In my family tradition, a woman's only chance of survival was to find a good husband to look after her. So when I was sent to London to pursue medical nursing, I came off the plane with one goal—to find a husband to look after me!
I had three requirements: He had to be well educated, he had to be trustworthy, and he had to adore me. Then one day, I found the poor chap. He was hardworking and a scholar from Cambridge, which to me meant he had lots of potential. I also felt I could trust him, and he did adore me. So we got married.
But there was a problem. Although my husband was the loveliest man anyone could ever wish for, he could never give me enough love. No matter what he did, it was never enough. I had such an inferiority complex that no love could fill it. So while my husband was always a good father and met his responsibilities to me, he finally just gave up on our marriage. It was dead.
