I still miss the witness more than the romance

Dear Delyara, I don’t mean the big things people imagine. I mean the daily witness. The person who already knows the child’s mood, the cost of the week, the atmosphere of the house, the stupid thing that happened in the car, the email that upset you, the reason you sound like this at 8 p.m. without needing the whole story built from scratch. I miss being understood from inside the life itself. That kind of absence hurts differently after divorce. Less dramatic. More constant. Because some evenings, what I miss is not passion or certainty or even companionship in the broad sense. It is the handover. The place where the day could land without full translation.