Even physical closeness made me uneasy. I would turn away under the excuse of exhaustion. I buried myself in work. I convinced myself that stability was more important than affection.
For three years, we were husband and wife in name only.
We never had a child. Melissa brought it up gently at first, then with concern. She scheduled medical appointments and asked me to go with her.
“You should get tested too, Daniel,” she would say softly. “Just so we know.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I snapped more than once. “If there’s a problem, it’s not on my side.”
She underwent every test imaginable. Each time, the results came back normal.
I refused to see a doctor.
By then, my career had taken off. I had secured partnerships without needing her father’s help. The independence I had craved was finally mine.
And with it came clarity—or what I thought was clarity.
I told myself I deserved “real love.”
My emotional neglect eroded Melissa slowly. I saw it in the way her shoulders sagged, in how her laughter disappeared from our house. Eventually, she stopped fighting for us. She signed the divorce papers quietly.
I walked away feeling free.