I have epilepsy. My family and I didn’t bother telling my wife the full truth about it. She didn’t need to know how my meds screw with my fertility. She was too wrapped up in her own selfish need to have a kid anyway. It doesn’t matter. I could’ve had a much better life without her. But here we are.

She’s been obsessed with IVF—round after round of it, like it’s the only thing that defines her. I paid for all of it, of course, like I’ve paid for everything else, but that’s not enough. She wants me to emotionally support her through all this nonsense, like I care about it. There’s no intimacy anymore—just her needles and hormone treatments and the constant pressure. I’m over it.

So I went to cam sites. Big deal. Extreme stuff, yeah. But it worked. She found out and lost her mind. Cried, screamed, accused me of cheating. She doesn’t get it. I wasn’t touching anyone. I was just fulfilling a basic need that she refuses to even acknowledge anymore. It’s not cheating; it’s reality.

She had another miscarriage. Great. She shut down, got all moody and withdrawn. I couldn’t care less. I paid for the damn procedure, gave her some space, and then just moved on. I’m not here to comfort her. I’m not her emotional punching bag. I didn’t try to talk to her. Why would I? She stopped talking to me.

Therapy was a joke. She couldn’t handle the fact that I call my mom when things get rough. She thinks it’s “toxic.” My mom’s the only one who gives a damn about me. She’s the one who actually stepped in when things got bad, and I’d take her side any day over my wife’s drama. My wife thinks it’s “weird” that my mom helped monitor my seizures with a baby monitor when we were first married. I don’t know what she expects—maybe I should have just died in my sleep instead of being cared for.

I’ve got no patience left for this. I’m on Tinder Gold. I’m on POF. I talk to whoever I want. I don’t owe her any explanations. She doesn’t deserve any more of my time. She doesn’t even see me anymore, just the man who financially supports her endless cycle of failure. She’s a shell of who she used to be. She’s not the woman I married. And frankly, I’m not the man I was when we got together either. But I’m done pretending I’m still invested.