Throwaway because family still follows some of these subs and I’m not ready for the fallout.
I’m Olivia Grant, 32F, living in Asheville, North Carolina. We got married two years ago after dating for four. I thought we were solid—best friends, great chemistry, shared values. He was sweet, attentive, always checking in, planning little dates, remembering the small things. Everyone said we were “couple goals.” My mom cried at the rehearsal dinner saying how lucky I was to find someone who truly saw me. The shift happened the literal day after the wedding. We came back from our honeymoon in the Outer Banks—tanned, happy, still buzzing from saying “I do.” I remember unpacking in our new apartment (we’d just bought a fixer-upper together) and asking if he wanted to grab takeout or cook something simple. He was on his phone, scrolling through work emails already, and said without looking up, “Whatever you want. I’m starving, but I’ve got a bunch of stuff to catch up on.”
I laughed it off. Jet lag, right? But it kept happening.
Suddenly, I was no longer the priority. The little gestures stopped cold. No more “good morning” texts when he left early for work. No more asking about my day first when he got home. No more planning weekends together—he’d make plans with his buddies for golf or watching games, then tell me after the fact. “Didn’t think you’d mind,” he’d say. When I said I did mind, he’d get defensive: “We’re married now. We don’t have to be glued at the hip.”
It wasn’t just the romance fading—it was the respect fading. He started making decisions without me. He booked a guys’ weekend in Charleston three weeks after we got back from our honeymoon. When I asked why he didn’t mention it earlier, he said, “It came up last minute. You were busy with wedding stuff before.” Except wedding stuff was over. He also “forgot” to tell me he’d invited his parents to stay with us for two weeks in July—his mom wanted to “help us settle in.” I found out when she texted me asking about airport pickup.
The sex changed too. Before marriage, he was eager, present. After, it felt like a chore he checked off when he felt like it. Foreplay? Optional. My needs? Rarely considered. When I brought it up gently, he rolled his eyes and said, “You’re making it a big deal. We’re married. It’s not supposed to be fireworks every time.”
I tried talking—really talking. Sat him down one Saturday morning with coffee and said I felt like I’d lost my partner. That I felt invisible. He listened for about thirty seconds, then interrupted: “You’re being dramatic. We’re building a life together. Things settle. You can’t expect the honeymoon phase forever.” When I cried, he sighed like I was exhausting him and went to mow the lawn.
His family didn’t help. His mom would call and ask how “her boy” was doing, never asking about me. His dad would joke at dinners, “Now that you’ve locked her down, you can relax, son.” They laughed. I didn’t.
I started keeping score—not out of pettiness, but to prove to myself I wasn’t imagining it. In the first year of marriage:
- He canceled our anniversary dinner last-minute because his fantasy football draft conflicted.
- He spent $800 on new golf clubs but told me we “couldn’t afford” the new couch I’d been saving for.
- When I had a bad day at work (I’m a graphic designer, freelance mostly), he’d say “That sucks” and change the subject to his fantasy team’s win.
- He stopped saying “I love you” unprompted. I’d say it first every time; he’d reply like it was a reflex.
The breaking point came six months ago. My grandma passed away—my last living grandparent, the woman who raised me when my mom was working double shifts. I was wrecked. I asked him to come to the funeral with me. He said he had a “big meeting” that day (a Saturday) and couldn’t miss it. I went alone. Stood at the graveside in the rain while he texted me updates about his fantasy league trades.
When I got home that night, I found him on the couch watching football, beer in hand. I lost it. Screamed that I felt like a roommate, not a wife. That I’d married someone who used to put me first and now acted like I was an accessory. He turned down the TV, looked at me like I’d slapped him, and said:
“You knew who I was. I’m not changing just because we have a ring. If you wanted constant attention, you should’ve stayed single.”
That sentence lives in my head rent-free.
I slept in the guest room that night. The next morning he acted like nothing happened—kissed my forehead, asked if I wanted pancakes. I said no. I’ve been sleeping in the guest room ever since.
We’re still living together. Technically married. I haven’t filed anything yet because I keep hoping he’ll wake up and remember who we used to be. But every day he proves he’s exactly who he wants to be now: comfortable, unchallenged, prioritizing everything except me.
I’m in therapy. I’m saving money quietly. I’m making plans that don’t include him. Friends say “marriage is hard, give it time.” But I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like you’re slowly disappearing.
The moment we got married, I thought we were starting forever. Turns out, for him, it was the moment he could finally stop trying.
I’m still deciding what comes next. But I know one thing: I deserve someone who chooses me every day—not just until the paperwork is signed.
Thanks for reading. It helps to write it down.
