If Only He Knew What His Absence Has Done to Me, To Us

Some stories don’t begin with “once upon a time.” Some stories begin with a silence so heavy, it reshapes your entire world. He’s not here, and every day since he left, I’ve had to teach myself how to carry that fact without letting it crush me.

If only he knew what his absence has done to us — to me, to our daughter. If only he could feel the way I do when she asks questions I can’t answer.

Like:

“Where is Daddy?”

“Why doesn’t he come see me?”

She doesn’t know how to process it yet. She’s too little. But I do. And I carry it all — her confusion, my heartbreak, and the silence that follows every unanswered question.

There are moments when I still wake up in the middle of the night, half expecting to hear his voice, or the sound of the door unlocking. But there’s only silence. Again.

Always, he’s missed so much. Her first words. The way she dances to her favorite song. The way she runs into my arms after a long day, as if I’m the only safe place she knows.

He doesn’t see the way she clings to the photos of him. Or how she mimics his voice when she pretends to talk to him.

She remembers. Even now. And that’s both beautiful and unbearable.

His absence isn’t just physical — it’s emotional, spiritual. It’s like a cold draft in a room that used to be warm. It’s the missing laugh in our joy, the missing hand in mine when I’m exhausted and just needed someone to say, “I’ve got you.”

Some days I pretend I’m okay. I smile when she smiles. I dance when she dances. I tell her we’re strong, even when I don’t believe it myself. And maybe that’s what motherhood is — breaking in silence so they never have to see the cracks.

I used to think he’d come back. That one day he’d wake up, feel the pull in his chest, and realize what he’s missing.

Us.

Her.

Me.

The life we dreamed about together.

But time keeps moving, and he keeps choosing to stay away. And now… I’m learning to live without waiting. Not because I don’t miss him — I do. God, I do. But because our daughter deserves a mother who isn’t stuck in the past. Because I deserve peace, even if it comes without the ending I once prayed for.

We’re finding our rhythm again. Slowly. Gently. Painfully.

We laugh more now — not because it doesn’t hurt anymore, but because we’re learning how to hold both joy and grief in the same breath. We carry him in small ways — in the stories I tell her, in the way I let her love him freely, without bitterness.

If only he knew what his absence has done to us. If only he knew that we never stopped loving him. We just stopped waiting to be loved back.

And if he ever finds his way back… I hope he comes with eyes wide open. Because we’re not the same anymore.

We’ve grown. We’ve hurt. We’ve survived.

And maybe, just maybe — That’s the most beautiful ending I never expected:

Becoming whole without the one who left us broken