Mark and I barely talk anymore. Our conversations feel forced, as if we’re just checking off a list of daily necessities—Did you pay the bill? What’s for dinner? How was your day?—but the words feel empty, like we’re just saying them out of habit rather than connection. I can’t remember the last time he truly looked at me, not just in passing but with the kind of gaze that makes you feel cherished, wanted.

I still make an effort—wearing his favorite dress, styling my hair the way he used to love, even cooking the meals he once raved about. But nothing seems to reach him. He nods, distracted, or gives me a quick “thanks” before returning to his phone, his laptop, his thoughts—anywhere but me. It’s like I’m just there, existing beside him, but never really seen.

I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering when things changed. Was it gradual, slipping through the cracks so slowly that I didn’t notice until the silence between us became deafening? Or was there a single moment when he stopped caring and I just missed it?

I miss being held without asking for it. I miss spontaneous laughter, deep conversations, and the way his eyes used to light up when I walked into the room. More than anything, I miss feeling like I matter to him.

Because right now, I feel invisible in my own marriage. And I don’t know how much longer I can take it.