ONS data for England and Wales shows 26% of heterosexual divorces in 2025 followed 20 years or more of marriage
Most couples are aware of the dreaded “seven-year itch”, when the honeymoon period wears off and real life starts to bite.
Now official data has shown that couples in England and Wales are more likely to split after 20 years. According to Office for National Statistics figures, more than a quarter of all divorces between opposite-sex couples happened after 20 years or longer of marriage.
When we're feeling stressed about money, my instinct is to run the numbers and account for every financial what-if. He's a big-picture dreamer who sees what something could become and is more willing to say, "We'll figure it out."
His attitude has paid off before. He had the vision for our first home, which we bought for under $100,000 and recently sold for a decent profit after 13 years of renovations.
I know some of the best things we've done together wouldn't have happened without my husband's willingness to take a chance, but our differences have still caused some friction over the years.
Now that we're building a new home together, we're trying to balance my need to plan for the unknown with his belief that we'll find a way forward.
After 13 years, we took a risk and sold our home
We sold our home and bought land in a part of Maine we love.
Lisa Leslie
For 13 years, we'd lived in the same place. My husband had moved frequently as a child, and he wanted his two daughters to have a consistent place to call home.
Leaving this house behind was bittersweet, but my oldest stepdaughter had just bought her own house, and my younger one was heading off to college. We were ready for what came next.
We could have bought an existing house needing renovations. Instead, we found land in southern Maine that felt worth taking a risk on.
We've always loved the area. My family has an annual reunion there, where we spend a week at the beach. Our new property will hopefully give us that lifestyle without the summer crowds: It's more than 2 ½ acres with hiking trails next door, a nearby kayak and paddleboard launch, and the ocean just a short drive away.
We decided to go for it, and by the end of August, our old house was nearly empty. My younger stepdaughter left for college on a Wednesday, we moved the rest of our things to a rental on a Thursday, and officially sold the house that Friday.
Every estimate comes with an 'unless'
If excavators hit ledge, our costs could go up.
Lisa Leslie
In September, we began building our 1,500-square-foot house.
We're now paying $3,000 a month for a rental home — with a construction loan on top of that — and keeping track of a lot of numbers, from lumber and labor to excavation, plumbing, electrical, permits, and finishes.
My husband is doing most of the construction himself, which is what makes this project possible. If we had to pay for all of the labor, we probably couldn't afford to build right now.
However, that's not to say this hasn't been a very stressful time. We think we've accounted for everything, but every estimate has an asterisk: Unless lumber prices go up. Unless a contractor's price changes.
Unless we hit ledge — that is, solid bedrock beneath the soil that can be expensive to excavate. We might have to rethink the foundation or adjust the entire plan once we see what's underground.
I find that uncomfortable, but my husband doesn't.
We're leaving room to adjust
We've made some compromises, and we'll likely have to make more.
Lisa Leslie
My husband can picture what this property could become over time, and has big dreams for it.
He wanted a garage, a small cottage where our family could stay when they visit, a little more space, and nicer finishes in some areas. I kept bringing us back to what we could afford right now, and how much we wanted to keep in savings rather than put everything into the house.
After a lot of discussion, we decided to start small. We're building for the life we have today, while — at his request — leaving room for the one we might want tomorrow. The garage and cottage can wait. For now, we're focusing on getting the house right without stretching our budget too far.
That means staying flexible. For instance, my husband wants a finished basement, and I agreed, knowing this would give us the option to add a third bedroom down the road.
Though the cost difference between a basement and an unfinished crawl space isn't huge upfront, hitting ledge could put us thousands — or even tens of thousands — over budget.
We're willing to give the basement a shot, but if excavation costs start climbing, we may have to scale back to a crawl space and save the extra bedroom for another day.
We have a plan, but we know it might change once we get further into the build. I'll keep making the spreadsheets and asking for the numbers. He'll keep looking at the big picture and reminding me why we decided to do this.
This project, and my husband, have taught me that financial responsibility isn't necessarily about eliminating every risk, but knowing which risks are worth taking and staying open to changing course.
The couple has been together for four years without merging bank accounts.
Courtesy of Catherine Work
My fiancé and I have been together for four years and have never had a joint bank account.
We're transparent about our incomes, savings, and spending, and we've never had a fight about money.
We plan to pay for our wedding together, but we won't combine our finances after we get married.
My parents have a shared bank account and kept all their large purchases in both their names, so I thought sharing an account would be my financial destiny, too, if I ever got married. I didn't question it until recently. Now, my partner and I are getting married in just a few months, and we don't plan to combine our finances.
After four years together, we've never had any accounts or cards in both of our names. The closest we ever got to that was me using his credit card on a payment app when we were in Vietnam because mine didn't work. We both contribute to rent and household expenses. We pay back the other person our half of large purchases like flights and hotels, but we don't keep a tab of who owes who what (a nice change from my previous romantic relationships).
We've always been open about money
We were upfront about our income, debt (or lack thereof), and our mutual desire to live below our means from day one. After about three years of dating, we told each other how much we have in savings. We continue to be transparent about money and agree on the vast majority of each other's purchases — it helps that we're both very frugal.
We've built up trust over the years, and we'll continue to offer up personal financial information when we want to, knowing we have privacy. Neither of us has the login information for the other's bank, but we know we can always ask how much the other is earning or spending.
I thought the next step was a shared bank account with two credit cards — I assumed that's what love and commitment meant in an economic way. We kept asking ourselves how having both our names on one account would improve our lives, and we kept coming up blank. I also didn't want to waste time filling out paperwork or calling my bank for something I wasn't even interested in.
Keeping finances separate works for them.
Courtesy of Catherine Work
Our system works for us
We've lived together for almost four years and never had a fight about money. I have some financial anxiety, and I think having a shared account might actually make that worse. Since my fiancée makes more and pays for more, I regularly check in to see if he's still OK with that.
We approached our wedding, our first big purchase together, the same way we plan travel — with Excel, conversations, and making sure we stay under budget to cover unexpected costs. My fiancée bought our rings, and I bought our flights (we're getting married in Denmark). We both agreed to contribute the same amount of money to the wedding. Every payment we make for the big day goes into a spreadsheet, and at the end of all our purchases, if one of us has spent significantly more, the other will make the next large purchase.
Keeping our financial stressors low is also made easier by the fact that we won't plan to have kids or pets, or make any large purchases like a house or a car. Taking care of our parents is the only thing that might one day impact how we view our financial setup.
Another thing we agreed on from the start was that we wanted a pre-nup. Not sharing a bank account and having a pre-nup might not sound romantic (or like we can't share) to some, but if anyone were to look at our purchases, they'd immediately see we do spend our money on each other—just with separate accounts intact.
We haven't fought about money, and I'd like to keep it that way
I know I'm going into a marriage with dignity and respect. My future husband won't get a notification if I spend over $100, he won't be able to review a bank statement at the end of the month to see how many ice creams I've treated myself to, and we won't know how much the other person spent on a Christmas present. We'll never have to ask the other person if we can spend money or fear that our separate emergency funds will be depleted by the other.
My parents shared a bank account, and they often fought over money — one thing I promised myself I'd never do with my future spouse. Keeping our finances separate has worked so far, and I believe it'll continue to after we're married. We're both open to changing our minds one day, but until we have a good reason, we're very happy having separate accounts, together.
The author and her husband are spending a lot of time together after retiring and becoming empty nesters.
Courtesy of Susan Teresa
When my husband and I became empty nesters, he retired, too.
We used to have busy, individual lives, but now we are always together.
It took a lot of adjustment and honest conversations, but we're learning to navigate our new normal.
My husband and I have been married for 26 years, together for 32. That's more than half my life. I thought we'd experienced just about every version of our life together.
Then we became empty nesters. And then my husband retired.
We're now together 24/7 with nowhere else we need to be, and I realized that all these years, I'd never spent this much time with him.
Since the day he brought home his office belongings, I've caught myself thinking more than once, "Oh, you're still here?
Our home feels different now
Without school schedules or workdays organizing our lives, we have more unstructured time than we know what to do with. We navigate quiet hallways lined with unoccupied bedrooms.
We now split the responsibility for coddling our cat, who suffers from separation anxiety. We announce, "We're back," to the furniture and the cat, forgetting we left the house otherwise empty.
Our aching hearts inspired us to collaborate on a shared list of silver linings. We drafted wish lists, imagining what we could do now that we no longer had to accommodate five personalities with varying interests.
While we shared many ideas and dream list to-dos — things like traveling to Tuscany for cooking and painting retreats — we hadn't anticipated that our day-to-day would also require attention and planning.
The trouble with together-time all the time
Throughout our marriage, my husband and I had always noted how similar his parents and mine were. Connected at the hip, one parent was seldom without the other.
We, on the other hand, prided ourselves on allowing each other space. We'd spent decades insisting we weren't like them — valuing independence, traveling separately, and encouraging each other to pursue our interests.
Then, when my husband retired, we instantly became our parents. With freedom to do whatever we wanted, we fell into the rhythm our parents had modeled: together all day, every day.
Sometimes you really can have too much of a good thing.
I'm an introverted writer who loves spending time in my rich inner world. He's an extroverted adventurer always on the go — kayaking, swimming, walking on the beach, sometimes all three in the same day.
One day, the realization that we had to structure our time hit hard. I'd been sitting at my writing desk when my husband opened the door to ask what we were having for lunch.
Not wanting to be rude, I talked with him for a moment, then asked for a few minutes to finish my thought. He left. I stared at my screen, hands still on the keyboard. My thought was gone.
While we enjoy being together, we're learning the importance of agreeing on when to be together and when to allow each other space.
We're creating a new rhythm
Mornings offer the perfect opportunity to plan our day over coffee, breakfast, and a card game — usually rummy. Between playful attempts to end each other's winning streaks, we check the weather, compare plans, and decide what we'd like to do. Our morning ritual helps shape our lives now that external demands no longer impose structure on our time.
Unless we have plans with friends, mealtimes serve as natural meeting points. An unexpected result: his cooking is improving. I'm now enjoying gourmet meals in the middle of the day, and again at dinner. He gets to run around outdoors, while I get to lock myself in my attic feminine sanctuary and write.
In the evenings, we wind down together. After sharing a home-cooked meal, we enjoy a movie or simply each other's company.
We're embracing new opportunities to grow together
Now that we're home together most of the time, honest communication, negotiation, and compromise have become essential tools. After decades of countless demands on our time, we're now free to choose how we spend it.
We're not always perfect. Some days, I join him outdoors when I'd rather stay home. Sometimes he interrupts when I'm in the flow.
I'm learning to ask for space when I need it. He's learning that he can pursue his desire to travel — even without me.
After 32 years, I never imagined we'd have to learn how to spend time apart. Having all the time in the world together doesn't mean we have to spend every minute of it that way.
These days, staying happily married sometimes means knowing when to leave each other alone.
No doubt Ed Davey lovingly cares for his disabled son, says Joanna Gray. But he's not his "carer"; he's his father. It's a distinction Britain is fast losing sight of, to the detriment of us all.
A parliamentary inquiry by Alternative for Germany (AfD) lawmakers in the German state of Baden-Württemberg has brought to light official data showing that authorities have recorded 358 so-called child marriages since April 2012, with courts formally annulling only eight of them between 2018 and 2024.
The figures, released in early October 2026 in response to questions from state parliament members Nikolaos Boutakoglou and Emely Knorr, have drawn sharp attention to the prevalence of underage marriages — overwhelmingly involving people from migrant backgrounds — and the limited number of legal interventions.
Among the annulled cases was the 2020 marriage of an 11-year-old Iraqi girl to a 17-year-old Iraqi boy. In 2018, authorities annulled the marriage of a 14-year-old Afghan girl to a 30-year-old Afghan man. Two further annulments occurred in 2024: one involving a 16-year-old German girl and a 25-year-old Pakistani man, and another between a 16-year-old Syrian girl and a 27-year-old Syrian man, according to Welt newspaper.
The other annulled marriages involved individuals from Afghanistan, Romania, Moldova, Croatia, Serbia, and elsewhere. The state Interior Ministry stated that no court proceedings for annulment were pending at the time of its reply.
The remaining approximately 350 cases, documented by the government of Tübingen were closed under the category of “other resolutions.” Possible reasons cited by the government include the death of a partner, a decision to forgo annulment, or a subsequent marriage abroad.
These files still include striking examples of very young brides. In 2020, a 12-year-old Afghan girl was recorded as married to an 18-year-old man. In 2022, a 12-year-old Syrian girl was married to a 28-year-old Syrian man, and in 2023 a 12-year-old Afghan girl to a 21-year-old Afghan man. Multiple cases involving 13- and 14-year-old girls also appear in the data, and some reports note nine marriages in which the girl was under the age of 14 at the time of the union.
The demographic pattern is pronounced. Men from Syria accounted for 132 of the recorded cases, nearly 40 percent, followed by nationals of Bulgaria, Turkey, Afghanistan, and Iraq.
Child marriages between two German citizens made up only about 0.3 percent of the total. It is also unclear if these German citizens have a migration background, but given the pattern seen among foreigners, it is very probable.
Most of the 358 cases date from 2015 onward when the migration crisis truly began to grow in Germany. Boutakoglou highlighted the figures on social media, stating: “Almost without exception, every child marriage in Baden-Württemberg since 2017 can be traced back to mass migration! Nearly 40% of the child marriages were contracted between Syrians, while child marriages between two Germans account for only 0.3%.”
Fast ausnahmslos jede Kinderehe in Baden-Württemberg seit 2017 ist auf die Massenmigration zurückzuführen!
Das ergab meine Kleine Anfrage an die Landesregierung.
Fast 40 % der Kinderehen wurden zwischen Syrern geschlossen, Kinderehen unter zwei Deutschen machen nur 0,3 % aus! https://t.co/BeJ4wS3CJL
Emely Knorr, co-author of the government inquiry, wrote: “Child marriages are incompatible with our values. Children have a right to safety, education, and a self-determined future. That is why we need effective protection, early intervention, and decisive action against forced marriages.”
Germany raised the minimum marriage age to 18 in 2017 and generally does not recognize foreign marriages involving minors under certain conditions. The Tübingen authority deals exclusively with marriages contracted abroad that come to the attention of German registry offices.
The AfD inquiry was prompted in part by a Terre des Femmes leaflet warning of the risk of forced marriage during school holidays, but the state government said it had no financial involvement in the leaflet.
As Remix News has reported in the past, the issue is not just child marriages. Mass migration has brought new backward cultural norms to Europe that are completely incompatible with European human rights. For example, already in 2020, the German government admitted that there were at least 68,000 female genital mutilation victims in the country, rising 44 percent since 2017.
According to then German Minister for Family Affairs Franziska Giffey, mainly migration is to blame for the massive increase as many migrants coming to Germany commonly practice FGM in their own home countries. The practice, which is a human rights violation, involves the ritual cutting off some or all of the external female genitalia.
Germany is far from the only country dealing with this trend. Remix News reported this year that a female genital mutilation crisis had hit Paris, with over 140,000 such cases seen across the country.
This story moves chronologically through a marriage that begins to unravel—with fatal consequences. The victim is Dan Markel, the ex-husband of Wendi Adelson, but it’s the involvement of Wendi’s domineering mother, Donna, and her brother, Charlie, that leads to his tragic end. Katherine Laidlaw shows how there were far more than two people in this marriage—and far more than two lives destroyed when it fell apart.
Harvey was nominally the breadwinner, but Donna ruled the family. She had strict ideas about how her children should live, pushing them to earn advanced degrees and build prestigious careers. Rob became a doctor, and Charlie became a periodontist, eventually buying his father’s dental practice. Donna obsessed, too, about her children’s love lives, scrolling through online dating profiles and sending them lists of promising candidates. When Rob started seeing a woman who wasn’t Jewish, Donna interfered so aggressively that he eventually broke it off and briefly married someone else. (He has since married his original non-Jewish girlfriend.) At first, Donna was thrilled that her daughter was seeing Dan, then a lawyer at a boutique firm. She was less thrilled when he left to pursue academia, a path that she felt paid poorly and lacked cachet.
I used to be in a friend group chat called “Tinder Spinsters,” a group of girls offering support as we navigated the tumultuous dating world. Faith Hill’s chat is named “Lonely Hearts Club,” but are these groups becoming a thing of the past? Are people even still trying? In a 2025 YouGov poll, 69 percent of single respondents said they “rarely” or “never” go on dates. Nowadays, it’s complicated. On the positive side, a relationship is no longer seen as essential for a happy life—women’s interest in men, in particular, has dimmed as their financial independence has grown. But many people would still love to find a partner; they are just finding that modern romance requires a toll “paid in energy, in sanity, in cash, in hours—and not everyone can afford it.”
The hug was the last round, though, and then real life resumed. We mingled, but the intimacy had disappeared. One man told me that he had high emotional intelligence and could tell that I did too—then he suggested that we travel together someday, handed me his business card, and walked away. I gave a few people my phone number, including one man who sent me a picture of his face the very next morning and another who texted me so much (even after a polite rebuff) that I had to block him. One date with another guy resulted, but I wasn’t interested in a second. The perception of abundance had, once again, evaporated into nothing.
Next to rubble and pictures of the deceased, people in Gaza are still getting married. Athar Abu Samra reports on why couples are refusing to delay their nuptials. With so much already lost, and so much still under threat, families in Gaza are seizing moments of joy wherever they can. Marriage ceremonies are no longer what they once were—nor do they express hope in quite the same way—but they have become powerful testaments to resilience.
As I worked on this story, I came to understand that the war has not only transformed weddings in Gaza. It has transformed people’s relationship with time itself. Before the war, marriage followed a familiar sequence. People finished their education, found work, built or rented a home, saved enough money and only then began planning a wedding. Families often postponed marriages until those expectations had been met. But now no one has that luxury — the luxury of time.
I spoke with one mother who had lost several of her children during the war, yet hurried to arrange the marriage of her youngest son. She told me she had always dreamed, like any mother, of watching all of her children grow up, get married, and fill her home with grandchildren. The war had taken much of that dream away, but she was determined not to lose what remained.
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