She hasn’t said a word for a week… What should I do if she’s pushing me away and hiding the truth?
Emily and I have been living together for three years now. In all this time, I’ve never once doubted my feelings for her. I was certain she was the one for whom I’d change my plans, character, and lifestyle. We rented a flat, settled in, talked about the future, and even stopped using contraception because we both knew: we were more than just a couple. We were family. I dreamt that one day there would be three of us.
But this week, anxiety crept into my life. It all happened by accident. Emily asked me to fetch a lighter from her bag, and without thinking, I reached inside. I’d never intruded on her personal space—neither her bag nor her phone. Respect is the foundation of love. But at that moment, the bag slipped from my hands, spilling its contents on the floor, among which was a thin folder containing test results—medical documents, stamped, with a private clinic’s logo and a recent date.
When she stepped back into the room and saw them, something instantly changed in her. She turned pale, grabbed the papers as if they were a weapon I was using against her. She didn’t ask, didn’t explain. She just became withdrawn. And since that moment—not a word. Not about doctors or anything else. A week passed in oppressive silence.
I’m afraid to ask questions. Not because I don’t want the truth, but because she might flare up and run from the conversation. That’s her way—if you pressure her, she closes up like a clam. And I don’t want fights. I want closeness. The real kind, the kind that only exists when people truly trust each other.
Could she be ill? And not know how to tell me? Perhaps the tests revealed something serious? Or… maybe she’s pregnant and wanted to surprise me? Or worse—could the child not be mine? My mind is overwhelmed with guesses. I don’t recognize Emily’s glances, her footsteps. She used to share every little sneeze, laugh with me, and be playful. Now she feels like a stranger.
I’m not just her boyfriend. I’m the one who’s made plans with her, who wants to be the father of her children. And if she’s hiding something, it hurts me because I’ve never deceived her. From the beginning, I said, “Betray me, and I’ll leave. No shouting, no revenge. I’ll just disappear.”
I never eavesdropped on conversations, rummaged through phones, or interrogated. I trusted. But now silence is the worst torture. Every day feels like walking through a minefield. She acts like everything is fine: making coffee, folding laundry, smiling at the neighbour. But with me—silence. Light as a whisper, yet as searing as acid.
Yesterday, I tried to talk to her. I started gently, with a joke, as I know how. I asked if she’d like to walk along the riverside like we used to. She replied, “I have a headache,” and withdrew into herself again.
I’m terrified of making the wrong move. One awkward word, and I might lose her. But I can’t wait much longer. I lie awake at night, listen to her breathing, and pray she becomes the person I love again. That we become us, not me—and a wall between us.
Perhaps you’d say, “Just ask.” But how? How do you tell the woman you love, “I feel like you’re hiding something, and I’m scared”? How to do it in a way that she doesn’t think I’m accusing her, but understands that I’m worried? That my heart trembles with fear that something happened to her.
I don’t want to be just another man who pressures, shouts, and breaks things. I want to be her support. But how can I, if she won’t let me in? Please… what do you do when the distance between two people isn’t measured in miles, but in silence?
I love her. I love her to the point of pain. And I want to believe that it’s just fear. That soon she’ll hug me and say, “I was just confused.” But if it’s something else? Can I forgive? Will I forget? Or will this be the moment when “we” becomes “used to be”?
