Page 36 of The Weight of Her Silence
But somewhere along the way, we got lost.
Or maybe just you did.
I’ve spent too long wondering what I did wrong. Was I not enough? Too quiet? Too tired? Too busy with the kids? I’ve replayed every moment trying to find the version of myself that stopped being loved by you.
But I’m starting to realize something: it wasn’t about me.
You grew restless. Or maybe just selfish. And instead of talking to me, instead of reaching for my hand, you reached for something easier. Something newer. Something that didn’t carry the weight of ten years of history and messy mornings and sick kids and long nights.
And yet… I still love you.
Isn’t that the cruelest part?
Even now—knowing what I know, feeling what I feel—I look at you and wonder if the man I married is still in theresomewhere. If you miss me. If you ever think about those early days, when laughter came easy and love was loud.
I see how you look at me now. With guilt. With distance.
And I wonder if you’re already halfway gone.
The truth is, I’m scared. Not just of what’s happening inside my body, but what’s happening to us. To our children. To this family I tried so hard to hold together.
I think Caleb knows. He’s stopped asking where you are.
And Ava… she’s angry. I see it in her eyes. She looks at me like I’m weak for staying quiet. Like I should have screamed. Slammed doors. Demanded answers.
But I’ve never known how to be loud when I’m in pain.
I write this now not to shame you. Not even to beg you to change.
I write this because if I don’t say it now, I never will.
You hurt me, Nate.
In ways you may never fully understand.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you.
But I will always hope that one day, you become the man our children deserve. The one I believed you were when I said yes. The one who held me in the dark and promised I’d never have to face it alone.
I’ve felt alone for a long time.
I hope you never feel this kind of silence.
– Lila
She set the pen down slowly, staring at the words she had poured onto the page. They looked beautiful and broken at the same time. Lila folded the letter neatly and slipped it into an envelope. But she didn’t write his name on it.
Not yet.
Instead, she tucked it into the bottom drawer of her nightstand and closed it gently, like she was closing a chapter of her soul.
She turned off the lamp, crawled under the covers, and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally claimed her.
And the silence returned—deeper, heavier than before.
Chapter 29
The Wrong Place to Run
