I Pay Attention: A Message From a Wife Who Sees Everything

 ~by DeAnna

You know that saying, “When times get hard, you find out who’s really there for you”?

Yeah… prison puts that on steroids.

Let me tell you something straight out, no fluff — I pay attention to how people treat my husband. Not just when they need him. Not just when he’s on the outside, making them laugh, fixing their problems, showing up with that big heart of his like he always did.

No.
I pay attention to how they treat him now, when he is the one who needs support.

And let me say this louder for the people in the back who like to act blind:

Some of y’all showed your true colors the moment those prison gates closed behind him.

I’ve watched people who claimed they loved him — family, blood, the ones who should’ve been his biggest support system — suddenly disappear like he caught a disease.
Not a call.
Not a letter.
Not a “How are you holding up?”
Not a “We’re here for you unless you need something.”

Nothing.

His mother.
His father.
His brother.
His sister.
His so-called family who always said, “We care.”
“Family sticks together.”
“We’re here for you.”
“We love you, Ryan.”

Really?

Because the second he needed them, they vanished like he never existed.
They acted like prison erased him.
Like his worst moments define his whole story.
Like he deserved to be forgotten.

I saw the tone in their voices.
I caught the “Well, he put himself there” attitude.
I heard the judgment, the disgust, the disappointment they didn’t bother to hide.
I felt the cold silence that screamed louder than any words ever could:

“Fuck you. You’re in prison. You’re a fuck up. I’ve forgotten about you.”

Let me be absolutely clear —
I will NEVER forget it.

While they cut ties, turned their backs, and washed their hands of him, I’m the one who stayed. I’m the one who answers the calls, writes the letters, shows up for visits, prays for him, advocates for him, and stands outside these walls fighting battles they should’ve helped carry.

And let’s be real — it’s not because I have to.
It’s because I love him.
Because loyalty actually means something to me.
Because family isn’t defined by shared blood; it’s defined by who shows up.

And baby, most of his blood didn’t show up for shit.

Let me say this:

If you can’t value him when he has nothing to give but his voice on a phone or his words on paper… you don’t deserve a place at our table when he comes home.

People forget that prison doesn’t stop a heart from beating.
It doesn’t stop a man from feeling.
It doesn’t stop him from needing support, love, encouragement, or family.

It only stops the people who were pretending in the first place.

And I’ve watched my husband lie awake at night, wondering why the people who should’ve been in his corner couldn’t even send a damn postcard.
I’ve listened to the crack in his voice when he says, “I guess nobody cares.”
I’ve seen the hurt he tries to hide — that deep, childhood kind of hurt that comes back when abandonment repeats itself all over again.

And it makes me want to scream for him.
Because he deserved better.
He ALWAYS deserved better.

So here’s the truth — and if it stings, that’s a personal problem:

I won’t keep quiet about who abandoned him. I won’t pretend they didn’t vanish. I won’t rewrite history to protect anyone’s ego.

My husband might be behind walls, but he is not invisible.
He is not disposable.
He is not unworthy of love.
And the people who acted like he was?
They wrote themselves out of our lives — not the other way around.

One day he’ll come home.
One day he’ll rebuild.
One day he’ll stand tall again, stronger than before.

And when that day comes…
Guess who’s going to be sitting at his table?
Me.
The one who never left.
The one who fought for him when everyone else gave up.
The one who saw him as a man, not a mistake.

As for everyone who threw him away?

Don’t bother knocking.
That door closed the moment you did.

Because real loyalty doesn’t crumble when life gets hard.
Real family doesn’t disappear when things get messy.
Real love doesn’t turn into silence the second you can’t benefit from someone.

I pay attention.
And trust me — I remember everything.