My husband is not the same man I married seventeen years ago. When we first got married at twenty, his fans flooded message boards and blogs all over the Internet speculating about how soon our marriage would meet its demise. Most predicted five years, yet here we are, still married. Looking at the state of things now, maybe they had the right idea. But their speculations were based on the fact that they believed me unworthy of marriage to the Taylor Hanson. In my mind though, he was always just Taylor, the boy I grew up going to church with but never thought twice about until he returned from a world tour and asked me on a date. Me, Adeline Price, who felt painfully average at the tender age of fifteen. Yet for some reason, Taylor chose me, and I was happy. We were both happy. After six years of dating, we got married in a gorgeous ceremony at the same church where we had first seen each other so many years before.

And for many years after that day, we remained happy with each other, with our marriage, and with the family we began creating together. The changes came so slowly and insidiously that I suppose I didn’t even realize they were happening. In the beginning, he would stroll into the house just in time for dinner after a day at the studio with his brothers, and he would slide up behind me, kiss my neck and ask how my day had been. As a stay-at-home mom with two girls, nothing exciting every really happened, but still he asked every day. The girls would run up and greet him excitedly, and Taylor would scoop them into his arms and kiss each of them with a loud smack that made them giggle insanely. Weekends were family time, when he put work on hold and we would picnic at the park and lounge in the sun while the girls played on the playground equipment, or we’d have movie nights with the four of us draped across each other on the couch watching the latest Disney masterpiece or an oldie from when we were children. And life was perfect.

But the girls began getting older, and Taylor started coming home later and later. For awhile he still asked about my day, though with a tone of forcedness in his voice rather than interest until eventually he simply stopped asking altogether. His moods were increasingly sour, and he spent most of the time that he was home locked away in his office. I could tolerate how distant he had become of me, but what killed me inside was how he drifted from the girls. They barely got a pat on the head and a second of eye contact when he came through the door.

So it was a surprise, I think, to everyone when I got pregnant again at 33. I had such high hopes as our third child grew inside of me, hoping and praying that this baby would bring Taylor back to how he had been and return our lives to the fairytale they had been to begin with. I prayed this baby would bring a change. On January 1st, Lyric Rose was born, and she did bring a change, just not the kind I had anticipated. Taylor doted over her from the moment she was born, and she was the only one who could make him smile. I realize it was hard not to smile when looking at her. As a mother, I knew she was perfect and her chubby cheeks and pudgy fingers wrapped around mine were guaranteed to bring a smile to my face. But as she grew, she became Taylor’s, the epitome of a daddy’s girl. He would do anything for her. I think a lot of his attachment to her came from the fact that Taylor had always loved babies, and our house had been without one for nearly nine years. For the first time in a long time, he could sit and hold Lyric in his arms, whispering all of his stress and anger away to the only person who would listen without interrupting or passing judgment.

Now Lyric’s three and a half, and she’s still the light of her father’s life. Our oldest, Anya, is wholly jealous of her youngest sister, and harbors serious feelings of resentment for her father. I wish she didn’t feel that way, but how can I blame her? Even I resent him and his indifference most of the time. She’s sixteen, and with her active social life, she’s hardly home anyway. But it breaks my heart to see her and Taylor cross paths without so much as a glance or a word to each other.

At thirteen, Endia hasn’t given up on Taylor. At least, not yet. She still vies for his attention, proudly announcing to him when she’s made an A on a test or about her latest performance in the productions of the teen group at church that Taylor faithfully misses each time. Sometimes, I feel she breaks my heart even more, because at least Anya’s enough like me to develop a thick skin and pretend it doesn’t bother her that Taylor hardly pays her any attention. I can’t stand seeing the defeated look on Endia’s face when Taylor only gives her various news of achievement a half-hearted smile and a weak, “Good job.”

But of all of the things Taylor Hanson does that break my heart, there’s one that stands above the rest. You see, Lyric can’t go to sleep unless Taylor tucks her in and tells her goodnight. On nights where he comes home past midnight, she’ll only sleep in the bed with me since her daddy’s not there to put her to bed. So on those nights, I dress her in her little nightgown and tuck her in beside me. And she’ll yawn and look at me with sleepy eyes and ask, “When’s Daddy coming home?” And I smile and brush her hair from her eyes and whisper that I don’t know. The answer seems to satisfy her for some reason, and she’ll stick her thumb in her mouth and drift off to sleep. When Taylor finally does get home on those nights, I’ll wake up as soon as the front door opens, but I never let him know I’m awake. It’s not as though I have anything to say to him anyway. And on those nights, he’ll slide into bed and pull Lyric close to him as if he can’t stand to see her in anyone’s arms but his own. Just before he goes to sleep himself, he’ll reach across the chasm that has formed in our bed, and he’ll put his hand on my cheek and whisper, “I love you, Adeline.” That’s what breaks my heart the most. After seventeen years of marriage, my husband can’t tell me he loves me to my face.

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