I thought marriage was about building a future together, but lately, it seems like we’ve been living in the past. My husband, a wonderful man in so many ways, has this lingering insecurity—a haunting shadow of jealousy. Not about any current affairs, but about men from my past.

It started subtly, small comments here and there. A passing mention of an ex-boyfriend or a story from my younger days would bring a brief flicker of discomfort across his face. But over time, that flicker grew into something larger, something more suffocating. He became obsessed with comparisons—constantly measuring himself against men I dated before I even met him. Even my ex-husband, Ben, who has been out of my life for years, becomes a regular point of reference.

“You must’ve been happier with him,” he’d say, almost in passing but with an edge I couldn’t ignore. “Why did you marry me if you had that kind of life before?”

It was as if the echoes of my past were somehow louder than our present. Every new accomplishment of mine seemed to trigger a wave of doubt in him. He’d ask me questions about things I barely remembered. “Was he taller than me? More successful? Did he treat you better?” It wasn’t even just one ex—he lumped them all together, like some ghostly parade of men I had left behind.

I’d reassure him, again and again, that none of them mattered now. That I chose him. That we were what mattered. But his retro-jealousy wasn’t easily soothed. He’d dig up old photos, scroll through ancient Facebook posts, and dissect my past with a magnifying glass, looking for clues to confirm his fears.

Sometimes, I felt trapped. I loved him, but I couldn’t keep defending a version of myself that no longer existed. The woman I was with those men had changed, evolved. I wasn’t looking back with regret or longing—I was just trying to move forward, with him.