Lately, I’ve been struggling in ways I never thought I would. My husband, James, has become so withdrawn, and it feels like the connection we once had is slipping through my fingers. It’s not that there’s been a grand fight or a specific moment when everything fell apart—it’s more of a gradual fading, like the slow erosion of something beautiful that I can’t quite hold onto.

James used to be so attentive, noticing the little things I did to show I cared. He’d always compliment me when I took the time to dress up or cook his favorite meal. There was a constant exchange of smiles, kind words, and affectionate gestures that made me feel seen, valued, and loved. But now, it’s as if I’m invisible to him. I’ve caught myself trying to get his attention in little ways—adjusting my appearance, making an effort with conversations—but it’s like I’m speaking to a wall.

The silence between us is the hardest part. It isn’t the lack of words, but the lack of warmth in the words that are spoken. When we do talk, it’s polite, surface-level chatter about work or the kids, but there’s no depth, no spark. No more late-night conversations about our dreams or future plans, no more laughter echoing through the house. It feels like we’re two strangers living under the same roof, existing side by side, but not really connecting.

Every day feels like a little bit more of us drifts apart, and I’m left wondering where it all went wrong. I keep thinking back to the moments when everything felt right—the late-night talks, the shared looks, the feeling of being a team. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when the shift occurred, but one thing is clear: the love and appreciation we once shared feels like it’s becoming a distant memory.

I can’t help but long for that closeness again. I miss the way he would reach for my hand without hesitation, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. I miss the connection, the easy comfort that came with being deeply understood by the person you love most.

But now, I feel like I’m losing him. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. And it’s terrifying. I’ve tried to talk to him, to ask if there’s something wrong, but he brushes it off, saying he’s just tired or stressed. I can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but it doesn’t explain the distance between us.

I’m not sure what the future holds, but I can’t keep pretending everything is fine. I don’t want to just exist in this marriage; I want to feel alive in it again. I want to feel like we’re a team, like we’re still the couple who once couldn’t imagine life without each other. But for now, all I can do is hold onto the hope that the love we had isn’t truly gone—that maybe, just maybe, there’s a way back to each other.