“When It Wasn’t Enough”. V2

by Samuel Schumpert

I loved a woman who disappeared while standing right in front of me.

She used to reach for me in the dark,

then one day she stopped —

and said I was the reason she couldn’t breathe.

We lost a baby in August.

She cried once.

I didn’t cry at all — not then.

I drank.

I told myself we’d try again.

But something in her died,

and something in me did too.

By March, she was gone.

No real warning.

Just packed grief in a prettier box

and handed it to someone with softer hands.

She said she didn’t cheat.

Said it wasn’t like that.

But the silence after she left told me everything.

I stayed single.

She didn’t.

She moved fast — like the pain was a fire she had to outrun.

I sat in it. Let it burn.

I thought maybe she’d come back when the smoke cleared.

She never did.

She told everyone I was the broken one.

That I was too much.

That her therapist said it was okay to disappear if it meant peace.

But peace doesn’t look like pretending a child never existed.

Peace doesn’t lie through its teeth.

I tried.

God knows I tried.

I wrote. I prayed. I waited.

I built muscle and begged Heaven and sang lullabies to a baby that never came home.

I wrote emails she never answered.

Said goodbyes she never earned.

They’ll say I gave up.

That I quit.

But I didn’t.

I fought every damn day.

Even after I died inside.

So if you’re reading this —

If someone told you about the man who couldn’t hold on anymore —

tell them I loved her.

Tell them I stayed.

Tell them I held the grief when no one else would.

And maybe now…

maybe now I can finally put it down.