She hasn’t spoken to me for a week… What should I do if she keeps pushing me away and hiding the truth?
Mia and I have been living together for three years. In all that time, I never doubted my feelings for her. I was sure she was the one I was willing to change plans, habits, and routines for. We rented a flat, settled in, discussed our future, even set aside any form of contraception because we both knew we were more than just a couple. We were a family. And I dreamt of the day when there would be three of us.
But this week, anxiety crept into my life. It all happened by accident. Mia asked me to fetch a lighter from her bag, and as usual, I reached inside without a second thought. I 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 them a slim folder with test results. Medical documents, with stamps, from a private clinic, dated recently.
When she returned to the room and saw it, something shut down inside her instantly. She turned pale, grabbed the papers as if they were a weapon I had drawn against her. She didn’t ask, didn’t explain. Just shut me out. And from that moment on, not a word. Not about doctors, nor 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 run from the conversation. She has that kind of personality—she clams up if pressured. And I don’t want quarrels. I want closeness. The kind that exists only between people who trust each other.
Could she be ill? Unsure how to tell me? Did the tests show something frightening? Or… could it be, on the contrary, that she’s pregnant and planned a surprise? Or, worse—might it not be my child? My mind is racing with guesses. I don’t recognize Mia’s looks, her steps. She used to share every little sneeze, laugh with me, act silly. Now she’s a stranger.
I’m not just her boyfriend. I’m the one who built plans with her, who wanted to be the father of her children. And if she’s hiding something—it hurts me because I’ve never deceived her. From the very start, I said, “Betray me, and I’ll leave. No shouting, no revenge. I’ll just disappear.”
I haven’t been eavesdropping, digging through phones, or interrogating. I believed. But now the silence is the worst torture. Each day is like walking on a minefield. She pretends everything is fine: makes coffee, folds laundry, smiles at the neighbour. But with me, there’s silence. Soft as a whisper and burning like acid.
Yesterday, I tried to talk to her. I started gently, with a joke, as I can. I asked if she fancied strolling along the riverbank in the evening like we used to. She replied, “I have a headache.” And once more withdrew into herself.
I fear making the wrong move. One awkward word, and I may lose her. But waiting is unbearable. At night, I lie next to her, listening to her breathing and praying she becomes the one I love again. That we become us again. Not me—and a wall between us.
Perhaps you’ll say—just ask her. But how? How do you tell the woman you love, “I feel you’re hiding something, and it frightens me”? How do you do it so that she doesn’t think I’m accusing her, but understands—I’m worried? That my heart trembles with fear that something might have happened to her.
I don’t want to be another man who pressures, shouts, or breaks things. I want to be her support. But how, if she won’t let me in? Tell me… what to do when there’s not distance, but silence between two people?
I love her. I love her painfully. And I want to believe this is simply fear. That soon she will hug me and say, “I was just confused.” But what if it’s something else? Will I be able to forgive? To forget? Or will it be the moment when “we” turns into “was”?
