I hated my husband
I didn’t fix the marriage with words. I let him land. Not with sex, but with presence. That’s when he came home.
Done the coaching.
Done the therapy.
Done the Landmark courses.
Done emotional freedom technique.
Done all of it.
None of it worked.
All of it was band-aids on a gushing resentment.
Because the truth is; I fucking hated him.
I hated how he touched me.
I hated how he needed me.
I hated how he looked at me.
And I hated how he masturbated next to me in bed.
And I know that sounds awful; but it’s the truth.
And the worst part?
He kept calling me “wife.”
Even after I said I wanted a divorce.
Even after I told him I’m not available.
Even after I shut down completely.
He kept calling me “wife.”
Because I am Lai Yin.
And that’s the curse.
He just has to say, “I wish we had carrot cake,”
and guess what?
That night, I bring him carrot cake.
I hated that I do it.
I hated that I can’t stop.
I hated that he knows.
And I hate that he never went away.
