Our house is filled with silence these days. David and I barely talk, and when we do, it feels like we’re just checking off tasks rather than really communicating. I can’t remember the last time he noticed me or even made a small gesture of appreciation. I try to dress up, try to make the dinners he loves, but his responses are almost robotic, like he’s somewhere else entirely.

It’s hard to feel loved when you feel invisible. I miss the days when he’d surprise me with a sweet note or a random hug just because he wanted to. We used to laugh, talk for hours, and share everything with each other, but now it feels like we’re strangers in our own home. I’m starting to wonder if there’s something I did to make him pull away or if he’s dealing with something he won’t share.

Every night, I wonder if this is how things will always be—if our marriage will be a distant echo of what we once had. But I still love David, and I’m not ready to let go. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to bring back the love we once shared, but I can’t do it alone. I need him to meet me halfway, to see me, to make me feel like his wife again. Until then, I’m left hoping that maybe tomorrow will be the day he finally sees me again.