My husband has been difficult to live with for the past year. I had no physical drive, which I later learned is very common while breastfeeding. He pressed me constantly for intimacy, becoming desperate and anxious. I didn’t recognize him anymore—he seemed like a stranger.
Then last week, I found him lying on the floor with a note beside him. In it, he confessed that he had been unfaithful and that the guilt was too heavy to bear. I got him to the hospital in time, and they treated him. He survived and will make a full recovery.
I couldn’t bring myself to see him for a week. My mother finally convinced me to go. When I did, I immediately noticed something different. He seemed like the man I had loved before I gave birth—the calm, steady man I once knew.
He was composed, even smiling faintly. He apologized for both the betrayal and his attempt to end his life. When he realized I didn’t want to dwell on it, he shifted the conversation, and for the first time in months, things felt almost normal.
He returned home with me. There was an eerie calmness about him, something even our dogs sensed. They kept running back and forth between us, as if they knew something had changed.
One evening, I lost my temper and let everything spill out. He didn’t argue or defend himself. He listened quietly, engaging with me, and I couldn’t stop talking.
When I finally broke down, he hugged me. In that moment, I felt small, vulnerable, and exposed.
Now, I can hardly look him in the eye. The weight of everything hangs between us.
Our families are already discussing divorce and the future. Meanwhile, I just want to bury my head and pretend everything will somehow be alright.
