When Words Returned Vol. 16 — WordsByEkta🌿
When Words Returned
After new parenthood left their marriage in silence, they found their way back — one small conversation at a time.
The baby was six weeks old when they finally sat down — on the same sofa, with the baby asleep nearby, and the house unusually quiet. No celebrations. No confrontation. Just silence. And then Ekta spoke.
"I don't think I'm okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Varun didn't interrupt.
"I'm not angry at you," she continued, "but I'm scared. I've changed. Not just my body. My mind. My energy. And I don't know how to explain it to people who keep telling me this is 'normal.' It doesn't feel normal to cry quietly in the bathroom because the baby smiled at you and you didn't feel joy — just exhaustion."
Ekta twisted the edge of her sleeve, a flush creeping up her neck. "I hated what I saw in the mirror. The stretch marks, the sags… it felt like I'd lost something I couldn't get back. And when you mentioned them, even lightly, it was like holding up a mirror to my worst fear — that maybe you saw the loss too."
Varun's brows drew together. "Ekta, I never meant it like that. I thought I was being light. I didn't know it cut so deep."
"It wasn't just that," she murmured. "One day I saw your YouTube history — dancers, perfect bodies, women who looked nothing like me anymore. I knew you weren't watching them like that. Not really. But in that moment… I felt like I'd disappeared."
He reached for her hand gently. "It wasn't about them. Watching dance — it helped me feel something. Movement, freedom, expression. Maybe I was escaping… but not from you."
Ekta's voice trembled. "I needed to feel like you still saw me. Not the old me. This me. The one who was milk-stained, tired, sagging in all the wrong places — but still trying. Still hoping she was beautiful to you."
"I miss you. But I don't know how to be a wife right now."
Varun exhaled slowly. He clenched his jaw. "I'm tired too," he finally said. "Tired of feeling like I'm the bad guy for wanting things to be normal again. Tired of walking on eggshells, scared one wrong word will push you further away. I don't know how to fix this if you won't let me in."
He looked at her, raw and unfiltered. "I miss us too. But I've also missed myself. I try, but it's like nothing I do reaches you. I feel invisible. Like I'm showing up, but somehow still failing. I didn't want to eat alone. But I didn't know how to help without making it worse."
"Every time I try to talk about being close, you shut down. It's not just about intimacy — I want connection. I miss that."
Ekta looked away. "You say you want closeness," she whispered, "but I don't feel it. It's like you want intimacy without the romance. That's why I pull away."
The silence stretched. Both ached for the same thing but spoke different languages of love.
Varun ran a hand through his hair, then softened. "Maybe we need to slow down. Not rush into... that part. Just small things — holding hands, hugs, sitting close while watching the baby. Let me show you I'm here."
Ekta met his eyes. "And I'll try to tell you when I need space or when I want to be held. No pretending. Just honest moments."
They nodded together. A beginning — not overnight, but step by step.
Then, practically — like two people solving a work problem — they started talking.
Ekta looked at Varun, quieter now. "Do you remember when they said I shouldn't be sleeping after delivery? That I should just get up and start caring for the baby?"
Varun's face shifted. "I remember," he said. "I should've stepped in more. I didn't realize how cruel it sounded until later."
She nodded. "I believed them. For weeks, I kept thinking something was wrong with me. That I didn't have the instincts. That I was... broken."
"You weren't broken, Ekta," Varun said softly. "You were recovering. That doesn't make you less of a mother — it makes you human."
Ekta's voice returned, resolute. "I used to think good mothers just knew what to do. Now I think good mothers grow into it. Slowly. And I'm getting there. One day at a time."
She hesitated. "I've wanted to ask you to sleep in the room again. I miss having you there. But... I know how lightly you sleep. The baby's sounds, the crying — I was scared it would wear you down more."
Varun looked at her, touched. "I do struggle with sleep, yes. But I struggle more with feeling like I'm on the outside. Like I'm missing out — even on the hard nights."
She blinked. "You never said anything."
"I thought you needed space. Maybe I told myself I was helping. But I don't want to be someone who steps in during the day. I want to be part of all of it."
Ekta laughed tearfully. "Even if it means no sleep?"
"I'll nap when I can. Or invest in better earplugs," he smiled. "But being close to both of you... that's rest of a different kind."
He hesitated. "But I need you to know something. My sleep is light, and sometimes exhaustion hits hard. On those nights, I may need to sleep separately — not because I want distance, but because I'm trying to hold myself together. Please… don't take it as me pulling away. I'm not good with words. But this — this is me trying. Not to escape — but to stay strong with you."
Ekta looked at him, something soft settling in her chest. Choosing each other again, even in exhaustion.
"I'd like that," she said quietly.
"Then let's start tonight," Varun replied, reaching for her hand.
What came out of it was not perfect. But it was real.
They made a plan. One hour a day for Ekta — alone. No baby, no chores. Varun would handle the baby, no matter what. Evenings together — even for 15 minutes. No screens. No baby talk. Just tea, or sitting quietly. A ritual to remember they are more than co-parents. Weekly check-ins — no distractions, no blame. Just listening and rebuilding. They re-evaluated household roles. Varun took grocery runs and laundry. Ekta handled feeding plans and doctor visits. Both shared baby duties on weekends.
Most importantly, they promised: if either of them felt the thread fraying, they wouldn't wait. They'd say it — clumsy or messy. Because neither wanted silence to become the third person in their marriage again.
When their daughter stirred in the early hours, both of them woke up. Together.
✍️ Written by WordsByEkta🌿
🖋️ Emotional Storyteller | Writing what hearts never say aloud
💌 If you connected with my way of saying hard truths — often overlooked but deeply felt — explore one of my free letters:
wordsbyekta.gumroad.com
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