Is It Just Friendship, or Am I Losing Him?

My husband and I have been together for 12 years—married for 9. We have two wonderful daughters, ages 7 and 4. He’s always been a loving partner and an incredible father. He teaches at an elementary school, and his passion for education is one of the things I’ve always admired about him. He has this calm, kind way with people, especially kids—and that same kindness has made him well-loved among his colleagues.

This year, he’s mentoring a student teacher, a 22-year-old woman I’ll call Ava. What makes it more unique is that Ava was actually a student in the class he taught during his own student teaching days. So for him, it’s this full-circle experience—watching a former student grow into a teacher herself.

At first, I thought it was sweet. She’s come to our home for dinner a couple of times and has always been very polite, very warm, and respectful. I didn’t think much of it. In fact, I was happy that he was forming such strong mentoring bonds in his career. He’s the kind of person who lights up when he talks about education and shaping future teachers. I encouraged it. Why wouldn’t I?

But lately… something feels off. And I can’t unfeel it.

He still laughs and plays with our kids like nothing has changed. He’s present with them—reading bedtime stories, helping with homework, dancing in the kitchen on lazy weekends. But with me, he feels distant. It’s subtle, but noticeable. He’s always on his phone, sometimes smiling at texts and quickly swiping away when I walk into the room. He says he’s meeting “the guys” for drinks more often than usual, and while I want to believe him, there’s this small voice inside me asking: “Are you sure that’s who he’s meeting?”

I feel horrible even thinking like this. I know how damaging mistrust can be in a marriage. But the doubt has started creeping in like water through a crack, slow but relentless.

I did something I’m not proud of. I looked through his phone.

I hated myself the entire time, but I couldn’t take the anxiety anymore. I know his passcode—he’s never hidden it—and I waited until he was asleep. I didn’t find anything. No texts from Ava, no saved photos, no signs of cheating. If anything, it made me feel worse. I had invaded his privacy, crossed a line, and still had no peace of mind.

But here’s the thing. My husband is smart. If he was cheating, I don’t think he’d make it easy to find out.

When I visit his school sometimes or drop by for an event, I notice how Ava looks at him. There’s a sparkle in her eyes—this admiration that feels just a little too intense. She hangs on his words. And the way they talk… it’s teasing, playful, inside jokes that I don’t understand. It’s not overtly romantic or inappropriate, but it feels intimate. Like they’re in a world I’m not part of.

To be fair, my husband has always been this way with women he’s close to—warm, funny, effortlessly charming. That’s part of what drew me to him. But now that charm feels like something he’s giving someone else… more than me.

I’ve tried to shake it off. I’ve told myself I’m being paranoid. I even mentioned it to a friend, who immediately dismissed the idea, saying “He’s not the type to cheat.” And maybe he’s not. But is that enough to silence the feeling in my gut?

It’s not just jealousy. It’s fear. Fear of losing the man I built a life with. Fear of someone younger, fresher, more exciting, taking a place in his heart that used to be mine. Fear that I’ve become invisible while he’s chasing the thrill of mentorship—or maybe something more.

I haven’t confronted him directly. I don’t even know how to. What would I say? “You seem a little too friendly with your student teacher”? That sounds insecure and controlling. And what if I’m wrong? I don’t want to push him away just because I’m scared.

But I also don’t want to stay silent and let the distance grow.

Right now, I’m stuck. Trapped between trust and suspicion. Between love and fear. I still see the man I married—loving, devoted, funny—but I also see someone who might be slipping away, inch by inch, behind a glowing phone screen and too many late nights out.

I don’t want to accuse him. I don’t want to create drama out of nothing. But I also can’t keep pretending I don’t feel what I feel.

Maybe it’s time for an honest conversation. Not about her, necessarily—but about us. About the gap that’s formed between us and how we can close it before it becomes too wide to bridge. Because I love him. And I want us to make it. But I need to know we’re still choosing each other—every day, not just in memory.