A Story About Divorce, Depression, and the Love That Still Haunts Me
Some love stories don’t end.
They just get quieter. Sadder. More complicated.
This is one of them.
I came across a raw, devastating post online — and I knew I had to share it with you. Not because it’s tidy or uplifting. But because it’s real.
This isn’t about blame.
It’s about what happens when love meets pain, and one of them has to give.
Here’s the original story — shared by a man who walked away from the person he still believes is his soulmate.
“I miss my husband so da*n much.”
(original post, lightly edited for clarity)
I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And oh, I miss him.
I asked for a divorce for a few reasons — mostly because his depression got exponentially worse day after day, and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn’t even go into work. Eventually, he got fired.
I stayed with him for so long. All I ever wanted was for him to try to get better. That day never came. I sobbed through the entire process. When I handed him the divorce papers, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look — and signed them without a word.
My heart shattered.
I told everyone it was “a new beginning.” That I was free. It was a lie. It just hurt, and it still hurts. He was my soulmate. I’ll never love anyone like I loved him.He used to be so sweet. So passionate. So full of life.
They say time helps. But it’s been three years, and I still reach for him in the morning. I still expect to see his car in the driveway. My heart is just as broken as the day he left.
I stalk his socials sometimes — I’ll admit that. He’s back at the gym. He’s sober now. On meds. And he looks genuinely happy. I’m proud of him. But also… it crushes me.
Maybe if I had waited, he would’ve come around? Maybe I was holding him down?
I don’t know.
I just want to fall into his arms and beg him to take me back.
Maybe he feels the same way.I’ll never know unless I try.
Edit 1: Yes, we’re both gay men. I’m emotional and effeminate — get creative.
He was a binge drinker and refused help. We had antidepressants in the house. He wouldn’t take them. Now he’s two years sober and on meds. I never stopped loving him. But toward the end, I started drinking too. That’s when I knew I was going under with him.
I didn’t leave the second it got hard. I stayed. I loved him. But I was drowning.
Edit 2: No, I wasn’t the cause of his depression. His younger brother died unexpectedly, and everything changed after that. We’d been together for years before that. We were childhood sweethearts.
What This Story Reminded Me
Not all heartbreak is loud.
Sometimes it’s just… permanent. And private.
This man didn’t leave because he stopped loving his partner. He left because he couldn’t save him. And when you love someone deeply, there’s nothing harder than realizing love alone isn’t enough.
This story isn’t about weakness.
It’s about impossible choices — and the grief that lingers long after.
When Grief Wears a Familiar Face
There’s something uniquely cruel about watching someone become who you hoped they’d be — after you’ve left. After it’s too late.
It’s not jealousy. It’s mourning.
Not just of a person — but of what could have been, if only.
This man’s post isn’t asking for pity.
It’s a love letter to a version of life that slipped through his fingers — and a question many of us have asked in the quiet:
What if I had stayed a little longer?
What if I try again?
Would they let me back in?
If You’re Reading This and You’ve Let Go of Someone You Still Love…
You’re not alone.
And no, you’re not broken for still hurting years later.
Love doesn’t follow deadlines.
And grief doesn’t always come from death — sometimes, it comes from survival.
💬 Have you ever let go of someone you still loved — for your own survival?
Share your story in the comments, or DM me anonymously. I’ll be exploring more heartbreak stories like this in an upcoming series: Love That Didn’t Get the Ending It Deserved.
Because we don’t just honor love stories here — we honor the ones that broke us open and still haven’t fully closed.
Because growing older means learning how to live with the love you had to let go.
