I woke up today with a dull ache in my abdomen...a physical souvenir from last night. It was wild, rough, and breathless, containing every intense emotion except love. For the past three months, this has been our routine. Whenever I voice my frustration over his neglect, his demanding schedule, or his complete lack of genuine affection, his answer is always the same : sèx.

It seems he believes that passion in bed, combined with gifts and money, is all I need to feel whole.

We weren't always like this. Our story was once breathtaking...two strangers brought together by an arranged marriage who unexpectedly fell head over heels in love. For three beautiful years, Kumud and Suyash were inseparable, one soul in two bodies, the couple everyone pointed to as proof that true love exists.

Then came the change three months ago. His new job...the dream role he worked so hard to reach...turned him into a corporate machine, consumed by the need to prove himself and climb higher.

I want him to succeed; I truly do. But does success require forgetting your wife? Does it mean making her beg for a simple text, a quick call, a good morning kiss, or a gentle cuddle at night?

In the quiet moments between his intense physical affection and total absence, I'm left wondering if I'm asking for too much, or if wanting to be loved makes me selfish.

Is it really selfish to crave the love that was once mine? No, wanting a simple hold of his hand or a gentle inquiry about my day isn't demanding too much...it's basic human connection. But every time I try to talk to Suyash, he shuts down the conversation before it even begins, wrapping his dismissiveness in expensive gifts and intense, hollow nights, assuming that satisfies me.

He treats my emotional hunger like a minor inconvenience, ignoring the fact that behind his sudden generosity lies a growing canyon between us. I am tired of being compensated with luxury and passion when all I truly want is my husband back.

"Are you awake?"

He stepped through the doorway, sharply tailored in a crisp black suit, looking more like a high-profile bodyguard than my husband. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen him in soft, comfortable casuals; these days, he was either entirely naked beside me or armored in this stiff, relentless attire.

"Cover yourself, at least," he mocked, his tone dry as his eyes brushed past me. "No one wants to see that first thing in the morning."

I swallowed the bite of his words and pulled the heavy blanket up to my chest in silence. A few months ago, the sight of me lying bare in our bed would have ignited him all over again.

He would have delayed his morning, bent me over, and fu**ed me until his phone rang with an urgent call from his boss. Now, the same sight only seemed to irritate him.

"I'll be late tonight, don't wait for me at dinner," he announced nonchalantly before turning to walk out.

Of course you'll be late, you're late every single day, and like a fool, I still sit at the table waiting, foolishly hoping today might be different. For months now, all I've eaten is cold food and bitter disappointment.

I wanted to scream in his face, to tear open my chest and show him how deeply he's hurting me. But I kept quiet. I knew how it would end: he'd only get more irritated, shut down completely, and label me as selfish, desperate, and clingy.

I'm just so exhausted.

There are moments when the word divorce burns on the tip of my tongue, but every time I dare to bring it up, his stone-cold armor crumbles. He falls to his knees, begging for my forgiveness, swearing that he's breaking his back for our future....so we can be secure when we finally bring a child into this world.

It's hard not to believe him. I know he loves me, and God knows I still love him. But I desperately hate what he has become, and I hate the exorbitant cost of this luxurious life. If this is the price of wealth, I think I would rather be poor and cherished than live as a rich, invisible wife whose husband is slowly forgetting she even exists.

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡