My wife developed severe postpartum depression after our son was born. The only way she could sleep was by hiding in our walk-in closet every night. Even after six long months, she still couldn't share a bed with me. I tried to defy it once. Convinced it was all in her head, I gently lifted her sleeping form from the closet floor and carried her back to our bed. The result was a disaster. She woke up and sobbed inconsolably, and the next day, her depression spiraled so badly she had to be hospitalized. After that, I walked on eggshells. I never dared to touch her again. I just let her retreat to the closet, night after night. Until our son’s first birthday. That morning, Stella emerged from the closet, stretching lazily like a cat. I took one look at her face, glowing and rosy from a good night’s sleep, and said it. "I want a divorce." The party chatter in the room died. Every eye swiveled to me. Her father’s face hardened. "Because my daughter sleeps in a closet? You want to divorce her for that?" Her mother’s eyes, already misty with emotion for her grandson, welled up with tears of rage. "Stella went through hell to give you a child! She's suffering from postpartum depression, can't even sleep in a comfortable bed, and you—you heartless bastard—you have the nerve to ask for a divorce?" I remained silent, my decision unshakable. Stella’s own eyes turned a painful, brilliant red. Tears clung to her lashes as she confronted me. “William,” her voice trembled, “if I hadn't carried your precious son for ten months, I wouldn't have postpartum depression! I know you don't understand, but to divorce me just because I sleep in the closet… are you serious?” I stared at her, my gaze cold, and pointed a finger at the offending piece of furniture. "You said that closet is your home," I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. "Fine. Go marry your closet." ... “The courthouse. Ten o'clock tomorrow morning.” I turned my wheelchair to leave the party, but a hand shot out and clamped down on my arm, yanking me to a halt. It was her brother, Tim. "William, you're not going anywhere until you explain yourself!" he snarled, his eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like he wanted to devour me whole. He squeezed my arm, the pressure making it hard to breathe. "We're both men. I know exactly why you're doing this," Tim seethed. "It's about what happens in the bedroom, isn't it?" "My sister nearly died giving you that baby. Have you even looked at her stomach? It used to be flawless. Now it’s covered in stretch marks like a roadmap to hell. She gained thirty pounds for you, her whole body changed, and now you’re disgusted? A little late for that, don't you think?" His words were brutally blunt, and they hit their mark. Everyone in the room glared at me, their faces a mixture of judgment and contempt. I could feel them mentally lumping me in with that one distant cousin whose name was now mud in the family circle—the guy who divorced his wife after she "let herself go" post-baby. They were ready to nail me to that cross. As I opened my mouth to defend myself, Stella’s father slammed his wine glass down on the table. "William, a man's fortune rises when he cherishes his wife," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Every woman goes through this. If this is your reason for leaving my daughter, I've lost all respect for you." Her mother let out an impatient scoff. "All you men ever think about is what's between your legs! My daughter has been struggling for over a year. Can't you show a little compassion? She's your wife, not your release valve!" I said nothing. Stella's tears finally broke free, fat droplets rolling down her cheeks. "William, you soulless bastard. Is that really why? Is this really about me sleeping in the closet… about us not having sex?" Her voice, thick with sobs, rose to a crescendo. "Let me ask you something, William. Our son is a year old now. How many diapers have you changed? How many times a day does he need a bottle? Have you ever even cared to notice?" The room turned on me, a chorus of angry murmurs. "He looks so put-together, but he has zero sense of responsibility. What a pathetic excuse for a man." "You'd think he had a throne to pass down, the way he wanted a son. Turns out he can't even be bothered to raise him." "Now I get why Stella's depressed. If I were married to a man like that, I'd want to kill myself." Expressionless, I scanned their hostile faces and let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Say whatever you want." My eyes found Stella. "Tomorrow morning. The courthouse." "So you admit it?" Tim's fist tightened, and he swung at me. "I'll kill you, you animal! My sister must have been blind to marry a piece of trash like you!" As his fist flew toward my face, Stella shrieked in terror. "Tim, no! Don't hit him!" She threw herself in front of me, shielding my body with her own. "He was in a car accident! He can't even fight back! You'll hurt him, and… and it would break my heart!" The punch stopped inches from my cheek. A bitter, desolate smile twisted Tim’s lips. "You see that, William? Do you see how much she loves you? It's a reflex. She sees you in danger and protects you without a second thought. You're a cripple in a wheelchair, and she hasn't abandoned you. What right do you have to complain about her?" He leaned in close, his voice a low growl. "William, I'm asking you one last time—are you sure you want to go through with this divorce?" "Yes." I turned my head, my face a mask of indifference, and looked at Stella. Tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head. "William," she whispered, grabbing my arm, "I know I've neglected you this past year. It's my fault. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll change." A harsh laugh escaped my lips, and I shook her off with disgust. "Stop the act. Get away from me." "No matter what, this marriage is over." I spun my wheelchair around, determined to leave. Thump. The sound of knees hitting the floor. Stella was on the ground, tears streaming down her face as she jammed her hand into the spokes of my wheelchair. If I moved an inch, her hand would be crushed. My brow furrowed. "Let go." She just sobbed and shook her head. "William, I'm on my knees begging you. Can't we just talk this through? Please, don't divorce me. You're doing this in front of everyone… my family will be so worried…" Her voice cracked. "And it's just about me sleeping in the closet, isn't it?" She swore, her words choked with tears, "If you hate it that much, I'll stop! I'll never sleep in there again! I'll sleep in the bed with you, even if… even if I can't sleep a wink…" Her supposed concession was my condemnation. The guests erupted in a fresh wave of insults. "He's not a man, he's a monster!" "Making a federal case out of something so small. Whoever married him is the unluckiest woman alive." "Poor Stella, living like this. Honestly, if it weren't for the baby, she should divorce him!" In their eyes, I was the undisputed villain. They looked at me as if they wanted to flay me alive. A smirk touched my lips. "Then why don't you dare tell them the real reason you sleep in the closet?"
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