Hopkins was diagnosed in his 70s with Asperger’s Syndrome, a “high functioning” form of Autism. Asperger’s is thought of as a hidden disability because the condition is usually not obvious from outward appearances.
A person with Asperger’s might be seen by others as just quirky, impertinent or a lone wolf.
My Wife Gradually Distanced Herself from My Daughter and Me — Then She Left an Envelope and Disappeared
When my wife began to distance herself from me and our daughter, I was baffled. My story reveals how profound love can sometimes lead to protecting loved ones in unexpected ways. Discover how we navigated through secrets, white lies, and heartbreak to ultimately strengthen our family bond.
There’s a haunting uncertainty in not knowing the full truth, particularly when it involves those closest to you. Let’s go back a bit; I’m Kevin, and Levine and I have shared 15 wonderful years of marriage.
Together, we have an incredible child, Emily, who is still young and in school. My wife and daughter are my world, and I thought we had a perfect family life. Yet, about six months ago, Levine began to withdraw from Emily and me.
Over the months, I watched as my once affectionate wife became increasingly remote. Minor changes in her behavior soon escalated into her avoiding us entirely. Her smiles became rare, and her nights restless.
I often saw her tearful in the bathroom. Whenever I tried to discuss it, she dismissed my concerns with a shaky “I’m fine,” although clearly, she was not. This unspoken tension heavily affected me and our daughter, straining our family dynamic.
“Levine, please talk to me,” I urged one night as I found her gazing out the window, her posture tense.
“I just need some air, Kevin. That’s all,” she whispered, barely audible.
My worry deepened as I approached her. “You’ve been ‘just needing air’ for months. You’re scaring me, baby. You’re scaring Emily.”
She faced me then, her eyes brimming with tears yet unshed. “I can’t, not yet…” she murmured before turning back to the window, leaving me feeling utterly helpless.
Yesterday, after picking Emily up from school, I returned to a strangely quiet home. The morning had started like any other, except Levine didn’t say goodbye. My wife, usually at home, was nowhere to be found.
But on the kitchen table, amidst our usual clutter, lay an ominous envelope with my name in Levine’s handwriting.
With a sinking heart, I opened it, trembling. Inside was her letter, penned in the same shaky hand:
“My dearest husband,
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