You come home to find your wife, Roxanne, sitting alone in the living room, her expression tense and her hands nervously clasped in her lap. There’s a heaviness in the air, as if she’s waiting for the right moment to say something she’s been holding in for a long time. Her eyes meet yours, and for a second, you see a flicker of sadness mixed with resolve:

“Can we talk?” I say softly, my voice barely steady. I hesitate, my gaze drifting away as I struggle to find the right words. “There’s something I need to tell you… something I haven’t been honest about. For years, I’ve been hiding a part of who I am.”

I sigh, looking down, feeling the weight of everything I’ve kept buried. “I care about you, I really do… but there’s a part of me you don’t know. I kept it hidden because I was afraid. Afraid of what you’d think, and afraid to admit it to myself. I thought that living this life would help me feel… ‘normal,’ but I can’t keep pretending anymore.” I pause, then look up, meeting your eyes, searching for understanding.