He never loved me.
Not long after we got married, Sebastian moved into a separate room. Said his job was exhausting, that he needed proper rest.
I bought it.
He was barely home anyway. And when he was, he’d ask about his son, then shut himself away. Door closed. Conversation over.
Some months, we barely spoke.
He didn’t care about me. Never did. There were no late-night talks, no shared dreams. Just silence.
After the accident — after I lost the baby — everything physical between us stopped.
I felt… empty. But I kept my mouth shut.
The doctor said the miscarriage had damaged my body, that I couldn’t have kids anymore.
Sebastian didn’t even flinch. He squeezed my hand and said, “You won’t need to worry about that. My son is your son. We’ll take care of you. We’re a family — always.”
I was moved. Thought he was noble, selfless.
He gave me a home. In return, I gave him everything.
I spent years cooking meals to help with his stomach issues, and tried every remedy under the sun to keep his son healthy.
I treated that boy like he was my own flesh and blood. Because I believed it didn’t matter.
A child you love? That’s your child.
Sebastian worked construction — always on some project, always gone.
Every month, he sent money back. Barely enough to keep the lights on.
The health remedies I made? Expensive. So I lived cheap. Peanut butter sandwiches, canned soup, beans — whatever stretched the longest. Same worn clothes for years.
It was a bare-bones life. And yeah, sometimes I got bitter about it.
But then I’d think about the boy — his son. I’d remind myself that we were a family, that the love I thought we had was real. I convinced myself it was all worth it.
I held onto this dream: growing old together, quiet mornings, grandkids running through the house.
I endured it for that dream.
And what did I get?
A divorce agreement.
Thirty years of hope, gone in a second.
It hit me like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t breathe. Felt like the life had drained right out of me.
I wanted to cry. Wanted to scream at Sebastian, curse him for the lies, the betrayal.
But I didn’t.
I just sat there, gasping like a fish on dry land, flailing, desperate for air.
My whole life — wasted.
And even now, knowing everything, the tears wouldn’t come.
