There’s a heaviness in living a life that no longer feels like your own, a script I keep reading aloud, even as the words crumble in my mouth. We’re together, not for love, but for convenience—a fragile, lifeless thread binding us to a home that feels more like a stage.

If I were to leave, the company would fall apart. If he were to leave, the foundation of this house we’ve built would vanish. And so, we stay—partners in duty, strangers in love.

This home is not a sanctuary for my heart. My tears fall unnoticed, my sadness stirs no concern. It doesn’t matter if I cry, if I ache, or if I feel invisible. Here, respect is fleeting, care is transactional, and love appears only when it serves him. I am the pillar holding this family aloft—the financial support, the stepping stone. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t show just how much he resents me.

And yet, the thought of leaving terrifies me. In the culture I come from, divorce is a scarlet letter, a brand that whispers “failure,” “outcast,” “whore.” Here, it feels as though it’s always the woman who must keep the peace, who must sacrifice herself at the altar of family, no matter how much it hurts. That burden sits heavy on my shoulders, pressing me into silence.

Then there’s our child—our beautiful, innocent child who looks at us and sees something I can no longer feel. He sees “loving parents.” What are we teaching him? That love doesn’t matter as long as you stay? That a hollow home is better than a broken one? One day, he’ll grow up. One day, he’ll understand. And I dread the moment he looks at us and thinks, Mom and Dad stayed together because of me, but there was no love. The thought of that realization shatters me.

Am I raising him in a home that is whole, or a home that is empty? What lessons about love, about self-worth, are we leaving him with? And yet, I can’t bring myself to drag his tiny heart through the chaos of courtrooms, through the wreckage of a family torn apart.

So here I am, trapped in this endless limbo—afraid to stay, afraid to leave. Afraid of what the world will say, of what my child will feel. This fear, this sadness, this weight—it’s my constant companion.

I don’t know how to move forward. I don’t know if there’s a way out, or if this is simply my fate. But I carry this story every day, and I needed to release it, even if just into the void.

To anyone walking this same fragile, uncertain path—know that you’re not alone.

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