Dear Annie: I’m writing because I feel embarrassed even admitting this, but I’m starting to dread parts of my own life that I worked hard to build.

I’m 52, married for 24 years, and we have two grown kids who are mostly launched. Our son is across the country and our daughter lives close enough to drop by for Sunday dinner. I used to look forward to this “quieter season,” but instead I feel like the silence in our house is highlighting how far apart my husband and I have drifted.

From the outside, people would say we’re lucky. My husband is decent, we’re financially stable, and our friends think we’re “solid.” But lately, I feel lonely in a way I can’t quite explain. We talk about logistics all day long: who’s picking up groceries, whose turn it is to visit his mother, what we’re doing this weekend. He’s not unkind, but he’s distant. Most nights he falls asleep on the couch with the TV on and his phone in his hand. I go upstairs alone and scroll through old photos of us when we seemed like a team.

What hurts is how invisible I feel. I’ll get dressed up, light a candle, even make his favorite meal, and he’ll barely look up. When I try to share something personal, he changes the subject or turns it into a joke. If I suggest a date night, he says he’s tired or suggests we invite another couple. I’ve started telling myself, “Don’t expect too much,” but then I catch myself tearing up in the car after a perfectly normal dinner.

I don’t want to threaten divorce. I don’t want to nag. I also don’t want to spend the next 20 years starving for affection and calling it normal.

How do I bring this up in a way that actually changes something? And if he still doesn’t meet me halfway, how do I decide what to do next? — Lonely in a Full House

Dear Lonely: First, there’s nothing embarrassing about wanting tenderness, attention and real companionship in your own marriage. You’re not asking for a parade. You’re asking to feel seen.

Empty nesting can expose what busyness used to cover. When the kids are grown, there’s no schedule to hide behind, and “we’re fine” starts to feel like a quiet kind of heartbreak.

Pick a calm, ordinary moment and speak plainly. Don’t be accusatory, but say something truthful like, “I miss you. I feel lonely even when we’re in the same room. I don’t want us to become roommates.” Then ask a direct question that requires more than a shrug: “Are you willing to work on this with me?”

Be specific about what would help, whether it’s one planned date a week, phones away at dinner, going to bed at the same time a few nights or going on a walk together where you actually talk. Small habits rebuild closeness faster than one grand speech.

If he jokes or deflects, gently bring it back: “I’m not teasing. This matters to me.”

And if he’s willing but doesn’t know how, a couples counselor can give you both tools and a neutral place to speak.

You don’t have to threaten divorce to ask for change. You just have to stop pretending you can live on crumbs.

“Out of Bounds: Estrangement, Boundaries and the Search for Forgiveness” is out now! Annie Lane’s third anthology is for anyone who has lived with anger, estrangement or the deep ache of being wronged — because forgiveness isn’t for them. It’s for you. Visit http://www.creatorspublishing.com for more information. Follow Annie Lane on Instagram at @dearannieofficial. Send your questions for Annie Lane to dearannie@creators.com. COPYRIGHT 2026 CREATORS.COM