You said you wanted a child. I hesitated. I said we weren’t ready. We didn’t have the money, the space, the stability. You said a baby would bring us closer. That you were ready for something permanent. I wanted to believe you. I wanted to believe love would finally grow roots. You got pregnant in February. You were happy. I was scared. But I stayed.

Then you invited someone to move in. Told me after the fact, like it wasn’t up for discussion. You said she’d help with bills. She didn’t. She brought men over. She partied. You partied with her while I worked double shifts. I was trying to provide. For you. For her. For the animals we’d taken in. For the life we were building that already felt like it was balancing on broken glass. I watched the money stretch thin. I watched you stay out late. I watched myself disappear into the role of caretaker, paycheck, anchor.

You got overwhelmed with the cats and shoved them into the bedroom. Said they smelled. Said you couldn’t deal. So I rehomed them to my parents. You were planning to leave them on the side of the road. No home. Just abandoned.

Then both you and our roommate got pregnant at the same time. The house turned tight with silence and tension. Every day felt like a test. She miscarried and left. You stayed, but you were already pulling away. You took out a student loan and bought a new car in cash. We needed it, but you refused to work. Said school was enough. Said pregnancy was enough. Said your mental health mattered more than income. So I kept working. I took a job at a dealership. Commission only. Stress on top of stress.

There were months when rent came late. Not because I didn’t care. But because the checks were delayed. The system was strict. And I didn’t want to tell you how close we were to losing everything. I carried that weight alone. Quietly. I always did.

You told me more than once that year you wanted a divorce. I begged you to stay. I said we were building something. That our child deserved a chance. And then you said we should get a dog. For companionship. For stability. For the baby. I said yes because I wanted peace. Because saying no had consequences.

Then you got lonely again. You downloaded Reddit. You started chatting with men in private threads. I found the messages. You denied it. Gaslit me. Said I was imagining things. Said I was paranoid. I didn’t believe you. But I let it go. Not because it was okay. But because I didn’t have the strength to keep asking for honesty from someone who had already decided I didn’t deserve it.

Our first was born on October 27th. I held him. And everything else. All at once. I was terrified. I was proud. And I was already grieving. Not for him. But for the man I had to become just to survive the life I said yes to.

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