For three years, my husband Mark missed every one of my birthdays. Each time, he was “busy,” “late,” or had some excuse. On my latest birthday, I sat alone at a candlelit table, finally telling him it was over. I thought I meant it—until after our divorce, when I learned the truth he’d been hiding.

Mark’s mother came to see me, revealing a secret: Mark had a daughter from his first marriage who died in a car accident on my birthday years ago. Since then, he’d visited her grave every year, unable to celebrate my birthday without feeling like he was betraying his daughter’s memory.

When I went to the cemetery, I found Mark there. He admitted he was torn between mourning his daughter and celebrating me, and that’s why he pulled away. He loved me, but he was afraid to share his grief.

We didn’t promise to go back to how things were, but we agreed to try again—honestly, without secrets. Now, we honor both lives every year, healing together.