You stopped being a wife somewhere between the 6 a.m. medicines and the 11 p.m. bedpan
There is a moment, you probably remember it, when you realised you had not been touched in three weeks. Not touched meaningfully. Not touched like someone who was wanted. Your husband had patted your shoulder when you looked tired. That was it. And you had been too exhausted to register it as a loss until you were lying awake at midnight, listening for your mother-in-law's cough through the wall, and the absence hit you like a closed door.
