When He Loved Me

There was a time when I knew I was loved. Deeply. Fully. Without question.

I’ve been sitting in quiet reflection lately… trying to figure out when it all changed. And honestly, I’m not even sure. But what I do know — with everything in me — is that once upon a time, he loved me with his whole heart.

I remember how his light hazel eyes sparkled when he looked at me, like I was the only woman in the world. There was something in the way he studied me — not just my body, but my soul. He memorized my curves, my laugh, the way I moved, the way I spoke. I had never felt so wanted. So seen.

He started paying for everything right away. I didn’t have to ask — he just provided. As a single mom, that kind of love felt like a miracle. My children’s fathers hadn’t even done half of what he did effortlessly. And he didn’t have much — but what he had, he gave. Without hesitation. Without complaint. That kind of selfless giving made me feel worthy. Special. Chosen.

We talked for hours, made passionate love, and wanted to be near each other constantly. I was juggling work, school, motherhood, and still — he didn’t complain. He just showed up. Wherever I needed him, he was there. We got married after dating for just a few months. I had sworn I would never get married again — my first marriage had been painful, short, and full of disappointment. But with him? I felt safe. He gave me something I hadn’t felt in a long time — hope.

He loved me. He loved my kids. He took care of us like we were his. And maybe that’s why it hurts so deeply now.

Because that version of him doesn’t exist anymore.

After we got married, things started to shift. He began raising his voice more. Arguing became frequent. Most of it centered around how we raised the kids — he thought I was too soft, and I thought he was too harsh. And maybe we were both right. I tried to compensate for his anger by being extra lenient. I thought I could create balance, but I was really just surviving the chaos.

His tone changed. His words cut deeper. And I started shutting down emotionally. I had a miscarriage a year into our marriage — it broke me. It broke him, too. But in very different ways. I felt like I had failed him. That I had failed us. But looking back now, I think it was God protecting me from something I didn’t yet understand. He wasn’t ready. Not emotionally. Not mentally. Not spiritually. Not for a baby. And not for the weight of fatherhood.

We became distant. We’d go months without intimacy. I didn’t want to be touched. Not because I didn’t want him, but because I was holding so much pain that I didn’t know how to give anymore. And he didn’t know how to receive.

Still… he gave me his checks. He always handed over what he had. He always gave me his last. And I worked. Hard. So many overtime hours just to keep us afloat — especially when he lost jobs or walked away from them. I carried so much, and I think I did it because I wanted to be chosen. I wanted to believe he saw me. I wanted to believe he’d one day give back the kind of love I gave freely, over and over and over again.

He didn’t.

He ruined so many trips with his temper. I have memories of standing in hotel rooms, crying, wondering how something that started out so beautifully had become this. The man who once made me feel like the most special woman in the world — was now the man who made me feel small in moments I needed him the most.

I lost myself. Piece by piece.

And maybe… just maybe… I stayed because I was starving for love. I thought if I just held on tighter, if I just gave a little more — he’d come back to the man I married. But the truth is, I’ve been married alone for a long time. I just didn’t want to admit it.

Now that it’s over, all I have left are memories. Of who he used to be. Of how he used to love me.

And I guess that’s what I’m grieving most…
The version of him that no longer exists — and the version of me that believed it would last forever.

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