn’t understand how I felt. For him, the idea of starting a family was still one of the most important goals in life. “We always agreed that we would start a family,” he said, his eyes full of confusion and disappointment. “This isn’t fair.” I felt my frustration rising. “Life isn’t always fair, Joe. I can’t change my feelings. I can’t have children just because you want me to. That would be unfair to me and to them.”

The arguments became more and more frequent and intense.

Sometimes I thought about the promise I had made to myself as a little girl, but those thoughts were quickly overshadowed by my desire for independence. “How can I ever be a good mother if my heart is somewhere else?” I wondered. One evening the argument escalated. We were sitting at the table together, our meal untouched. Joe looked at me, his voice determined but fragile. “Isa, this isn’t working. We have to make a decision.” I swallowed, the reality of his words sinking into my thoughts. “What decision do you want to make?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Either we find a compromise, or we have to consider whether we still belong together,” he said, his words like a clap of thunder in my ears. I felt a knot in my stomach. “A compromise? What do you imagine that to be? Half a baby?” Joe rubbed his face, exhausted. “No, but maybe we can postpone it. Maybe your feelings will change again.” I shook my head, tears burning behind my eyes. “I don’t want to give you false hope, Joe. My feelings about children are very clear. I don’t want them. Not now, maybe never.”

That night I lay awake, my thoughts grinding on

“Do I have the right to deny Joe this happiness? But do I have the right to give up my own dreams for something I no longer want?” The answers didn’t come; doubts and questions raced through my mind. The next morning I felt exhausted. Joe and I avoided each other’s gaze during breakfast. The tension was almost tangible. “We need to talk,” he said eventually, softly but urgently. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yes, we do.” We sat together on the couch, the silence between us heavy and loaded with unspoken words. Joe began to speak softly. “I love you, Isa. But I don’t know if I can live without children.” Tears stung my eyes. “And I don’t know if I can give up my freedom for a life with children.”

We sat there, both lost in our own thoughts

“Maybe,” I began hesitantly, “maybe we’re no longer the people we were when we first met.” Joe looked at me, his eyes full of pain. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.” “And I still love you,” I said, my voice breaking. “But maybe that’s not enough.” The days that followed were filled with awkward silences and painful conversations. We tried to find some middle ground, but the gap between our desires was too wide. In the end, we realized we had to make the difficult decision. “I think we have to let each other go,” I said, my heart heavy with sorrow. He nodded, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is for the best.”

The decision was heartbreaking, but in a way I also felt a sense of relief.

We could both pursue our own dreams, without compromises that would make us unhappy. As I packed my bags and prepared for a new chapter in my life, I felt a mix of sadness and hope. So strange. It was time to follow my own path, to live my own adventures. And although saying goodbye to Joe was hard, I knew this was the right choice for both of us.

ISA