That gut wrenching Feeling

That day, a whisper in my gut,

A feeling strange, a restless rut.

A fear of losing—something unknown,

A silent ache, a seed sown.

I called it hormones, brushed it away,

Held my baby, made it through the day.

Five days past birth, raw and weak,

Yet something lingered—I couldn’t speak.

He dozed off, Netflix aglow,

I reached for his phone, just to close.

But there it was—a flashing light,

A name unknown, sharp as a knife.

One tap, one scroll, the flood began,

A thousand secrets in my hand.

“Hi’s” he never sent to me,

Words of love, wild and free.

Images, laughter, desires untold,

Yet for me—his heart was cold.

Every excuse, every “too tired,”

Now lay bare—my soul on fire.

He woke, he saw, he said no words,

Just, “What now?”—as if unheard.

I stood there, shattered, torn apart,

Holding the wreckage of my heart.

Leave or stay? I asked the night,

Too weak to run, too lost to fight.

For my child, I stayed, or was it fear?

The weight of absence too severe.

But echoes haunt me every day,

The lies, the loss, the things he’d say.

Perhaps the truth was meant to be,

A gift my child revealed to me.

Someday, maybe, I’ll find my way,

Gather my strength and walk away.

But until then, I live in between,

A ghost of love that’s never seen.

So, sister, hear this, heed my plea,

Don’t check his phone—unless you’re ready to leave.