I never thought I’d be the kind of person to write something like this, but here I am. Maybe someone out there needs to hear this. My wife and I have been together for eight years, married for five. In the beginning, we were that couple—always laughing, always holding hands, finishing each other’s sentences. People used to say we were “goals.” But life happens. Stress, work, exhaustion. Somewhere along the way, the talking slowed down. We became two people living under the same roof, moving around each other but not with each other. And the worst part? I let it happen. She’d ask, “Are you okay?” and I’d say, “Yeah, just tired.” Every single time. I wasn’t okay. I was drowning in my own thoughts, frustrations, and self-doubt, but instead of letting her in, I shut her out. I convinced myself that by not burdening her, I was being a good husband. One night, I came home, and she was sitting at the table with a suitcase beside her. My heart stopped. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said. Her voice wasn’t angry. It was tired. Defeated. I panicked. “Do what?” “Feel alone in a marriage,” she answered. That hit me like a truck. My silence, my emotional distance, had made the woman I love feel like she was alone—even with me sleeping next to her every night. I begged her to stay. I promised to change. But words are cheap when they come too late. She didn’t leave that night, but she said she needed time to think. That night, I did something I should have done years ago. I sat down, and I wrote her a letter. Not an apology, but the truth—everything I had been holding inside. My fears, my stress, my love for her, how I never stopped caring but just didn’t know how to show it anymore. The next morning, I left the letter on the table before heading to work. I don’t know if it was the letter or something else, but when I came home, she was still there. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and simply said, “Talk to me.” And so, I did. It’s been months now, and we’re still working through it. But we’re talking. We’re trying. And I’ve learned the hard way that silence in a marriage isn’t strength—it’s poison. If you love someone, don’t assume they just know. Tell them. Show them. Because love isn’t just about staying—it’s about making sure they never feel alone while they do.