One night, I rushed out of the shower to find my 3-year-old covered in red paint, crying—while my wife sat nearby, absorbed in her iPad. I was angry and confused, thinking she had ignored him.
But the truth was deeper. She had been struggling with depression—feeling lost, overwhelmed, and disconnected after years of putting herself last.
With help from therapy and support, things slowly changed. She began healing, reconnecting with our son, and rediscovering her passion for art.
I learned it wasn’t neglect—it was silent suffering. And sometimes, what looks like distance is actually someone quietly falling apart.