Three years into their marriage, Jerica had brought up the subject, only for him to brush it aside with reassurances that they "had time." But that vague response only deepened her frustration.
She couldn't shake the growing resentment, an ache that festered each time he dodged her attempts to discuss it seriously. Cleaning up the remnants of his careful planning the next morning felt increasingly hollow, as though she were merely fulfilling his needs while her own dreams went unheard.
Over time, her disappointment had turned into a quiet distance. She had pulled back in subtle ways, withdrawing pieces of herself she thought might teach him the weight of what he was denying her. But she had to wonder if that unspoken resentment, that quiet, persistent ache, had only added to the rift between them.
