The topic of what constitutes a lasting and prosperous marriage has been a subject of ongoing discussion. While effective communication is often considered a crucial factor, a Japanese couple defied expectations by maintaining a 20-year marriage without saying a word. The surprising rationale behind their silent union adds an intriguing twist to their story.
A Japanese husband took the “silent treatment” to a whole new level.
The silent treatment entails the refusal to participate in verbal communication when someone is trying to engage and elicit a response. It is not unusual to observe a pause in communication following an argument.
However, can you imagine the difficulty of being married to a spouse who persistently avoids communication? This was the situation for a couple from the Nara region in Japan. Otou Katayama and his wife Yumi faced a prolonged two-decade rough patch in their relationship.
For decades, the man refrained from speaking to his wife, even though they lived under the same roof.
Otou Katayama continued to reside with his children and wife. Despite Yumi Katayama’s attempts to initiate conversations with her husband, she consistently faced a dearth of genuine responses. Instead, Otou communicated approval or disapproval through non-verbal cues, relying on grunts and nods.
Surprisingly, the idea of seeking a divorce or separation never crossed the wife’s mind. The couple even extended their family by welcoming a third child, all while Otou Katayama maintained his silent demeanor towards his wife.
The reason behind Katayama’s silence is even more surprising.
Years later, the father and husband elucidated the reasons behind imposing a 20-year silent treatment on his wife. Katayama believed he was lacking the attention he desired from his wife, feeling that her care was predominantly focused on their children.
Initially, he merely sulked about the situation, but over time, this evolved into a sense of jealousy toward his kids and his wife, who exhibited deep involvement in the upbringing of their offspring—perhaps a level of involvement that exceeded Katayama’s preferences.
Thanks to a TV show, husband and wife finally exchanged words after 20 years.
After two decades of silence, the adult children of the Japanese couple decided to take matters into their own hands. They approached a TV show, seeking assistance in resolving the longstanding conflict between their parents. TV Hokkaido stepped in to help the children witness Katayama speaking to his wife for the first time.
The children confessed that they couldn’t recall ever hearing a conversation between their parents. TV Hokkaido orchestrated a meeting between Otou and Yumi at a park, the same location as their first date many years ago. Unbeknownst to the spouses, their children, along with the audience, observed the emotional moment unfolding before their eyes.
After some initial hesitation, Otou Katayama finally mustered the courage to speak a few words to his wife, Yumi. In that moment, the husband felt a heightened sense of remorse and understanding regarding the situation. Katayama conveyed to his wife that he was aware of the pain and hardship his prolonged silence had caused her. Despite his regret, he also expressed gratitude to Yumi for standing by him throughout two decades of his silent period, which ultimately came to an end on that day.
Undoubtedly, the relationship between Otou and Yumi is distinctive, much like that of the couple from our previous article who, despite the woman’s disability and the criticism they faced, embarked on the journey of starting a family and became parents.
I Invited My Friend Over, and His French-Speaking Skills Uncovered a Shocking Family Secret
When Chad’s French in-laws come over, he invites his friend, Nolan, along — to keep him company while Camille and her parents converse in French. While they have dinner, Chad discovers that Nolan understands French and reveals a family secret.
My wife, Camille, is as French as they come. We met at college when she was an exchange student studying International Politics, and we’ve been together ever since.
Camille’s parents live in France but visit us twice a year. I’ve learned a few odd words and phrases in French, but the language has yet to stick with me.
Other than mon chéri or various dishes from French cuisine, I don’t know much. Now, my in-laws are around, and it’s only been four days.
So, I decided to invite my friend, Nolan to have dinner and meet Camille’s parents. That way, I would also have someone to talk to.
Now imagine this:
We’re all sitting at the table, enjoying our bouillabaisse. Nolan and I talked about an audit at work, and Camille and her parents were happily chatting in French.
Everything seems fine, right? Wrong.
While mid-conversation about work, Nolan’s face goes as white as a ghost, and he nudges my arm firmly with his elbow.
“Go upstairs and check under your bed. Trust me,” he whispers urgently.
My first instinct was to laugh it off — it made no sense. But one look at his wide eyes told me that this wasn’t a joke.
“Excuse me,” I said to the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I reluctantly shuffled to my bedroom, feeling like I was stepping into some strange French noir film. I picked Camille’s silver silk robe off the floor and bent to look under the bed.
My heart was beating ridiculously fast like I was about to have a heart attack. But there it was — a lone black box.
I opened the box with shaky fingers, going through the contents quickly — I didn’t know if Camille would come looking for me. Then, toward the bottom of the box, was a series of photographs of Camille, wearing next to nothing.
My heart pounded harder and nausea rose through my body.
What have I just stumbled upon? I asked myself.
As I was about to put everything back, the world turned black.
It must have been hours later when I woke up in a hospital ward, surrounded by empty beds. The harsh light glared down on me as my eyes adjusted to the change of venue and the sharp smells of detergent.
“Woah,” I mumbled, my throat raw.
That’s when I noticed that Nolan was sitting next to me, his head propped up by his arm.
“You passed out in your bedroom, mate,” he said. “What happened?”
Then, it all came back to me. Camille’s box under the bed, my insatiable curiosity mixed with an overactive heart rate brought on by a panic attack.
But I did get a glimpse into the box. It turned out to be my own Pandora’s Box. There were incriminating photos of Camille, love letters to a man named Benoit, and little trinkets, all piecing together a tale of betrayal.
It turns out that Camille was hiding an affair.
“You were taking forever,” Nolan said. “So, I followed you, and I found you passed out on the floor. I closed the box and pushed it back under before calling Camille and an ambulance.”
“How did you know?” I asked, thinking about the warning Nolan had given me.
“I did French throughout high school, Chad,” he said. “While talking, I understood that Camille said something about hiding everything under the bed. I’m sorry.”
“Where’s Camille?” I asked.
“At the cafeteria, she said she needed to stretch her legs. So, she went to get coffee.”
I put my head back and thought of the letters that my wife had been receiving.
I got discharged the following day, and Nolan drove me home. Camille fussed over me, making me a healthy juice and ensuromg that I was okay. But of course I wasn’t. Nothing was okay.
That afternoon, I had to set the record straight. I couldn’t look at Camille and feel what I had felt before.
“I can’t continue in this marriage,” I said when Camille brought me a juice.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I know about the black box under the bed.”
Camille turned pale.
“I can explain,” she said, jumping up.
“I saw more than enough, Cami. I don’t think your version of an explanation would change that.”
“Just listen,” she said. “My parents set up the meeting with Benoit. They wanted me to be with someone French — to have completely French children.”
I looked at her, wondering how she expected me to sit there and listen to more.
“So, after they arranged it,” she continued. “I met him. And we hit it off, and our friendship grew.”
“I want a divorce. Immediately,” I said, not wanting to listen to anything else.
Camille made a fuss, hurling accusations of me snooping and invading her privacy. She threatened not to sign the divorce papers when they came, but I told her that there was just no love left in our marriage after what she had done.
“Give me another chance,” she pleaded.
But I didn’t want any of it.
The divorce process lasted a few months, and Camille contested everything — from the house to spousal maintenance — and she even wanted me to pay for her tickets to France every year. I refused everything except the house. I didn’t want to be there anymore anyway. I’m living in a bachelor pad closer to my office now.
I’m heartbroken, sure. But at least now, I’m not living a lie. And that’s liberating.
I’m also grateful to Nolan for telling me the truth and staying by my side through the divorce.
Now, I wonder if Camille will end up with Benoit or not — I know her parents will love it if she does.
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