Daddy, You Don’t Love Mommy?

9th of December, 2024

Today, my 3.5-year-old daughter, Eva, caught me completely off guard. In the stillness of an uneventful afternoon, she turned to my husband and asked: “Daddy, you don’t love Mommy?”

Her words hung in the air like a thunderclap, shattering the calm. My husband froze, the shock plain on his face. Neither of us responded; we simply moved on, letting the question remain unanswered. But for me, the silence was deafening. A sharp, piercing pain struck me as I heard her innocent words, and their echo lingered in my mind long after.

What struck me most wasn’t just the question itself—it was how unprompted it was. There was no visible tension, no argument to spark her thoughts. And yet, she sensed something. She knows it. Deep down, she knows my narcissistic husband doesn’t show love toward me. In fact, what he does show often feels like the opposite. Children are intuitive in ways we often underestimate. They don’t need to hear shouting or see tears to pick up on the subtleties of tension or disconnection.

Eva’s question sent me into a spiral of reflection. What is love, really? How do we express it? And, perhaps most importantly, how do we teach it? Loving well is one of life’s most profound and difficult challenges. It requires self-awareness, empathy, and emotional intelligence—qualities that, unfortunately, many lack.

To love well, you have to know yourself deeply. You have to confront your fears, insecurities, and wounds so they don’t spill over onto the people you care about. Love demands that we take responsibility for our own emotions and actions, creating space for others to feel safe and valued. It’s simple in theory but achingly complex in practice.

It terrifies me to think of what Eva might internalize from our home. Will she grow up with a distorted understanding of love? It’s confusing for a child. If Mamma and Pappa are together, doesn’t that mean they love each other? Isn’t that how it works? I know that someday, she’ll see the cracks for what they are. But today, her question made me pause and ask myself: What can I do to make it different for her? How can I give her the tools to grow into a safe, confident, and happy adult, one who understands what love is and isn’t?

Maybe it would be better if we separated after all. The thought is a heavy one, but it lingers. The hardest part isn’t facing the reality of the relationship but facing the impact it might have on my children. I want them to know what love is—real love—not the fractured, hollow version they might be seeing now. And that’s a question I know I’ll be grappling with for a long time.

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