Maybe she had been right to fear what I would think.
Sophie looked away again.
“After the first miscarriage, I started waking up convinced something terrible was about to happen.”
Her voice trembled.
“I couldn’t explain it. My heart would race. My hands would go numb. Sometimes I couldn’t breathe.”
I said nothing.
“Then I’d look at you sleeping and think, Ethan already lost the babies too. He shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
My throat tightened.
“So I didn’t tell you.”
She swallowed.
“I went to doctors during lunch breaks. I kept the medication in my work bag. When you asked why I was tired, I said I hadn’t slept.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you trust me?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Because I was terrified you’d leave.”
The room went completely still.
She gave a broken smile.
“And then when our marriage started falling apart, I became terrified you’d stay only because you felt sorry for me.”
That was the moment I looked away because I couldn’t bear for her to see my face.
All those years, I believed Sophie was pushing me away.
Meanwhile, she was hiding because she was terrified of losing me.
And eventually, my response to her withdrawal was to do exactly what she feared.
I left.
I was supposed to return to work the next morning.
I didn’t.
I emailed my supervisor and took several personal days.
Sophie protested immediately.
“You don’t need to stay.”
“I know.”
“We’re divorced.”
“I know that too.”
“So why are you here?”
I looked at her.
“Because apparently I spent years not being here when I should have been.”
She lowered her eyes.
After that, she stopped asking me to leave.
For the next several days, I sat beside her during consultations.
I learned terminology I’d never heard before.
Panic cycles.
Dependency.
Withdrawal management.
Cognitive behavioral therapy.
Trauma responses.
I learned that someone can appear functional while fighting an exhausting battle nobody sees.
Sophie had gone to work.
Paid bills.
Bought groceries.
Answered emails.
Smiled at neighbors.
And still spent entire mornings trying to convince herself that she was safe.
When doctors recommended an outpatient recovery program followed by intensive therapy, she looked terrified.
“I can’t tell anyone,” she whispered.
“Why?”
