My Husband Constantly Mocked Me for Doing Nothing, Then He Found My Note After the ER Took Me Away

Now, don’t get me wrong, Tyler was never physically abusive, but his words were sharp, calculated, and constant, making him cruel. I know, that’s not an excuse or to say he was better because the pain he inflicted didn’t show, but I’d convinced myself that it was at least bearable.

Every morning in our house started with a complaint, and every evening ended with a jab. He had a way of making me feel like a failure, even when I was doing my best to hold everything together.

His favorite insult came out every time the laundry wasn’t folded or dinner was not hot enough.

“Other women work and raise kids. You? You can’t even keep my lucky shirt clean,” he’d complain, and I’d oblige by trying to meet his needs.

That shirt. I’ll never forget that cursed white dress shirt with the navy trim. He called it his “lucky shirt,” as if it were some kind of holy relic. I had washed it a dozen times before, but if it was not hanging exactly where he expected it, I was suddenly useless.

It was a Tuesday morning when everything unraveled.

I had been feeling off for days, but never really took it seriously. On most days, I felt dizzy, nauseous, completely drained. I assumed it was a bad stomach bug, maybe the flu. But I pushed through, packing lunches, sweeping crumbs, making sure the boys didn’t kill each other over action figures.

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