I was watching the mincedbeef patties pull out of the oven, their edges blackened, and I could hardly believe my ears.
Youre past your date, my husband said, pushing his plate away. It sounded as casually as if he were mentioning another rise in fuel prices. I froze, a wooden spatula still in my hand. The cactus on the windowsill stretched a lone twisted spine upward, as if to underline the message: Its over for you. Im fortyseven, and André and I have shared twenty years together. Our son, Antoine, has been studying in another city for a long time, and the mortgage on our tworoom flat is almost paid off. And suddenly, expired.
Everything around me seemed frozen like a blackandwhite frame from an old TV show. I stared at the burnt steaks, wondering, Can I still salvage the charred part, or is it already too late? Its odd how the mind latches onto details when something truly terrifying occurs.
**Routine, the rust of relationships**
Since spring, a tense silence has settled over the house. André comes home late from work, and on weekends he drowns himself in reports from his new boss. I, meanwhile, retreat to my office life: balancing the books, sorting endless piles of paperwork, and in the evenings, petting our cat, Minette. Our conversations have dwindled to simple commands: Get milk, Put money on the card, Whos doing the dishes? A sticky fatigue has built a high wall between us.
Antoine, now nineteen, lives in a student residence far away, and our visits are rare. Occasionally he calls to ask for money. When he returned for the summer, we tried to plan a countryside barbecue, but it never materializedeither the weather failed or André was too tired. I already felt we were more neighbors than spouses.
And yesterday, I heard the final verdict: Youre expired.
**Catalyst and growing conflict**
The idea of divorce had been a growing shadow for some time. A few weeks ago the kitchen sink clogged, and I called a plumber. André snapped, Thats a mans job, stay out of it. He never does anything like that at night, yet he blamed me for not waiting, as if it mattered to him to point out my supposed inability.
Then the odd incident with our neighbor, Aunt Géraldine, who asked us in the stairwell, André, Nadine, are you planning to celebrate your wedding anniversary soon? We looked at each other, confusedthe anniversary had passed a month ago and wed both forgotten it. She watched us with sympathy, already sensing our misery.
I never expected such bluntness:
Divorce? Really?
Really, he said without meeting my eyes. Im tired. This has gone on too long.
**Trying to understand and adapt**
I spent the night on our old couch, the one where I usually watch my series. Minette, sensing my mood, purred softly at my feet. I barely heard Andréhe shut himself in the bedroom. In the morning, almost automatically, I set the coffee pot going and, staring at the tilted cactus, thought, The poor thing wont survive either. Its been stuck in a corner, not blooming for years. It did bloom once, long ago.
I wanted to have an honest talk with my husband, but I lacked the strength. I went to work, trying to keep up appearances. At the office, piles of grey files, colleagues idly solving Sudoku at lunch I couldnt focus. A thought kept hammering me: Am I like an expired product?
Later that day I called my son:
Antoine, Dad wants a divorce.
After a pause he replied:
Mom, Ive sensed something was wrong for a while. If it becomes unbearable, Ill support you, his voice was calm, almost remorseful. Dont let yourself be humiliated, okay?
I heard his concern. Hes grown, yet hes the only family he has, and suddenly everything is collapsing.
**My motherinlaws intervention**
The next day my motherinlaw called herself. Usually she inquires about the pigeons on our balcony, but this time she got straight to the point:
Divorce? André told me a bit. How can you abandon your family at that age?!
I stammered:
Im not the one who started it.
So you didnt see it, didnt take care of him. Youre not kids anymore, Nadia. Hell be fortyeight soon! You should have tended to his peace, but you were too absorbed by work and reports.
I almost explodedbeing blamed for everything, for not being feminine enough. Yet I held back; arguing seemed useless. She now lives in a village, spends her days gardening with her younger sister and nieces grandchildren, knows our marriage only through occasional calls, and still believes the daughterinlaw is at fault.
**Conversation over the kitchen table**
On Saturday we finally spoke like adults. He emerged from the bathroom, poorly shaved and scowling, and sat opposite me at the kitchen table. Behind us hung an old cuckoo clock inherited from my grandmotherits bird had been silent for five years, as if time itself had stopped for our family.
I wont change my mind, André said softly, pushing his tea cup away. Im tired, Nadia. Feelings are irrelevant now. This flat isnt worth tying us together. You can stay here. Im not demanding a quick sale, but I want half its value. Ill find something elsemaybe rent a place, then see what happens.
I stared at the chipped table, the faded checkered vinyl tablecloth, and listened to his almost businesslike monologue, as if two partners were discussing a financial report. We have twenty years behind us. Sadness overwhelmed me, tears welling up despite my shame at crying in front of him.
I understand, I replied, trying not to let my voice betray me. If its divorce, then its divorce.
Silence fell. A strange relief washed over me, as if a heavy backpack had been lifted. Yes, its scary to be alone approaching forty, but its even scarier to live in a situation where no one needs anyone.
**Returning to my mother**
The next day I went to my mothers place. She lives in an old building with creaking elevators, which always made me uneasy. She opened the door, saw my redrimed eyes, kissed me immediately, and led me to the kitchen. Everything was familiar: the dark pantry filled with oldstyle pots, a stack of enamel bowls, my grandmothers kitchen stool.
Maybe you can reconcile? my mother asked, pouring tea into a floral cup from the 90s. Your father and I were once on the brink of divorce, but we held on. Our generation managed to stay together.
And André I wanted to say something sensible, but I found no words. I looked out the window at the peeling walls across the courtyard, surrounded by lilacs that look miserable in winter but burst into flowers each spring. Maybe everything can bloom again, I thought briefly, though I was already unsure about reviving what was dead between André and me.
**The cactus and its bud**
Back in our nearly empty apartmentAndré had already taken some belongings and moved in with a friend, likely looking for a place closer to workI walked to the windowsill. My poor cactus leaned slightly outward, and suddenly I noticed a tiny white bud on one of its spines, barely visible. I blinked: Am I crazy? It hasnt flowered in five years
A mixed feeling rose in my chest: sadness mingled with a faint joy, as if nature wanted to show me that even a forgotten, gloomy cactus can surprise when the moment is right.
I turned on the radiotalk of rising utility prices and exchange rates. It was funny that this worried me less than a small bud. Perhaps its the little details that keep us afloat.
**Talk with my son and new plans**
Two days later Antoine called:
Mom, Dad told me he left. Is everything okay?
Yes, I answered. Well, not exactly, but Im not sure how to live now. Ill have to manage the flat, work
I promise I wont fail my exams. If you need help moving during the summer, I can come back.
Thank you, son, his words warmed me. But dont neglect your studies.
His calm, caring voice reminded me that things werent all black. I have an adult son ready to help, a mothereven if we disagreeand, most importantly, I remain myselfa person able to start over.
**Cautious optimism**
Fifteen days passed. I took an unexpected leave to sort paperwork, handle the division, and clear my thoughts. Minette watched, amazed, as I finally cleaned the windows and repotted the cactus into a new pot. Yes, I moved it because it had finally bloomed. A small act, but it pleased me.
That morning, checking the mail, an unexpected surge of energy hit me. I remembered dreaming of learning to drive years ago. Maybe now is the time? I could sign up for yoga, renovate my mothers countryside house, perhaps repaint the old shed.
Sipping a strong coffee in the kitchen, I admired the cactuss white flowerdelicately veined, like a childs ornament on an old Christmas tree. I struggled to keep a smile from spreading. I never imagined such a tiny detail could inspire so much hope.
There will still be hard moments: the divorce, notary fees, splitting the flat, my motherinlaws sideways glances, explanations to friends and relatives. But I am no longer expired. I am simply someone emerging from an endless winter toward a new spring.
A few days later my neighbor, Aunt Géraldine, caught me by the elevator:
Nadine, where are you off to so early?
I signed up for driving lessons, I replied with a smile.
Good, she said, eyes twinkling mischievously, and dont be afraid of yourself.
So here I am, crossing the courtyard to the bus stop, listing todays tasks. Above, the sky is gray, a fine rain falls, yet inside me a bird singssomething alive, ready for change. Perhaps this is my new bloom. It isnt a flamboyant rose, but its genuine, like the white flower on an old cactus that finally opened.
After all, if the cactus couldwhy couldnt I start anew?
