There comes a moment in life when you realize that the person you trusted the most, the one you thought would always be there for you, is actually indifferent to your suffering. That realization is like a sharp knife cutting deep into your soul, leaving a wound that won’t heal.
Every time I get sick, my wife, Emily, acts like nothing is happening. She doesn’t ask how I feel, doesn’t check if I need medicine, doesn’t bring me tea or even a glass of water. If I don’t get up and take care of myself, I’ll just lie there, burning with fever, dehydrated, exhausted. And she? She continues scrolling through her phone, watching TV, barely acknowledging my existence.
I was raised differently. In my family, when someone got sick, we took care of them. My mother always made sure my father had soup, tea, warm blankets. She’d call the doctor, bring him medicine, check on him throughout the night. That’s how I thought love worked. I thought when you build a family, you’re supposed to take care of each other. But apparently, I was wrong.
Because when Emily is sick, I’m the exact opposite of her. I make sure she has everything she needs—I cook for her, bring her medicine, make sure she’s comfortable. I even wake up in the middle of the night if she needs something. She knows she can rely on me.
But when I fall ill, the only question she asks is whether I’m going to work tomorrow. If I say no, she shrugs and goes about her day. She doesn’t check if we have food in the house, if there are any medicines left, if I need anything at all. If I try to bring it up, she just says:
— “You can order delivery.”
Great. Wonderful support. And yet, when she’s sick, she never orders anything for herself. No, she asks me to do it.
The breaking point came one day when I had a terrible fever. My head was throbbing, my whole body felt like it was being crushed. After lying in bed for hours, I forced myself up, dizzy and weak, just to find something to eat.
When I reached the kitchen, I stopped. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. There was no food left. If I wanted to eat, I had to first wash a plate.
Then Emily walked in, placed another dirty cup in the sink, glanced at me, and smirked:
— “Oh, feeling better already? You’re up and about.”
I said nothing. I just grabbed a glass of water and went back to bed. But something inside me snapped.
I tried talking to her, explaining that what she was doing was wrong. That when you love someone, you don’t abandon them when they’re vulnerable. But every time, she brushed me off.
— “So what? Do you expect me to run around taking care of you just because you’re sick?” she said, irritated.
I held back my anger, tried to reason with her, but she refused to listen.
That’s when I made a decision. The next time she got sick, I wouldn’t take care of her either. No tea, no medicine, no help. I would let her see what it felt like.
And when it finally happened, when she came down with a fever, I stuck to my plan. She lay there, groaning, calling out to me.
— “I feel awful… I can’t even get up… Can you bring me some water?”
I looked at her and simply replied:
— “There’s water in the kitchen. If you want some, go get it.”
She was stunned. She wasn’t used to this. She kept sighing loudly, moaning, shifting in bed dramatically. But I didn’t move.
I thought she would understand. I thought she’d realize how unfair she had been to me. But I was wrong.
Because the next time I got sick, she went back to her usual ways. She ignored me, just like before. And when I finally confronted her, she just crossed her arms and said:
— “Well, last time I was sick, you didn’t take care of me. So why should I take care of you now?”
I stared at her in disbelief.
— “Are you serious? I took care of you for years. And you only remember the one time I didn’t?”
I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me, but this time, it wasn’t just from the fever. It was from the realization that she would never change.
And in that moment, I knew.
I had chosen the wrong person.
And the worst part? One day, I might grow old, too weak to care for myself, needing only a simple glass of water. And when that day comes, I know now that no one will bring it to me.
