When You’re Lying Next to Someone Whose Love Is Gone

There’s a kind of heartbreak no one prepares you for — the kind where you’re still lying in the same bed, still under the same roof, but the love that once lived between you is… gone. Quietly. Slowly. Almost unnoticeably at first. Until one day, you roll over in the middle of the night and realize you’re next to someone who feels more like a roommate than a partner. Someone whose love has already packed up and left, even if their body hasn’t.

That’s the kind of pain I’ve been living with.

We still sleep side by side, but the connection is long gone. The silence isn’t peaceful — it’s heavy. We don’t fight. We don’t scream. But we also don’t talk. There’s no laughter, no inside jokes, no warmth. It’s just… stillness. Distance. An emotional gap that keeps stretching between us no matter how physically close we are.

When he’s not home, I feel a strange sense of peace. Not because I don’t love him. Not because I don’t miss what we used to be. But because his absence gives my heart room to breathe. I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to feel the sting of being ignored or the ache of being unseen. I don’t have to notice how his eyes brighten when he talks to the dog, but go dim when they meet mine. I don’t have to wonder if his heart has found a new place to rest — one that isn’t me.

I used to be his everything. His person. The one he looked at like I was magic. And now? I feel like a shadow in the home we built together.

Some nights, I lay there wondering what happened. Wondering what changed. Wondering if I was ever enough, or if I was just temporary comfort on the way to whatever he truly wanted. I question if I could’ve done more. If I should’ve held on tighter, or loosened my grip sooner.

And then there are the rings.

I still wear them, though I’m not sure why. Maybe because taking them off makes everything too real. Maybe because they remind me of the vows we made and the hope I once had. But lately, they feel heavier. Like they’re holding memories I no longer recognize. I look down at my hand and ask myself what it will feel like to finally remove them. What I’ll do with that space on my finger. And deeper still — what I’ll do with the space in my heart. The space that was once filled with promises, security, love… and now feels hollow.

I always thought my husband would protect me — not just physically, but emotionally. That he’d be my safe space, my soft place to land. But instead, the man I trusted to guard my heart slowly became the one who wounded it most.

That realization has been the hardest to accept.

Because it wasn’t just one moment of betrayal. It was death by a thousand cuts. Each cold shoulder. Each conversation left unsaid. Each time he stopped noticing me, listening to me, choosing me.

And through it all… I’ve still been praying.

In the beginning, I prayed for him. For us. For God to fix it. To bring him back to me. To help him see me again. I prayed for the love to return. For the spark to reignite. For the marriage I believed in to somehow be restored.

But now… my prayers have shifted.

I still pray every day. But now I pray for peace. I pray for the courage to let go of what’s already let go of me. I pray for clarity, for healing, for the strength to choose myself — even when it hurts. Even when I still miss him. Even when the memory of who we used to be still breaks my heart.

Because slowly, I’m realizing something I wish I had seen sooner: I don’t have to keep holding on to someone who stopped holding me a long time ago.

I don’t have to keep betraying myself to keep a marriage that no longer reflects love.

I don’t have to wear rings that symbolize a promise he’s no longer keeping.

And I definitely don’t have to stay in a bed that makes me feel lonelier than sleeping alone ever could.

This isn’t about giving up. It’s about waking up.

It’s about realizing that staying in something that’s already emotionally over isn’t strength — it’s survival. And I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want to live. I want to breathe deeply again. I want to laugh without it catching in my throat. I want to feel peace in my own skin. I want to feel seen, loved, chosen — even if, for now, that love comes from me alone.

I still wear the rings today.

But I know the time is coming when I’ll take them off. Maybe with trembling hands. Maybe through tears. Maybe in silence.

But when I do… it won’t just be the end of a marriage.

It’ll be the beginning of me coming back home to myself.

Because yes, I loved him. Deeply. Fully. Faithfully. But now… I’m learning to love me just as deeply. And that love? That’s the one I won’t lose again.

“The hardest part isn’t letting go of him. It’s letting go of the version of me who accepted less than I deserved.”

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.