I Found a Note in My Husband’s Shirt That Said, ‘Please Don’t Let Her Find Out’

Ron’s shoulders relaxed just slightly, as if he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

“Did you love her?” I asked. “Allison? I know it was a long time ago, but I’m asking you now.”

“How did you find out?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “What matters is that I know now.”

“Delilah…”

“Did you love her?”

“No,” he said. “I thought I did for a moment. But then I realized the truth. I didn’t love her at all.”

“Did you ever think about telling me?”

“Every day,” Ron said quietly.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He swallowed.

“Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“You lost me the moment you decided my pain was yours to manage, Ron. I was going through the worst time of our lives — losing the baby was hell.”

Ron looked at me then, and I saw it land. Not anger, not defensiveness… just regret.

“I know, Delilah.”

That night, we slept in the same bed, but we didn’t touch. Ron lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, while I faced the window and counted the seconds between his breaths.

The silence between us wasn’t angry. It was heavy, and for the first time, I understood it wasn’t protecting us — it was protecting him.

“I never meant to hurt you, Delilah.”

“I know,” I replied. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t hurt.”

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