Slowly, Ethan changed. The affection faded. Compliments turned into criticism. The man who once adored me became cold and distant. Instead of asking about my day, he pointed out what I had done wrong. The clean house and home-cooked meals I once took pride in became expectations, and anything less was unacceptable.
Whenever I tried to talk about how I felt, he brushed me off.
“You’re a housewife, Nancy,” he’d say with a smirk. “It’s not like you have a difficult life.”
Those words cut deeply, but I swallowed my pain. I told myself I had to be strong—for Lily. She deserved stability, even if it meant sacrificing my happiness.
Over time, I realized the man I loved no longer existed. Ethan treated me less like a partner and more like something to manage. Still, I stayed. I clung to the hope that things would somehow improve.
They never did.
Ethan’s criticism became constant. No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. He always found something wrong.
“You missed a spot on the counter.”
“Why isn’t Lily ready for bed?”
“What do you even do all day?”
Each comment chipped away at my confidence. When I tried to defend myself, he accused me of making excuses.
“You have one job,” he’d snap. “Why is that so hard?”
His unstable work life only made things worse. Every job loss became someone else’s fault. And somehow, those failures always became my responsibility.
“You’re supposed to make my life easier,” he’d say. “Instead, you’re just another problem.”
I often felt like I was raising two children. I protected Lily whenever I could, stepping in when Ethan criticized her for small mistakes. But that only redirected his anger toward me.
Eventually, I stopped arguing. Silence was safer.
Chapter 2: The Crash and the Silence
The accident happened without warning.
One moment I was crossing the street with groceries, my mind already on dinner and homework. The next, everything went dark.
I woke up in the hospital, my body broken and immobilized. Both legs were in casts. Every breath hurt. The doctors told me recovery would take months.
My parents, Eleanor and Richard, were there every day. They took care of Lily, brought me food, and reminded me I wasn’t alone.
Ethan didn’t come.
Days passed. Then weeks. Each time the door opened, I hoped it would be him.
It never was.
When he finally arrived in the third week, his expression wasn’t worry—it was irritation.