Two years after the divorce, I bumped into my ex-wife: everything became clear to me, but she only smiled bitterly and brushed off my desperate plea to start afresh.
When our second child was born, Emily completely stopped taking care of herself. She used to change outfits five times a day, obsessively hunting for the perfect look, but after coming home from the hospital in Manchester, it was as if shed forgotten anything existed beyond a worn-out jumper and saggy sweatpants that hung off her like a flag of surrender.
In that “glorious” ensemble, my wife didnt just tidy the houseshe lived in it, day and night, often falling asleep in those rags as if theyd become a second skin. When I asked why, shed shrug and mumble that it was easier for nighttime feedings. There was a grim logic to it, Ill admit, but all those lofty principles she once preached like sermons”A woman must remain a woman, even in the worst of times!”had vanished into thin air. Emily forgot everything: her beloved beauty salon in Liverpool, the gym she once treated as sacred, andforgive my bluntnessshe wouldnt even bother with a bra in the mornings, padding around the house with no care for appearances.
Of course, her body suffered too. Everything saggedher waist, stomach, legs, even her neck lost its former grace, becoming a shadow of its past self. Her hair? A proper nightmareeither a wild, tangled mess, as if a storm had blown through it, or a hastily pinned-up bun with strands sticking out like cries for help. The worst part was, before the baby, Emily had been stunninga perfect ten! When we strolled through the streets of Brighton, men would turn their heads, eyes glued to her. It stroked my pridehere was my goddess, mine alone! And now nothing remained of that goddess, just a faded outline of her former glory.
Our home mirrored her declinea chaotic wasteland. The only thing she still mastered was cooking. Hand on heart, Ill say it: Emily was a wizard in the kitchen, and complaining about her food wouldve been a sin. But the rest? A proper disaster.
I tried to wake her up, begged her not to let herself go like this, but shed only offer an apologetic smile and empty promises. Time passed, and my patience wore thinseeing that ghost of a woman every day became unbearable. One stormy night, I delivered my verdict: divorce. Emily tried to stop me, repeating those same hollow vows, but she didnt shout, didnt fight. When she saw my decision was final, she sighed in pain:
*”Fine I thought you loved me.”*
I refused to be dragged into a pointless debate about love. I filed the papers, and soon enough, at the registry office in Leeds, we received our divorce certificatesend of story.
Im hardly father of the yearaside from child support, I did nothing for my ex-family. The thought of facing the woman whod once dazzled me with her beauty was like a punch to the gut, one Id rather avoid.
Two years passed. One evening, wandering the bustling streets of London, I spotted a figure in the distanceher walk so familiar, light, almost dancing. She was heading straight for me. As she neared, my heart stoppedit was Emily! But what an Emily! Reborn from the ashes, more radiant than in our earliest, most passionate daysthe very picture of elegance. High heels, flawless hair, everything about her in perfect harmonyher dress, makeup, nails, jewellery And the scent of her old perfume hit me like a wave, pulling me under forgotten memories.
My face must have betrayed everythingshock, longing, shamebecause she let out a sharp, triumphant laugh:
*”What, dont recognise me? Told you Id bounce backyou just didnt believe me!”*
Emily graciously let me walk her to the gym, mentioning the kids brieflythriving, she said, full of life. She didnt say much about herself, but she didnt need toher glow, that unshakable confidence, her dazzling new charm spoke louder than words ever could.
My mind flashed back to those dark days: how shed dragged herself around the house, broken by sleepless nights and the weight of motherhood, wrapped in that cursed jumper and sweatpants, that pathetic bun a symbol of surrender. How it infuriated methe lost elegance, the extinguished spark! This was the same woman Id abandoned, along with our children, blinded by my own selfishness and fleeting anger.
As we parted, I stammered if I could call her, confessed I finally understood, and begged for a fresh start. But she just gave me a cool, victorious smile, shook her head with unyielding resolve, and said:
*”Too late for that, mate. Goodbye.”*
Sometimes, you dont realise what youve lost until its gone foreverand by then, its already walked away, better off without you.
