My husband never betrayed me, yet years ago he stopped being my husband.
Seventeen years we shared together. We met while we were young, making our way in the world, working, going out, dreaming of all we would do. In those early days, he was attentive, chatty, full of warmth. Not perfect, but present. Then, marriage came, and with it, responsibilities. Days filled with work, the upkeep of our home, paying the gas bill and keeping the pantry full. Everything changed, though I couldnt put a finger on when, exactly.
There was no great act of betrayal. No letters found by chance, no woman suddenly appearing out of nowhere. It was simply that one day, I noticed he didnt look at me as he once had. Our conversations dwindled to the essentials: what we needed from the shop, which bills mustnt be late, what time we ought to leave the house in the morning. We no longer asked after each others wellbeing. Whenever I spoke, he would nod along, not taking his eyes off the newspaper or the flickering television. If I said nothing, he never asked.
Our closeness slipped away without words. At first, I assumed it was the strain of his job. Then, I blamed tiredness. Eventually, it just became the way things were. Sometimes entire weeks would pass with nothing shared between us. We lay side by side in the bed, but each kept to our own. I tried to draw nearer, sought out conversation, made little suggestions for days out together. He would always be too tired, too buried in work, or hed simply say,
We can talk tomorrow.
But that tomorrow never came.
Somewhere along the line, it dawned on me that hed become no more than a housemate. We split expenses, shared the routines, fulfilled family obligations together. At gatherings, he gave every impression of being the ideal husbandsteady, industrious, courteous. No one would have guessed what went on behind our closed door. No one saw the silence. No one noticed his absence, even as he stood in the very same room.
Time and again, I tried to speak to him. Told him I felt lonely. That I missed us. That I longed for something more than just getting by together. He never became angry. Never raised his voice. Only ever replied in clipped phrases,
Dont make a fuss.
This is just what happens when youve been married a long while.
Were fine, arent we?
That was the hardest part to understand. There werent any blazing rows to justify my leaving. There was no infidelity. But there was no love, either. I was invisible in my own marriage.
Years slipped past. I gave up trying. Gave up making an effort for him. I stopped sharing. I began to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself, grew used to expecting nothing, to living as though none of it mattered any longer. Sometimes, I wondered whether the fault was mine, in wanting something too much.
Now, looking back, I see not every parting comes in a suitcase.
