My eight year old marriage

I grew up twelve years of my life seeing my mom do all the chores in the house on her own never asking my dad to lift even a finger to help her. She would prepare the meals, serve everybody then only eat, wash all the clothes and dirty linens, and make our house a beautiful home. May be it was owing to this early influence in my life that I grew this same ideals in my adult brain. Whenever I thought of a home, I thought of my finger prints in all the places to make it qualify for a home, from dirty linens to stocking the larder to ensuring everything good and clean in the household. So eventually when I got married, listening to my heart and not my parents, I saw my ideal home materializing. I fell in love by accident (that’s what I feel after being married to my husband for eight years), if it wasn’t an accident then how come I got so blind. I mean how I ever thought of making our marriage work in spite of our different cultures. But whatever it was that twenty year old girl, who said yes to a proposal that might not have been uttered for real at that time, realizes the depth of the relation that took me eight years to understand.
I almost worshipped the love in his heart and I followed in the footprints left behind by my mother though I didn’t have her blessings in that most beautiful decision of my life. I did things like my mother used to do in those days; I would get up early in the morning, start with the preparation of my home sweet home venture and conducted my duty of a perfect wife in every sense. But all I wanted in return was his faithfulness to our relation that I viewed above all relations in the world. Was that too huge a prize for him to pay in return of all the love I showered to him? I don’t know what response he’ll have for my query but I know I’ll never get the guts to set up this question in his face. Maybe it will take me another twenty years of my life to finally confront him with this question or perhaps it’ll be eroded and submerged under the falling debris of my breaking heart which forces itself to propel further to make this eight years old relation move towards eternity. Whatever it is, I know I am being buried under the avalanche of my misty eyes that brews the storm in my heart.