The day our daughter was born should’ve been pure magic. Sam gripped my hand, tears streaming as our baby’s first cry filled the room. I thought that moment locked our love in forever. But three months later, I felt like a ghost in my own marriage. Sam grew distant. No more goodnight kisses, no tender touches. We’d lie in bed, side by side, but worlds apart. I chalked it up to new-parent exhaustion at first—sleepless nights, endless nappies. Yet, deep down, something felt off.
I’d reach for him, craving connection, but he’d nudge my hand away, saying, “You need rest; you just had a baby.” His words sounded sweet, but his eyes built a wall I couldn’t climb. As months passed, the silence in our bedroom grew suffocating. I doubted myself—my body, my worth. Alone in the bathroom, I’d cry quietly. Friends hinted some men drift after childbirth, maybe even stray. That thought broke me. Doctors said intimacy often takes time post-baby. But nothing changed. It felt like an invisible thief had stolen our spark. One day, I poured my heart out to a friend. She listened, then gently asked… Continue Reading