My husband never cheated on me, but years ago he quietly stopped being my husband.
Seventeen years wed been together. We met when we were youngproper fresh-faced, working hard, going out, making plans. In the early days, he was thoughtful, chatty, affectionate. Not perfect, but at least he was around in every sense. Then came the marriage, the responsibilities, the careers, the house, the bills. Everything changed, although I couldnt tell you the precise moment it flipped.
There was no dramatic betrayal. No mysterious text messages, or some woman popping up who kept accidentally calling him Jonathon instead of Dave. It was just one day I realised he didnt look at me the way he used to. Our conversations had shrivelled up into bare necessities: what to buy, what needs paying, what time we had to be somewhere. We stopped asking each other, How are you? If I tried to tell him something, hed nod along without even glancing up from his phone or the telly. If I kept quiet, he didnt seem to notice at all.
Our closeness dissolved without any grand argument. At first, I chalked it up to stress. Then to tiredness. Then, just habit. Weeks would drift by without so much as a cuddle. We slept in the same bed, but each clinging to our own edge. Id try to bridge the gapstart a conversation, suggest plans. He was always knackered, rushed off his feet at work, or hed mutter:
Well talk tomorrow.
Tomorrow, of course, never bothered showing up.
Eventually, I realisedhe wasnt my husband anymore, just my flatmate. We shared costs, daily routines, family commitments. At parties and birthdays, he seemed the ideal husbandcalm, hardworking, respectful. No one would ever guess what happened the moment our front door clicked shut. No one saw the silence. No one noticed the emotional vacancy.
I tried talking to him more times than I can count. Told him I felt lonely, that I missed him, that I needed more than a polite cohabitation. He never got cross. Never raised his voice. Always replied with a line or two:
Dont exaggerate.
Thats what long marriages are like.
Were alright, arent we?
That last bit is the most confusing. No blazing rows to justify leaving. No affairs. But no love either. I felt invisible in my own relationship.
Years drifted by. I stopped pushing. Stopped putting in any effort for him. Stopped sharing my news. I started keeping my thoughts to myself. I got used to not expecting anything. To living as though none of it really mattered. Sometimes, I wondered if I was just being greedy, wanting too much.
Now I knownot every form of leaving involves suitcases.
