Je fais une grosse bêtise ! #cuisine #france #fyp

Last night I was talking to another man, "Yes, I found my husband, and to be honest, I don't regret anything." Before I was judged, I was waiting to know what he had done to me this night, like all the other nights. However, I was in the kitchen. An entire hour, preparing his meal. An hour to cut, mix, cook and cook. An hour to try to cry to a man who had already tried to see me. The door opens, he goes in. Not a good night, not a smile, not a watch. He goes to watch me from the bottom of the sea, it stops on my own, and he just eats. It's worth it, it's all. Not a mercy, not a way to start a day. Nothing. Just that. As if I had become a simple object in his own house. And me, as usual, I keep silence. I walk my collar, I walk my chest. I walk this horrible feeling of no longer worth a big thing. Because effort to be ignored, at the end of believing that we deserve to be. We are in a glass silence. He, the eyes are on his phone. Me, in six phases. Unvisible. Like if I didn't exist anymore. Like if the woman he loved had disappeared for a long time.