This was Hansel’s first time driving in five years.
In his five years of faking his depression, he had been good at acting. He did not talk and barely consumed anything. He even needed help to put on his clothes.
My life revolved around taking care of him. Every day, I’d wake up at 6:00 am to make breakfast for him. He’d come home at midnight. I could only head to bed late after getting him in bed and washing up.
I had to coax him, feed him, and take care of his physical and emotional needs. I drove him to work and to his treatment
appointments.
The last five years of my life were all about Hansel. I lived for him.
Never had I thought that Hansel would use his psychotherapy sessions to seek pleasure with Giselle. I had so much hope in
psychotherapy.
No wonder he looked overjoyed before his hospital visit every time.
I was more surprised at the fact that he had faked his depression. My fear, anxiety, and sacrifice over these years in hopes of his
recovery were nothing but a joke.
I stared at my pallid face in the rearview mirror and almost could not recognize myself. For five years, I lost my appetite and my
sleep as I took care of him.
