My name is Mia, 33, and I had been with Donald, 32, for several years. Ever since our daughter Evelyn, nine, was born, Donald stopped acknowledging my birthday, even though I always celebrated his. It wasn’t about grand gestures, but his sheer disregard hurt deeply.

Donald often blew up at me if I brought up his neglect, excusing himself with being too busy. His neglect made me feel invisible in our relationship. Last year, after another forgotten birthday and an argument, I decided to take action.

Determined to leave, I found a second job, saved money, and spoke to an attorney. On my thirty-third birthday, April 5, he once again forgot, instead playing video games. That night, I packed our things and left with Evelyn, leaving behind a note on the kitchen counter with my birthdate circled in red: “Hope you’ll never forget this date again! Now it’s not only my birthday but the day I became FREE from you!”

Donald’s shock the next morning was palpable. He called, demanding to know where I was. “You never saw me, truly,” I told him. “I was a ghost in our home, invisible and taken for granted. But ghosts eventually move on, seeking peace.”

He pleaded for us to return, but it was too late. “Fixing this requires seeing and valuing me, something you forgot how to do a long time ago,” I replied.

As Evelyn and I settled into our new life, we embraced hope and respect. My birthday now marks not just the anniversary of my birth, but our freedom and the promise of a brighter future. For Donald, the note and circled date stand as a stark reminder of the day he lost us.