We were sweetly in love, inseparable as glue and lacquer. Seeing other couples fight, argue, and throw things yet still manage to stay together seemed unbelievable to us—those noisy days felt worlds away.
The second year of marriage
We started arguing. During one fight, I smashed an exquisite, expensive clock, cried for forty minutes, then packed my bags and returned to my parents' home. I thought, Divorce! I absolutely refuse to live with someone who argues with me.Every day after work, he would rush to my office to pick me up, apologizing earnestly and begging me to come home with him. I would give him the cold shoulder, refusing to acknowledge him or return home. It wasn't until half a month later that he arrived with a huge bouquet of flowers. He accompanied me to the supermarket, and I spent ten minutes listing all his faults before ending with a warning: "If you ever do this again, I will never forgive you." He remained silent, indicating his agreement.
Third Year of Marriage
During an argument, I smashed several cheap glass cups, cried for 30 minutes, then stayed at a friend's place for a few days. He called me several times, and I returned home. He cleaned up the broken glass shards from the floor, but I still ignored him. At mealtime, I hid in the bedroom and refused to come out. He knocked on the door outside, saying, "The chicken stew with mushrooms is ready. Come out and eat."He knocked twice before I emerged to eat with him. He admitted his mistakes, promised to change, and asked for my forgiveness. I remained silent.
Fourth Year of Marriage During an argument, I smashed a potted spider plant I’d nurtured myself, cried for twenty minutes, then wandered the neighborhood all day. Returning home, I found him sitting on the couch watching TV as if nothing had happened, the living room still in disarray.Fragments of the plant and pot were scattered everywhere. I cleaned it up myself. He made dinner and sat down to eat alone. I served myself a bowl of rice, sat across from him, and argued about who was right and who was wrong. He remained noncommittal.
Fifth Year of Marriage
During an argument, I threw a cushion from the sofa onto the floor, cried for ten minutes, then stormed from the living room to the bedroom.Dinner went uncooked. He stood on the balcony smoking. I came out of the bedroom on my own, picked up the cushion, made a meal of my favorite dishes, ate, and went to bed. He dined out at a restaurant. When he returned, I initiated conversation and reasoned with him. He retorted fiercely: "I did nothing wrong!"
Sixth Year of Marriage
During an argument, I didn't throw anything. I cried for only five minutes, staying in the living room and merely shifting positions. He stayed at a friend's house for several days. I called him, begging him to come home. I proactively made his favorite dinner, served him, told him I was wrong and willing to change, and asked if he could forgive me. He remained silent.
Seventh Year of Marriage
During arguments, I didn't cry. If we fought in the morning, I apologized by afternoon and voluntarily watched sports with him. He listed my faults for ten minutes, ending with a warning: "If you ever do this again, I won't forgive you!" I remained silent, showing agreement.