I married you when I was still figuring myself out. You were stable, patient, kind — everything I thought I needed. But I was cold. I didn’t know how to love the right way. I pushed you away, slowly. I thought I needed more — more excitement, more attention. So I looked for it in the wrong places.

I cheated. And I lied to myself, saying you’d never find out. But you did.

And instead of yelling… you got quiet. You stopped looking at me the same way. No more good mornings. No more checking in. You still existed beside me, but it was like your heart had already left.

That silence broke me more than any fight could have.

I thought I was missing something. But what I really missed… was you. The version of you that trusted me. That held my hand when I didn’t deserve it.

Now, I see everything I took for granted. I see you. And I don’t know if it’s too late to fix it.

"Can we talk? Not as husband and wife… just as two people who once loved each other. Maybe still do?"