“I know things haven’t been okay.”
I froze.
Immediately.
Because for years...
Years...
That man sitting in front of me had acted like nothing was wrong.
Like distance was normal.
Like silence was marriage.
Like loneliness was ordinary.
Yet here he was saying exactly what I had prayed for him to notice.
I looked at him carefully.
Waiting.
He rubbed his palms slowly.
Then spoke again.
“My sister talked to me.”
Immediately my chest tightened.
Ah.
So she really said something.
For one second fear entered me.
Did she tell him everything?
Every tear?
Every complaint?
Every lonely night?
But then he surprised me.
“She said you’ve been suffering quietly.”
Quietly.
That word entered my chest somehow.
Because yes.
Quiet suffering.
That had become my lifestyle.
He looked down.
Then said softly:
“I didn’t know.”
And honestly?
Something inside me became angry immediately.
I laughed.
Not happy laughter.
Painful laughter.
“You didn’t know?”
He looked up slowly.
I stood immediately.
Because suddenly years of emotions started rising.
“You didn’t know I cried?”
“You didn’t know I slept alone?”
“You didn’t know I begged for attention?”
“You didn’t know your children barely see you?”
My voice was shaking.
Not from anger alone.
From years of pain.
Years.
He remained silent.
And somehow his silence irritated me even more.
Because silence.
Always silence.
Every problem.
