It was an ordinary evening. My wife was on her iPad, and the kids were in bed—at least, I thought so. I went for a relaxing shower, but then I heard my son crying desperately, “Daddy! Daddy!” I rushed out, only to find my wife still on her iPad, uninterested.
I ran to my son’s room, expecting a typical tantrum, but found him sobbing in red paint, soaked in his own mess. He said, “I’m sorry,” and I realized he’d been crying alone for a while. My wife hadn’t checked on him.
Later, after a tense conversation with her, I discovered through my mother-in-law that my wife was struggling with depression. She’d been overwhelmed by motherhood and losing herself in the process.
As my wife began therapy, things slowly improved. She started painting again, and her connection with our son healed. Our family wasn’t perfect, but we were slowly rebuilding together.
Leave a Reply