After 10 years of marriage, during which my husband’s mistreatment and infidelity were things I overlooked in my youth, the feelings of resentment began to build. In the early days of our relationship, I was filled with optimism. I believed in our love, in the dreams we shared, and in the idea that everything would work out. I thought I could forgive his mistakes, because love was supposed to conquer all, wasn’t it? But over the years, the weight of his betrayal and the emotional neglect started to wear me down. The first time I forgave him for cheating, I convinced myself it was a one-time mistake. When it happened again, I chose to look the other way, trying to convince myself it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But the truth was, the cracks in our marriage were growing, and I was just too afraid to face them.

By the time we had children and settled into our routine, the emotional distance between us felt permanent. My husband became more distant, indifferent to my needs, and the kindness and love I once sought from him were nowhere to be found. The affection that once came so easily seemed like a distant memory. Our conversations had turned into mere exchanges of daily chores and logistics. It was as if we were roommates, not lovers, not partners. And despite all the efforts I made to hold everything together—caring for our children, maintaining the home, being a supportive spouse—there was no acknowledgment, no appreciation, no connection.

The resentment crept in slowly at first. I’d brush off the little things—his tone, the way he dismissed my feelings, the way he’d find excuses for his actions. But as the years passed, it grew louder, and it was no longer something I could ignore. I began to feel invisible, as though I was just going through the motions of life, but no one really saw me. It was a deep ache, a longing for something I couldn’t articulate, but I knew it was there.

Eventually, I started fantasizing about other men. At first, it felt harmless—just daydreams that came and went. But over time, those fantasies grew more vivid. I imagined being with someone who truly saw me, someone who appreciated me for who I was and not just for what I did. I fantasized about someone who would touch me with care and respect, who would listen to me, who would be interested in my thoughts and feelings without judgment or indifference. I wanted to feel desired again, not just as a wife or a mother, but as a woman.

These fantasies became a refuge for me, a place where I could escape the loneliness that surrounded me in my marriage. But the more I fantasized, the more I realized how much I was missing—the emotional intimacy, the connection, the spark that once brought us together. I wanted that back, but it seemed impossible with my husband. I felt trapped in a marriage where the love had faded, and the resentment had taken root.

I never acted on my fantasies, but the thought of someone else, someone who could offer me the connection I craved, became more tempting as the years went on. It was a quiet rebellion—an unspoken wish for something more, something real. But deep down, I knew I was still holding on, hoping that somehow, he would see me again, that the man I married would return. Yet, with each passing day, the longing for something outside of my marriage grew stronger, and the bitterness inside me deepened. Would I ever find the emotional connection I so desperately sought, or had I already lost it forever?