11/12/2025
“We Both Kept Waiting”
A dialogue between a wife and her addicted husband
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[Her]
He tells me I’m remembering it wrong.
That I’m exaggerating. That I’m overreacting again.
And the worst part? Some nights, I believe him.
[Him]
I hate myself for that.
I hear the crack in her voice when I lie,
and still, I say it — because the truth would ruin us faster.
[Her]
He says, “You’re too sensitive.”
What he means is, “Your pain is inconvenient.”
He says, “Why can’t you just let it go?”
Because I can’t. Because I remember every time he swore this wouldn’t happen again.
[Him]
I don’t say it to hurt her.
I say it because I can’t stand seeing what I’ve done reflected in her face.
She looks at me like I’m two men.
And she’s right — I am.
[Her]
Addiction turned our house into a waiting room.
Waiting for him to come home.
Waiting for the truth.
Waiting for the man I married.
[Him]
She thinks I don’t see it.
But I do.
I see the distance.
The way she sets my plate down like it might bite her back.
I see the hope still flickering behind the anger,
and it kills me that I keep feeding it lies.
[Her]
Some nights, he’s kind.
He swears he’ll do better.
His eyes are clear, and I almost believe him.
I want to. God, I want to.
[Him]
Those nights — I mean it.
Every word.
But the wanting and the doing live on opposite sides of hell.
And by morning, the guilt becomes the only thing stronger than the craving.
[Her]
I started keeping evidence.
Screenshots. Receipts. Empty bottles.
Not because I’m crazy —
but because he’s made me feel like I am.
[Him]
She keeps proof.
I keep secrets.
Both of us just trying to survive the version of me I can’t control.
[Her]
People say, “Why don’t you just leave?”
As if love was a switch.
As if vows expire when the sickness gets ugly.
[Him]
People say, “Why don’t you just quit?”
As if addiction was a choice.
As if willpower could silence a scream that never stops.
[Her]
I stay because I remember who he was.
Because I keep thinking maybe if I love him enough, he’ll remember too.
[Him]
I drink because I remember who I was —
and I can’t stand that I’m not him anymore.
[Her]
I’m tired of forgiving him.
Tired of waiting for promises to hold.
Tired of losing myself while trying to save him.
[Him]
I’m tired of being forgiven.
Tired of breaking the same promise.
Tired of looking at the person I love most and seeing disappointment where trust used to live.
[Her]
I’m not angry anymore. I’m just done.
When I leave, it won’t be loud.
It’ll be quiet — the kind of quiet that sounds like peace.
[Him]
And when she leaves, I won’t chase her.
Because I’ll know she didn’t walk away from me.
She walked away from the wreckage.
From the waiting.
From the ghost I became.
[Her]
I can’t save a man who’s still drowning on purpose.
[Him]
I never wanted to drown.
I just didn’t know how to stop sinking.
[Both]
We both kept waiting — for the other to change first.
And somewhere in all that waiting,
we forgot how to breathe together.
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