Still love him but the spark is gone?
We've been married eight years, three in Paris after moving from Lyon. I keep thinking it's just a phase — he's sweet, we have a good life, but every morning when he hums that same stupid Edith Piaf song making coffee, I feel… nothing. Worse, I pretend to smile because I know his mother would never forgive me if I 'gave up on romance'. In Lyon no one expects fireworks forever, but here? He talks about love like it's some endless poem. I just want calm. Last week he planned this whole dinner with candles, said he felt me pulling away. I cried, not because I was touched, but because I felt guilty. We used to cook daube au vin together every Sunday. Now I make it alone and tell him I'm too tired. Is it enough to care for someone deeply without feeling lit up? My mother says, 'Better a quiet heart than a broken table.' But sometimes I wonder if I'm just becoming my mother. And if that’s really what I want.
Anonymous