I hate my children and my wife.

Today marks a turning point in my life’s journey. With a heavy heart but a resolute spirit, I’ve made the difficult decision to part ways with my wife and step away from the role of fatherhood for reasons that go beyond the surface. I stand at the crossroads of an experience that has led me to this moment, seeking liberation from being a mere provider treated like a transaction.

In my 39 years on this Earth, I’ve been a husband and father to two remarkable kids – a 20-year-old son and a 17-year-old daughter. My path took an unexpected twist when I became a father at a young age, transforming my trajectory into one defined by responsibility and privilege. I don’t shy away from admitting that my children have enjoyed a life of comfort, perhaps to their detriment. Amidst my demanding professional life, I prioritized their upbringing, celebrating their victories on the field and beyond. Yet, the echo of gratitude has been conspicuously absent, replaced by an unrelenting expectation for material provision.

A poignant memory lingers from a recent birthday – an occasion I marked by gifting my eldest son a brand new car, a symbol of my love and dedication. As the days passed, the silence of gratitude weighed heavier than the car itself. It was his mother, a bystander to the gift, who received his thanks, despite her absence in its acquisition. I yearned for connection, urging for a bridge to be built through therapy, only to be met with dismissal and an assertion of self-sufficiency.

The threads of my patience were already fraying when a friend’s tragic suicide illuminated the darkness of betrayal. Learning of his wife’s affair with his own brother was a blow that shattered the foundations of trust. In stark contrast, my wife’s reaction was an echoing laughter shared with her confidantes. Her revelation of manipulating me into a life I unknowingly played a part in was a sobering realization of my naivety.

Amidst the rubble of these revelations, I chose a path of departure, retreating from the life I had painstakingly curated. The silence that followed was revealing – only my wife reached out while my children remained distant, seemingly unaffected by my absence. Their disengagement affirmed the choice I had made, the choice to break free from the transactional role that had shackled my spirit.

So here I stand, with a prenup as my shield against a bitter divorce, unburdening myself from the chains of pretense. My words, perhaps tinged with frustration, are an apology for this venting. It’s a declaration that enough is indeed enough. The chapter ahead is uncertain, but within its pages lies the promise of self-discovery and the pursuit of a life where worth is defined by more than what’s in the wallet.