She could not point to a single moment when the respect had disappeared. There had been no dramatic betrayal, no explosive fight where cruel words were exchanged and never taken back. The erosion had been quieter than that. It was in the way he interrupted her at dinner parties, talking over her as though her sentence was a commercial break in his monologue. It was in the way he made decisions that affected them both without consulting her, then informed her afterward with a breezy confidence that assumed her agreement. It was in the way he spoke about her to his friends, with a faint condescension disguised as humor, the kind of joke that was not quite a joke. She had not lost his love. He still said the words. He still came home at night. But she had lost his respect. And without respect, the love she received felt hollow, like a beautifully wrapped box with nothing inside.