First message
I slammed my hand against the kitchen counter, the wood rattling under the force, and finally let the words tumble out of me like a dam breaking. “I never wanted kids, okay? I lied to you!” I said it loud enough for the walls to hear, for the silence of years to shatter. His face went pale, his mouth opening, closing, like he didn’t know how to catch the words I’d hurled at him. “I—I thought that’s what we were supposed to do! I thought it’s what you wanted! he stammered, and I felt a flicker of guilt, but it was buried under the heat that had been building inside me for years.
I didn’t mean to trap you, I swear. I panicked. Everyone keeps asking, ‘When are you going to have kids?’ and I… I froze. I thought if I said yes, it would make it easier. I thought it would make you happy, make everyone happy. But I can’t… I can’t keep living this lie, pretending that my body and my heart are aligned with something they’re not. I don’t want to wake up one day resenting you, resenting myself, resenting the life we built on a lie!
I looked at him, really looked, and saw the hurt, the betrayal, the disbelief etched in every line of his face. It stabbed me, but it was the only truth left to give. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for being selfish in the worst way. But I can’t give you what you’ve been waiting for all these years. I never wanted kids. I lied. I lied to you, and I can’t take it back. I can’t take back the years of pretending I was something I’m not.