Ethan doesn’t see me anymore. I could dress up, change my hair, or pour my heart out, and it wouldn’t make a difference. The effort I put into looking good, into trying to spark some kind of reaction, falls flat. He doesn’t notice the new dress, the smile that’s just a little brighter, the way I’ve tried to rekindle the spark that once lit up our marriage.

I’ve stopped counting the days since he last truly looked at me. Not just glanced at me in passing, but really saw me—noticed the way I’ve changed, the way I’ve tried to hold us together even when it feels like we’re falling apart. I’ve poured so much of myself into trying to get his attention, to make him remember what we once had, but it’s like I’m invisible to him.

Sometimes, I wonder when it happened. Was it gradual? Did I fade so quietly that neither of us noticed until I was just a shadow of who I used to be? Or was there one moment, one conversation, where he stopped caring and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late?

I feel invisible in my own marriage. I don’t know how to get back to the woman I used to be, the one who was loved and seen. But the hardest part isn’t not being noticed—it’s realizing that the one person who used to make me feel truly seen is the very person who no longer does.