She hasn’t spoken in a week… What am I to do if she keeps pushing me away and hiding the truth?
Abigail and I have been living together for three years. During that time, I never once doubted my feelings for her. I was certain she was the one for whom I was ready to change my plans, habits, and lifestyle. We rented a flat, settled in, discussed our future, and even stopped using birth control because we both realized we were more than just a couple. We were a family. I dreamed of the day when there would be three of us.
But this week, unease crept into my life. It happened by chance. Abigail asked me to grab a lighter from her bag, and as I usually did, I reached inside without a second thought. I’d never invaded her personal space—never rummaged through her bag or checked her phone. Respect is the foundation of love. However, this time the bag slipped from my hands, its contents scattered across the floor, and among them was a slim folder with medical test results. Official papers, with stamps from a private clinic, and a recent date.
When she returned to the room and saw this, something inside her shut down instantly. She turned pale, snatched the documents as though they were weapons I had drawn against her. She neither questioned nor explained. She simply withdrew. And since that moment—not a word. Not about doctors, not about what had happened. A week has passed in oppressive silence.
I’m afraid to ask questions. Not because I don’t want to know the truth, but because she might flare up and avoid the conversation altogether. That’s her nature—press too hard, and she shuts tight, like a clam. And I don’t want arguments. I seek closeness. The kind that’s genuine and exists only between people who trust each other.
Maybe she’s ill and doesn’t know how to tell me? Perhaps the tests revealed something dreadful? Or… on the contrary, maybe she’s pregnant and wanted it to be a surprise? Or worse—is it not my child? My mind is a whirl of speculation. I don’t recognize Abigail’s expressions or her mannerisms. She used to share every little detail, laugh with me and joke around. Now, she feels like a stranger.
I’m not just her boyfriend. I’m the one who made plans with her, who wanted to be the father of her children. If she’s hiding something, it hurts because I’ve never deceived her. From the start, I told her: “Betray me, and I’ll leave. No shouting, no revenge. I’ll simply vanish.”
I haven’t eavesdropped on conversations, rifled through phones, or conducted interrogations. I believed in her. But now, the silence is the worst form of torture. Every day is like navigating a minefield. She pretends everything’s fine: makes coffee, folds laundry, smiles at the neighbor. But next to me—there’s silence. Gentle as a whisper, and burning like acid.
Yesterday, I attempted to speak with her. I approached it lightly, with humor, as was my way. I asked if she’d like to stroll along the riverside in the evening, like we used to. She replied, “I’ve got a headache,” and withdrew into herself again.
I’m afraid of misstepping. One awkward word, and I could lose her. But waiting is becoming unbearable. At night, I lie next to her, listening to her breathe and praying she’ll become the woman I love once more. For us to be us, and not me—and a wall between us.
You might suggest—just ask. But how? How do I tell the woman I love, “I feel like you’re hiding something, and it frightens me”? How do I say it in a way that she doesn’t feel accused, but understands I’m concerned? That my heart trembles with fear that something has happened to her.
I don’t want to be another man who pressures, shouts, or breaks. I want to be her support. But how, when she won’t let me in? Tell me… what do you do when silence, not distance, stands between two people?
I love her. I love her so much it hurts. And I want to believe it’s simply fear. That soon she’ll embrace me and say, “I just panicked.” But if it’s something else? Can I forgive? Can I forget? Or will it be the moment when “we” becomes “was”?”
