"Hey, babe," he says indifferently, not even pecking your lips anymore like he used to. "How was your day?"

He doesn't care, you know that. It's just the routine. Not a single glance is directed to you as he just sits down on the sofa turning on the TV. Yet you smile as you look at him and answer, "It was great."

You're lying. You broke down crying earlier that day, wanting the man sitting next to you on the sofa to finally see that you aren't feeling well. The wall you built all these years is too massive to break though.

He nods. "Did you make dinner yet, babe?"

Does he even still remember your name? He didn't call you by your name in weeks, maybe even months. "Yes, I'll get you some."

The smile fades as soon as you enter the kitchen. Tears brim in the corners of your eyes. You try to blink them away while grabbing the plate that you have put in the microwave. After taking some silverware you make your way back into the living room.

"Here you go," you smile. "I hope you like it."

No response. He just eats.

Like always he doesn't care if you ate. Your last meal was yesterday's breakfast.

Finishing up, he pushes the plate a little further into the middle of the table. You take the plate and bring it into the kitchen, putting it into the sink not caring to wash it.

"I-I'll be using the bathroom," you inform your so-called boyfriend as the tears are threatening to fall. You don't receive an answer.

Do you really want this kind of life?