It was a normal evening. My wife sat in the recliner, scrolling through her iPad, as she regularly did. I thought the kids were in bed. I thought it was the ideal moment for a long, relaxing shower.\n I heard a faint cry as I stood in the hot water. At first, I dismissed it, believing it was nothing significant. But suddenly the cry out became louder and more frantic.\n \u201cDaddy! Daddy!\u201d my 3-year-old son\u2019s voice pierced through the sound of running water.\n \u201cYou couldn\u2019t calm him down?\u201d I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.\n She didn\u2019t even look up. \u201cI tried three times,\u201d she said, sounding bored.\n Three times? I shook my head, irritated, and rushed into my son\u2019s room. I was ready to console him, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.\n As soon as I came inside, I noticed him sitting up in his bed, his little body quivering as he sobbed. \u201cDaddy, I made a mess,\u201d he exclaimed between gasps.\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay, buddy,\u201d I said softly, assuming it was just tears and snot. \u201cWe\u2019ll clean it up.\u201d\n I got closer and picked him up. He grabbed to me hard while still crying. His face was buried in my shoulder, and I could feel moisture dripping down my neck. \u201cPoor guy\u2019s been crying so long,\u201d\u00a0I thought. But then something seemed wrong. His pajamas were excessively soaked.\n I placed him back down and took out my phone to turn on the flashlight. That was when I noticed it: red everywhere. At first, I thought it was blood, and my heart rate fell. I froze. However, as I peered closer, I discovered it wasn\u2019t blood. The paint was red.\n \u201cWhere did this come from?\u201d I mumbled, scanning the room. Then I noticed an open pot of red paint on a tiny table near his crib. My wife had been painting animals with him the night before, and he must have tipped the jar over.\n \u201cDaddy, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d he cried again, his little hands covered in red.\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d I said, trying to stay calm. \u201cIt\u2019s just paint. We\u2019ll clean it up.\u201d\n But the more I looked, the worse things got. The paint had gotten all over his bed, clothes, and hair. It was everywhere. On top of that, I realized he had wet himself. My annoyance rose up. How hadn\u2019t my wife noticed this?\n I gently cleaned his face and took in a long breath. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t Mommy come help you?\u201d I asked softly, attempting to piece things together.\n He sniffled and gazed at me with his huge, innocent eyes. \u201cMommy didn\u2019t check on me. Nobody checked on me.\u201d\n His words sting. I assumed she had tried. But now I was unsure.\n I picked him up and took him to the restroom, feeling the gravity of the situation sink in. Something was wrong, and it wasn\u2019t just the spilled paint and damp pajamas.\n My son had been left alone, afraid and wailing, and no one had arrived. As I showered him, I couldn\u2019t get rid of the vision of my wife, still seated in that chair, smiling at whatever was on her screen.\n When we finished, I wrapped him in a towel and returned to the family room. She had not moved an inch. She didn\u2019t even look up as I stepped in.\n \u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d I said, my voice low but frustrated. \u201cHow could you not hear him crying?\u201d\n \u201cI told you, I tried three times,\u201d she repeated, her eyes glued to the screen.\n \u201cBut he said you never checked on him,\u201d I shot back, feeling my anger rise.\n She shrugged, not saying anything.\n I stood there, holding our son, soaking in paint and bathwater, feeling as if I was on the verge of something greater than a horrible night. Something was wrong, and I wasn\u2019t sure how to solve it.\n The tension in the room was palpable, and I knew it wasn\u2019t over. Something needed to change. But what?\n The next morning, I packed a bag for both my son and myself. I wasn\u2019t leaving permanently \u2014 at least not yet \u2014 but I couldn\u2019t stay in the house. I needed room to think things through. I didn\u2019t say much to my wife as we departed. She scarcely responded, nodding as if my decision meant nothing.\n I made an unexpected phone call while visiting my sister. I called my mother-in-law. I liked her plenty, but this seemed like more than just updating her on a difficult circumstance.\n I needed answers. Maybe she knew what was going on with her daughter, since I didn\u2019t.\n \u201cHey, I need to talk to you,\u201d I started when she picked up. \u201cSomething\u2019s not right with your daughter.\u201d\n Her voice sounded concerned. \u201cWhat\u2019s happened? Did you have a fight?\u201d\n I sighed. \u201cIt\u2019s more than that. She ignored our son last night, left him crying and covered in paint. I don\u2019t know what\u2019s going on with her, but it\u2019s not just one bad night. She\u2019s\u2026 distant. Uncaring. I don\u2019t know how else to describe it.\u201d\n My mother-in-law listened carefully, and then after a long pause, she said, \u201cI\u2019ll come over. Let me talk to her.\u201d\n Several days later, she called me back. Her tone was quieter than usual, almost tentative.\n \u201cI spoke to her,\u201d she said. \u201cShe finally opened up. It\u2019s not you or the baby. It\u2019s depression.\u201d\n The word struck me like a ton of bricks. Depression? I had never considered that. I was so preoccupied with my aggravation and outrage at her actions that I failed to consider the possibility that something deeper was going on.\n \u201cShe\u2019s been struggling for a while now,\u201d her mother continued. \u201cThe pressure of motherhood, losing time for herself, for her art. It\u2019s been overwhelming for her. She feels trapped, like she\u2019s lost who she is.\u201d\n I stood there stunned. I had no idea she felt this way. How could I? She never said anything.\n \u201cShe\u2019s agreed to see a therapist,\u201d her mother added. \u201cBut she\u2019s going to need your support. This won\u2019t be easy.\u201d\n Support. That word echoed in my head. I was upset and ready to walk away, but now I had to consider what my wife was truly going through. This was not about neglecting our son due to laziness or disinterest. It went deeper than that. And now I needed to figure out how I could help her.\n While being with my son, I began to see things differently. Taking care of him on my alone wasn\u2019t just difficult; it was draining.\n Every day was a whirlwind of diaper changes, tantrums, and attempts to keep him engaged. There was scarcely time to breathe, let alone think. By the time I put him to bed, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally.\n I reflected on how my wife had been doing this every day for years without taking a break. She put her art aside to care for our family, but in doing so, she sacrificed a part of herself. The weight of motherhood had gently shattered her spirit, and I hadn\u2019t realized.\n Over the next few weeks, things gradually began to alter. My wife started seeing a therapist. At first, I wasn\u2019t sure if it would work. She was somber after her sessions and didn\u2019t speak much about what they discussed. But, as time went, I saw little changes in her.\n One day, she called while I was out with our son. Her voice cracked on the phone.\n \u201cCan you come home?\u201d she asked. \u201cI need to talk to you.\u201d\n When I stepped in, she was seated on the couch, looking tired yet somehow different. There was a softness in her face that I hadn\u2019t seen in a long time.\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said, her voice trembling. \u201cI didn\u2019t realize how bad things had gotten. I was so lost in my own world, in my head, that I didn\u2019t see what it was doing to you or to our son.\u201d\n I sat down next her, unsure what to say. She continued talking.\n \u201cThe therapist is helping. I know it\u2019ll take time, but I want to be better. Not just for me, but for us. For him.\u201d\n Her eyes welled up with tears as she talked, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I recognized the person I had fallen in love with.\n Things gradually improved over the next few months. She began painting again, hesitantly at first. Her mother would come over and keep our son while she spent a few hours in her art studio, reconnecting with a part of herself she had neglected for far too long.\n \u201cI forgot how much I love this,\u201d she told me one evening, showing me a canvas she had been working on. \u201cIt feels good to create again.\u201d\n Her bond with our son has also begun to repair. I\u2019d see them reading together or her teaching him how to draw basic shapes with crayons. The distance that had previously separated them was gradually closing. He seemed happier, more calm, as if he sensed Mommy\u2019s return.\n Our family was not perfect, but it was healing. Together.\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" One night, I raced out of the shower to find my 3-year-old kid crying\u00a0and smeared in red paint, with my wife sitting nearby, addicted to her iPad. Frustrated and perplexed, I quickly discovered a more serious issue: my wife\u2019s quiet struggle, which threatened to tear our family apart. Family vacation packages It was a normal …\n","protected":false},"author":30,"featured_media":85482,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[657,642],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-85477","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-love-and-relationships","category-moral-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/85477","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/30"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=85477"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/85477\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":85483,"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/85477\/revisions\/85483"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/85482"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=85477"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=85477"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echowoven.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=85477"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"\"](%5C%22https:%5C/%5C/timelesslife.info%5C/wp-content%5C/uploads%5C/2024%5C/10%5C/Screenshot_6-11.jpg%5C%22 "\\"\\"")
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