Christopher James Hall

I Was There. He Wasn’t.

He would just sit there, glued to the TV screen.

I stood beside him for a moment, waiting. Hoping.

Then I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Nothing.

No reaction. No shift in his expression. Not even the smallest flicker of acknowledgment.

It was like I didn’t exist to him.

I stayed there for a few more seconds, my breath held, waiting for something—anything. A glance. A sigh. A twitch of irritation. But he just stared ahead, lost in whatever meaningless show was more important than me.

I swallowed hard and stepped back.

He made me feel invisible.

Unimportant.

Unwanted.

Like I was nothing more than background noise in his life, something to be ignored, something that didn’t matter.

And maybe, to him, I really didn’t.

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