You just don’t get it, do you?

Or maybe you do, and you’re being intentionally obtuse, because if you really let yourself see it all, you’d have to face what you’ve done. You’d have to admit that for all your big talk about being a “good man,” you’ve been phoning it in while she holds everything together. 

You think showing up to work, paying bills, and not hitting her makes you decent. You think not cheating earns you points (except plenty of you do cheat, one way or another), and the ones who don’t still betray her in a thousand other ways. You act like your contribution begins and ends with money, then feel angry when that’s all you’re really needed for. Meanwhile she’s out there dragging herself through days that drain her the same as yours but when your day ends, you get to be finished. When her day ends… it never ends. 

And one day you look at this life and wonder why the hell it’s all falling apart. Why is this relationship failing? 

It fails because she tells you what she needs, and you don’t listen. She tells you again, and you roll your eyes. She asks for your help, and you sigh. You call her a nag. She asks again, and you do it badly, just badly enough that she never bothers to ask again. Then when she does it herself, you say all she had to do was remind you. 

It fails because you’ve been told for years what it means to carry the mental load. You’ve read the essays, seen the cartoons, scrolled past the lists that name every invisible task she shoulders while you do one thing and expect a trophy. But you’d rather wait for her to keep asking, to keep nagging, to keep mothering, than carry it even once without being told. 

It fails because she’s drowning in the grind. Kids’ lunches, medical forms, the birthday gifts for your family, the texts that keep friendships alive, the endless scheduling, the shoes that need replacing before picture day.

The teacher’s email sitting unanswered, the vitamins she remembers for everyone but herself, the dental appointments, the swim lesson registration, the last-minute “spirit day” outfit she pulls out of thin air, the snacks for soccer, the costume for Halloween, the wrapping paper, the batteries, the party RSVP.

The prescription refill, the sunscreen packed, the hat found, the mittens dried, the bills paid, the passwords remembered, the taxes filed.

The vet appointment, the laundry that never ends, the broken zipper that gets fixed before anyone notices it broke, the birthday cards, the sympathy cards, the holiday cards, the meal plan, the fridge purge.

The donations dropped off, the school fundraiser, the neighbourhood BBQ she says yes to just so no one thinks you’re rude, the calendar that only syncs because she makes it, the cousins’ gifts mailed, the Christmas photo shoots, the dog food restocked, the shampoo replaced, the call to the insurance company, the camp deposit paid, the uniform washed, the car seat cleaned after yet another toddler pukefest.

The toilet paper restocked, the socks matched, the cupcakes baked at midnight, the thank you notes, the parent-teacher conferences, the doctor’s office follow-up call, the family budget spreadsheet updated, the fridge filter replaced, the broken lightbulb changed, the family history she remembers when your mom visits, the fights she prevents by cushioning everyone’s moods.

The silent apologies she makes for you when you drop the ball, the bedtime routine you call “easy” because you only step in once a week, the groceries that don’t just appear but are cross-referenced with coupons and allergies and preferences.

The forms that come home crumpled and are somehow still filled out and returned, the daily tally of who needs what tomorrow…

And you think “Just tell me what to do” makes you noble. She doesn’t want to be your manager. 

It fails because she ages, her body shifts, she carries pregnancies and scars and exhaustion, and you punish her for it with “jokes”. You still expect her to be youthful while you let yourself go, belly over your belt, hair in your ears, snoring and sweating and never once wondering if you’re still desirable. She feels invisible while you feel entitled. 

It fails because sex became another thing on her endless to do list. There’s no connection, no heat, no desire, just another obligation she feels guilty if she misses. And when she tries to talk about it, you laugh it off and suggest spicing things up (as long as she does the research and buys the toys, right?). When she stops trying, you call her cold. When she finally gives in to the two minutes of your beer breath grunting on top of her, you pout because she didn’t cum. Yanking a dry tampon out would be more stimulating than whatever you think you’re doing, but go on, blame her. 

It fails because every conversation is a war. She brings up a need, you call her confrontational. She tells you she’s hurt, you flip the script. She asks you to step up, you call her controlling. She cries, you call her too emotional. She gets quiet, you call her distant. Whatever she does, you twist it back on her. 

It fails because you disappear into the bathroom for 45 minutes. You disappear into your phone. You disappear into the game, into the garage, into your drink, into your work. You disappear anywhere but with her, because being with her would mean noticing her. 

It fails because you perform better for strangers than for her. At work, you’re charming. With friends, you’re generous. On social media, you’re progressive. At home, you grunt, you sneer, you scroll on by. You know how to be good, you just choose not to be with her. 

It fails because contempt seeps in. The jokes at her expense at dinner parties. The digs about her driving, her spending, her memory. The smirk when she says she’s tired. The way you mimic her voice when you’re angry. Those aren’t slips, they’re expertly wielded daggers. 

It fails because she begged you to book your own doctor’s appointments, to take your health seriously, to not leave her with the fallout of your denial. You brushed it off, said you were fine, until you weren’t, and then you handed her the burden of caring for you on top of everything else. 

It fails because she grew. She read the books, she went to therapy, she learned how to name things, she kept trying to drag the relationship forward. But you stayed the same. You said “this is just who I am.” You mistook stagnation for identity, and she mistook persistence for hope. 

It fails because she’s still the only one parenting even when you’re in the room. She’s still the one making sure the kids have what they need, while you roughhouse for five minutes and call it bonding. She is the default, the backup plan, the net beneath every fall, and you get to be “fun.” 

It fails because when you did cheat, or flirt, or wander, you carried no shame, only justification. Like she wasn’t enough. Or she was too much. Or she didn’t make you feel wanted. You recycled the same excuses men always have, forgetting that she was begging to be seen long before you left. 

It fails because she tells you she’s lonely, and you shrug it off. You tell her to take some time with friends, but make no room for her to do that. She tells you she’s breaking, and you do nothing to hold her together. She tells you she can’t do it anymore, and you promise you’ll change, but you don’t. And then you get mad that the wheel keeps turning and the cycle keeps repeating, saying she just can’t let anything go, can she? 

In the end, it fails because you thought love could run on autopilot. That once she said “I do,” she always would. That she’d never tire, never rage, never walk. And don’t think leaving always means packing bags and slamming doors. Sometimes leaving is quieter and more permanent in a way divorce papers could never touch.

Sometimes she leaves by shutting down piece by piece until there’s nothing left for you to reach. She stops asking, she stops hoping, she stops sharing her thoughts, her body, her laughter. She keeps it all together, but one day you’ll notice she isn’t really there.  

You’ll sit across the table from her and realize she’s laughing at everyone’s jokes but yours. You’ll realize she hasn’t looked at you in months. You’ll live together like polite strangers in the ruins of a marriage you let rot. She’ll be long gone, and all you’ll be left with is the ghost of the woman who once tried like hell to love you.

She wanted a partner, but all she got was another dependent. And when she finally leaves, in whatever form, you’ll sit alone in the silence wondering why the woman you loved had to break just to breathe.