My wife really wanted to go to the class reunion. I said there was no point in her going. And two weeks later, a courier brought a box in her name…

My wife talked about the class reunion for an entire week. With such excitement, as if it were the event of the year. She rummaged through the closet for dresses, asking my opinion, making plans. I half-listened until it got tiresome.

Then I said bluntly: why should she go there? All her classmates had accomplished something, built careers, and she was just a regular housewife. She’d be standing in the corner in silence while others shared their successes. She would simply embarrass herself.

She fell silent mid-sentence. She looked at me with a long gaze in which I couldn’t read anything. Then she turned and left the room. She didn’t bring up the reunion again.

For several days, she barely spoke to me. She answered in one word, moved around the house like a shadow. She cooked, cleaned, but it seemed like I didn’t exist. I thought she would be upset and forget. It always happened that way.

Two weeks later, a courier arrived. A heavy box in her name. My wife wasn’t home — she had gone shopping. Out of curiosity, I opened it. And I was speechless.

Inside were books. A stack of brand-new books with glossy covers. I picked one up and turned it over. Her name was on the cover. In big letters. Author — my wife.

I stood there with the book in my hands, unable to believe it. I opened the first page — a dedication. Then the second. The text was lively, engaging. I flipped through several chapters, unable to tear myself away.

She had written a novel. A whole novel. And it had been published.

I had no idea. No idea at all. All these years, while I was working, coming home tired, she was sitting at the computer. I thought she was just browsing the internet. But she was writing. At night, in the mornings, when I was asleep or at work.

I remembered how sometimes I found her at the laptop. She would quickly close the pages and say she was reading articles or chatting with friends. I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t care.

When she returned with the groceries, I was standing there with the book in my hands. She paused in the doorway, saw the open box. She walked past me silently, put the bags in the kitchen. I waited for explanations, justifications, anything.

She turned and calmly said, “The publisher sent author copies. The book came out a month ago. It’s already being reprinted.”

I asked why she had kept silent. Why she hadn’t said anything.

She looked at me with a tiredness that gave me a chill: “You never asked what I was doing. You thought I was just a housewife. That I had nothing to say to your friends, nothing to show at the class reunion. So why should I have told you?”

That evening she went to the presentation of her book. I stayed home, flipping through the pages and recognizing us in the characters. Our life, our home, my words. It was all there — but seen through her eyes. And I felt ashamed.

She returned late. Happy, inspired, different. She talked about the readers, the questions, the publishers’ interest in her next book. I listened and realized: she had long been living in a world I knew nothing about.

She went to the class reunion after all. Alone. She came back and said that everyone congratulated her on the book. That they were proud. That she was the most successful in her class.

I sat there in silence. Because I realized one terrifying thing: I had been living for years with a person I didn’t know. I wasn’t interested, didn’t notice, didn’t appreciate. I thought of her as just part of the household.

Now I often think: how many other people around us live their own secret lives while we arrogantly decide what they are worth? And can respect be regained when a person no longer needs your approval? What would you have done in my place?

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My wife really wanted to attend her high school reunion. She talked about it with such excitement, as if it truly mattered to her. I only smirked and told her that she had no business going there, that she would embarrass herself, because now she was just a stay-at-home mom. After those words, she went silent. For several days she didn’t speak to me and walked past me as if I were nothing to her. Then, two weeks later, a courier delivered a heavy box addressed to her. Out of curiosity, I opened it right away and went numb. Inside was…
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