The house is solely mine; I’ve worked tirelessly for it.

When I met my husband, Thomas, I was in my thirties. I had previously been in relationships with men, but nothing lasting came of them. Between the ages of 26 and 30, I took a break and, as a single woman, devoted myself to work day and night. I toiled away to earn more money, saving up for a home, which I eventually purchased. I was immensely proud; throughout my life, I had relied solely on myself. Two years later, I met my husband.

To say we shared an incredible bond or a whirlwind romance would be misleading. Can you really talk about true love after thirty? It’s hard to say. I simply wanted a peaceful, comfortable life, preferably with a man who wouldn’t create additional troubles. In other words, Thomas seemed just like that—calm, reasonable, and cheerful. I welcomed him into my home, and he had no objections.

Moreover, not every man is fortunate enough to meet a woman who already owns a home. I was able to buy my dream place without taking out a mortgage or worrying about monthly payments.

We lived this way for seven years. We didn’t have children; I was very busy with work, and so was my husband. After a long day, we would come home exhausted and just go to bed. I won’t deny that I thought about having a child more than once, but I kept telling myself it could wait, especially since women can have children into their forties these days.

A week ago, while we were having breakfast at the table, my husband directly asked when I planned to officially register him as residing with me. Thomas wanted to deregister from his mother’s address to pay less for utilities. I didn’t like the idea; I didn’t want to register anyone at my address, and I made that clear to him. He could easily save up and buy his own flat, where he could have his own address. But most living with their mothers don’t consider that. We split our expenses evenly for the essentials, and we spent the rest of our salaries as we pleased.

In any case, after that conversation, he left for work, and that evening, he didn’t return home. The next morning, he texted me to say he had filed for divorce. I still can’t believe my husband could do this. I didn’t refuse to register him not because I didn’t trust him, but because life can be unpredictable, and there’s no guarantee we’ll be together forever. I have no intention of sharing my property with anyone; I’ve worked far too hard for this house, and it is mine alone. If Thomas was with me just because he expected a share in my possession, then he can go his own way.