It all began back in middle school.
He was that boy who always sat at the back of the class quiet, reserved yet when he smiled, it was enough to unsettle you completely.
You grew up together from classroom seats to high school hallways, and later into the lecture rooms of university.
He was always there, beside you, knowing you better than you knew yourself.
He laughed when you were happy, grew angry when someone hurt you, and shielded you from the world even when it cost him pieces of himself.
And when you finally married him, you felt as though you had reached the end of a long, tender dream the safety you’d searched for all your life.
He was gentle, patient, and always ready to set the world aside whenever you were weary.
Together you worked, you built, you lived through quiet, simple days that felt achingly sincere.
His hand was always in yours, and his eyes always said he would never let go.
But time never keeps its promises.
It changes, distorts, and takes what it once gave.
Then came the illness sudden, merciless.
Your health began to wither, piece by piece, stealing the color from your cheeks, the softness of your hair, the light he once adored in you.
And though he tried to appear strong smiling through the cracks, whispering **Everything will be okay** exhaustion began to hollow him out.
A year passed long, heavy, and filled with quiet decay.
You remained confined to your bed, and he stayed by your side, caring for you, feeding you, pretending not to notice how your body faded and your voice grew faint.
But something in his eyes had changed. The warmth that once lived there began to die, slowly, silently, until one night, you finally saw it.
He came home weary, dropped his jacket onto the chair with a dull thud, and stood before you still, empty, like a shadow stripped of its soul.
You waited for his familiar smile, the soft word that always calmed your heart.
But instead, he stepped closer. His face was unreadable, his voice low, sharp as glass.
**I’m tired of you… of everything.**
You froze, staring at him. But he went on, every word deliberate cruel not in tone, but in truth:
**Look at yourself.**
He grasped your shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin, forcing you to face the mirror.
**Do you know what I’ve endured all this time?** he said, his voice trembling with quiet fury.
**I come home to this no life, no beauty, nothing but bones and skin.
I tried to be patient. I tried to love. But I can’t pretend anymore.**
He leaned closer, his breath cold against your ear.
**Tell me… why should I have to face this sight every single day?**
His breath trembled, though his voice did not.
And then came the words that shattered everything that was left:
**I sacrificed everything for you my peace, my life, myself.
And for what?
Every day I see beautiful women, full of life, and then I come home to this… this shell of what you used to be.**
He looked into the mirror then not at you, but at his own reflection.
His eyes held no mercy, no hate, only the quiet exhaustion of a man emptied of all feeling.
And finally, he whispered not in anger, but with the calm of someone who had long accepted the ruin:
**Do you know what’s worse?
That I don’t even feel guilty anymore.
I don’t pity you. I don’t miss you.
The only thing I feel now… is pity for myself.**
Netwrck