We Found Each Other Again After Marriage

I hadn’t really looked at my wife in a long time. I lost track of how long it had been since I drifted away, but that afternoon, when she walked right in front of me in the hallway, clad only in a bra and panty, I was compelled to notice her. I paused the TV and took a long, deep look at her—her eyes, her nose, her face. When she asked, “What?” I found myself drawn to her lips, which twirled when she felt shy or confused. She repeated, “What? What are you looking at?” In my mind, I thought, “You’re still that beautiful girl,” but I couldn’t muster the courage to say it out loud. Instead, I replied, “Am I not allowed to look at my own wife anymore?”

She simply smiled and walked away.

We’ve been together for ten years and married for six. We have a five-year-old son and a nearly four-year-old daughter. We also had another son who passed away just six months after birth. I remember how devastated she was, spending countless nights crying over our loss. She was inconsolable, but time worked its magic, and she eventually healed. People can heal, but they often carry scars. Physical scars may be unsightly but don’t hurt anymore. Emotional scars, however, leave you searching for something you can never find, causing pain to yourself and those around you.

My wife bore those emotional scars and grew distant. I tried my best to be there for her, offering my support, but the wound was too deep. I left her to the passage of time to mend the lingering pain. I believe that’s when we began to drift apart. She was emotionally absent, and I let her slip away.

Our lives fell into a routine. She went to work while I took the kids to school before heading to my job. She returned home before I did with the children. We would eat, bathe the kids, help with their homework, and put them to bed. She would watch TV for a while, while I worked on my laptop to earn money. Intimacy became rare, and conversations only occurred when we were arguing or discussing the kids. We were merely coexisting, living for our children and neglecting ourselves.

But I remember when she was just a girl.

The first time I proposed to her, we had this conversation:

“What do you like about me?”

“Your nose and your eyes. They’re beautiful.”

“Don’t be silly. What about me makes you want to be my girlfriend?”

“You’re beautiful and down-to-earth. I like how genuine you are; it makes me feel like you have nothing to hide.”

“And do you think what you feel for me has a future?”

“Oh yes! If you say yes to me, that’s it. We’re in this until we get married.” (I wasn’t entirely sure.)

“Give me some time. Let’s be sure we both want this.”

A few weeks later, she said yes, and that marked the beginning of our journey together.

Back then, I used to gaze at her as if she were a trophy on my wall. I knew every curve of her body and could count the birthmarks on her skin, knowing exactly where all six of them were located. Perhaps I was obsessed, but a man in love with the right woman has a different heartbeat. I felt complete when she was with me, so I did everything I could to keep her close.

I met her parents just three months into our relationship, allowing me to visit her home without raising any concerns. Later, when I introduced her to my parents, my mother said, “You better hold onto this one. We don’t want to meet anyone else.”

Getting married wasn’t easy for us. I lost three jobs in two years, and she was unemployed for three years before finding work. That delayed our wedding, but looking back, those were some of the best days of our lives. Our kisses could last until we ran out of breath, and intimacy was divine. We could be together anytime and anywhere; it was the only thing we truly shared.

We married shortly after both of us found jobs. Our wedding was small and discreet, as we didn’t have much to spend on guests. Married life took on a new dimension. We were inseparable, always together, enjoying each other’s company and making light of our existence.

Then the kids started arriving.

I was no longer the center of my wife’s attention. Our son took over everything, dictating our lives like a little god. I must admit, it stung a bit. You can feel like the king of the world one day, and the next, you’re just a feather duster. That shift took away much of the time we could have spent together as husband and wife. The arrival of our second child made things even more challenging. While my wife cared for our daughter, I was busy with our son. Our hands were almost always full, and by the time the kids finally fell asleep, we were too exhausted to connect.

We became the dawn couple.

If I wanted to touch my wife, it had to be at dawn when the little ones were asleep. I remember one time when we had gone too long without intimacy. I was feeling restless, so I crept closer to her. Just as I was about to make my move, our son woke up. My wife wanted it too, so we tried to soothe him back to sleep. Just as he began to doze off, our daughter woke up with a loud cry. The moment was lost.

I lost my wife to our children, and the death of our last baby only deepened the divide.

So that afternoon, when she walked past me in a minimal panty, something stirred within me. We had been home for days due to the lockdown, with little to occupy us. The kids were becoming more independent, often playing together and leaving us alone for a while.

I responded, “Am I not allowed to look at my own wife anymore?” She smiled and walked away…

But I wasn’t going to sit idly by, so I followed her to the bedroom, where she lay face down with her legs raised. I cleared my throat, and she glanced back at me, asking, “What do you want? You’re acting strangely.” I didn’t answer; I simply walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and playfully spanked her. She understood the message. Within moments, we were tangled in bed, trying to reconnect. We missed each other, and it showed in our touches and the intensity of our kisses. Not long after, we lay back, panting. That’s when our son burst into the room. We quickly dove under the sheets, pretending to be busy with something important. He looked at both of us and asked, “Mommy, are you okay?”

Clearly, he didn’t care about me. Silly boy.

That day ignited a new spark between us. It felt as if we had each other and still craved more. We felt young again, and it was heartwarming. Each morning, we found new ways to outsmart the kids so we could reconnect. It wasn’t easy, but there was joy in working together. For the first time in a long while, we were on the same page, seeking the same thing. It felt like a revival. Now, when I look at my wife, I truly see her. She’s not the same girl I fell in love with ten years ago; she’s even better, having aged like fine wine.

So, last afternoon, while our son played outside with a neighbor’s child and our daughter napped in her crib, we both lifted our heads to check on them. She remarked, “It doesn’t look like he’ll be back anytime soon.” I replied, “Let’s make the most of it before he returns.”

Just as we were about to get started, he came running in, shouting, “Mommy, mommy, have you seen blah blah blah…” He burst through the door and dashed into the living room. We sat on the sofa like two strangers waiting for the same bus. Innocent.

—Fiifi

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