Every time I see my daughter alone at home, I feel like we don’t belong here. Both my daughter and I are unhappy with the decision I made.

I went through an unhappy first marriage and divorced when my daughter was just one year old. I stayed single for seven years, raising her on my own.

During this time, I did receive offers from men wanting to date me, but I rejected them. I wasn’t ready for marriage again, and honestly, I didn’t feel any attraction to those men.

Financially, I was doing well, so life for my daughter and me was comfortable. I was not only able to support my daughter but also regularly sent money to my elderly parents, although they refused to accept much because they didn’t want to burden me with more responsibilities. However, I still felt it was my duty to support them as much as I could.

When I met Nam, my daughter was older, and I began thinking more about my own happiness. Nam’s youthful energy and enthusiasm rekindled something in me, and I felt rejuvenated by his attention. At that point, I was ready to remarry. Nam was three years younger than me, an only child, but very mature for his age. He had a stable job, loved me, and treated my daughter well. I saw no reason to turn down the happiness life was offering me.

When Nam proposed, I immediately agreed, dreaming of a bright future. But once we were married, life at my in-laws’ house quickly became a struggle.

I don’t know if it’s because I had been a single mother for so long, but I’ve grown used to living independently, and now, I feel like I regret remarrying.

My mother-in-law is very critical. She scrutinizes everything, from the dress I just bought to the shade of lipstick I wear. She disapproves of me spending money on things she deems unnecessary, and when I wear bold red lipstick, she says that married women should avoid such bright colors because it makes them look like “call girls.”

My father-in-law, on the other hand, has no health issues but refuses to exercise. He can stay in one spot all day, refusing to change clothes. I try to encourage him to go outside for a walk or chat with the neighbors to relax, but he snaps at me, saying I shouldn’t try to change the family’s routines.

I feel both upset and insulted. I tried to help, but my efforts are not only unappreciated but also criticized. I confided in my husband about this, but instead of comforting me, he dismissed my concerns, telling me not to interfere with things that didn’t concern me.

“Instead, you should focus on our own private matters,” Nam said, and it quickly became clear that by “our private matters,” he meant everything that involved him controlling me.

Nam became increasingly possessive. He told me where I could go, what I could do, and insisted I come straight home from work. He even dictated what clothes I should wear. Nam has become jealous and controlling in a way I never saw before when we were dating.

He forbids me from posting photos of myself on social media, doesn’t want me talking or texting anyone he doesn’t know—even if they’re just business clients. I no longer have the freedom to take my daughter out on weekends or meet up with friends without asking for his permission. When I do take pictures, I have to show them to him for approval before I can relax.

The worst part is, Nam demands that I disclose my income. He believes that doing so proves our mutual commitment to maintaining trust in our marriage. I even have to hide the money I send to my parents because Nam disapproves of it. In short, I feel suffocated.

I don’t want to live like this, and I’ve thought about divorce. But divorcing a second time feels like a huge failure. The first marriage ended because of inexperience and a lack of understanding, but now, at my age, I feel like failing again would be disastrous.

Every time I look at my daughter, lonely and isolated in the house, I feel like we don’t belong here. Neither she nor I are happy with this choice. My life was peaceful before, but now, I’ve trapped myself in a situation where I don’t know what to do anymore.