“Shattered Promises”

Look — I know I wasn’t perfect.
No one is.
Marriage takes two to tango, and I admit that some of my habits may have contributed to the cracks. My independent nature — always trying to do things myself — the pride of a firstborn child, the struggle to adapt to a new world, a new culture, a new family… perhaps all of that played a part.

But the deep involvement of my mother-in-law in our marriage made things worse.
She once told me, “Divorce means you go your way, and I go mine”, seems it was so easy to say.
I suggested marriage counselling. I wanted to try. I wanted to save us.
But she shut it down completely.
“There’s no need for counselling,” she said. “You’re the problem. Not my son.”

I was stunned, but I still held on.

Then, one day, my husband told me he was going to a routine doctor’s appointment.
But that was a lie. He and his mother had gone to a divorce lawyer and filed for divorce — without even telling me.
I found the papers lying on my bed.
I was furious. Heartbroken. Betrayed.

At the same time, my Green Card is almost end of due, it needs to be extended. But because my husband was already filled for divorce, then the extending process may be too hard to do without any spousal support.

An immigration lawyer told me plainly:
“Without your husband’s sponsorship, the process will be long, expensive, and very difficult. You should consider going back to Indonesia.”

It was like watching everything I had fought so hard for disappear in a blink.

From September to November of 2017, the divorce process unfolded painfully.
My mother-in-law pushed me to leave their house quickly. On the divorce paper, they even threatened to sue me for spousal support if I didn’t move out fast.

I was devastated. I couldn’t sleep.
I had nightmares almost every night.
I was lost.

Finally, I broke down and shared everything with my friends at Walmart.
And, oh my God — they saved me.

One of them came to pick me up from my mother-in-law’s house.
She helped me move all my clothes and belongings into her home.
I stayed there for over a month and gave her $700 as a gesture of goodwill — money I received from the company after losing my housing.

Even while drowning in pain, I kept in contact with my dad back in Indonesia.
He was sick — struggling with a lung condition. And I needed to go back home. I needed family.

With no more support from my husband or his family, I turned to the local mosque. I explained my situation and asked for help to buy a ticket home.

The imam — a kind, compassionate soul — gave me $700 for my flight.
That generosity changed everything.

Eventually, my father-in-law found out what had happened.
He was heartbroken.
He told me he had seen it coming — that the bond between my husband and his mother was so overpowering, he couldn’t intervene, even if he wanted to.

In my final week in Indiana, I stayed with one of my husband’s former neighbours in Mishawaka — a woman named Mrs. R. She and her family were so kind.
She even accompanied me to the Superior Court to finalize my divorce and personally drove me to the airport when it was time to leave.

To be honest, without the kindness of my Walmart friends and the generosity of Mrs. R, I don’t know how I would have survived.

I thank them — deeply and forever.

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This story is a part of my personal journey. Please do not copy or reproduce any part of it without permission. Sharing is welcome with proper credit and a link to this blog