“That’s true,” I said. “You were faithful. You were predictable. But do you want to know why I’m really leaving you?”
He nodded slowly, still in disbelief. And so, I told him.
The Pain of Being Invisible
“I’m leaving because you did nothing,” I said, holding his gaze. “When I needed support, when I cried silently behind a closed door, when I asked for help without words—you did nothing.”
“When our children were small and I worked full-time, I came home to cook, clean, do laundry, and take care of them while you watched TV. You did nothing.”
“When I was bedridden with the flu and could barely lift my head, you didn’t even make me a cup of tea. You did nothing.”
“When my father died and I felt like my heart had been ripped out, you couldn’t even hold my hand. You did nothing.”
“When I battled depression during menopause and didn’t recognize myself in the mirror, you told me to ‘cheer up.’ You did nothing.”
His eyes flicked away, then back to mine. “You never told me.”
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