One evening, I rushed out of the shower to find my 3-year-old son sobbing, covered in red paint, while my wife remained glued to her iPad. I was frustrated, not understanding how she could be so oblivious to the situation. My son, trembling and tearful, said, “Daddy, I made a mess,” as I saw the paint everywhere — his bed, clothes, and hair. Worse, he had wet himself. I asked him why his mom hadn’t helped, and his response stung: “Mommy didn’t check on me. Nobody checked on me.” As I cleaned him up,
I couldn’t shake the growing frustration. How could my wife have ignored this? When I confronted her, she claimed she’d tried, but her disinterest in our son’s distress was clear. Her lack of concern was more than just neglect; it felt like something deeper was at play.The next morning, needing space to think, I took our son and stayed with my sister. I called my mother-in-law, hoping she could shed some light on what was happening with my wife. After a tense conversation, she revealed that my wife had been struggling with depression for some time. The pressures of motherhood, losing her own identity, and feeling trapped had taken a toll on her. She hadn’t known how to ask for help.
