I come home this evening and find Eleanor setting the table in the kitchen. I take her hand, ask her to pause and sit with me for a moment because I have to tell her something crucial: I want a divorce. She hesitates, then only asks why. I cant answer, and my silence drives her into a frenzyshe stops trying to eat, she starts shouting incoherently, falls silent, then shouts again She ends up crying all night. I understand her pain, but I cant offer any comfortIve fallen out of love with Eleanor and fallen in love with another woman.
Feeling guilty, I hand her a settlement paper promising to leave her the flat and the car, but she tears the document into pieces and flings the scraps out the window, then she starts sobbing again. I feel nothing but remorseafter ten years together, she feels like a stranger.
I regret the years weve spent together and Im desperate to cut these ties and chase the new, real love Ive found. The next morning I see a note on the bedside table with divorce conditions: Eleanor asks me to postpone filing for a month and to keep up the façade of a happy family during that time because our son, Oliver, has upcoming exams. She also reminds me of the day we married when I carried her into the flat on my arms. Now she wants me, for the whole month, to carry her out of the bedroom each morning.
Since I started seeing the other woman, physical contact with Eleanor has dwindledshared breakfast, shared dinner, sleeping at opposite ends of the bed. So when I first lift her after a long break, I feel a strange emotional turbulence. Olivers applause snaps me back to realityEleanors face lights up with a genuine smile, yet I feel an odd ache. The bedroom is about ten metres from the kitchen, and as I carry her, she closes her eyes and whispers barely audible, Dont tell Oliver about the divorce until the agreed date.
On the second day, playing the part of a loving husband comes a little easier. Eleanor rests her head on my shoulder, and I realise how long Ive stopped noticing the features I once adored, how theyve changed since ten years ago. By the fourth day, lifting Eleanor makes me think of the decade she gave me. On the fifth day a pang of vulnerability hits me as her small body presses against my chest. Each day the task of carrying her out of the bedroom grows lighter.
One morning I catch Eleanor deciding what to wear; her wardrobe now seems absurdly oversized. I finally notice how thin shes become, how shes slumped. Thats why the load feels lighter with each passing day. The insight hits me like a blow to the solar plexus. Instinctively I smooth her hair. She calls Oliver over, pulls us both into a tight hug. Tears rise in my throat, but I turn awayI cant, and wont, change my decision. I take her in my arms again and carry her out of the bedroom. She clings to my neck, and I hold her close, just as on the first day of our wedding.
In the final days of the agreed period, confusion swirls inside me. Something has shifted, turned over, beyond my grasp. I go to the other woman and tell her I wont proceed with the divorce. On the drive home I reflect that the monotony of family life isnt caused by fading love but by forgetting each others importance. I veer off the road, stop at a florist, pick up a bouquet, and attach a card that reads, Ill carry you in my arms until your last day. Breathless with anticipation, I enter the flat with the flowers. I wander through the house and find Eleanor in the bedroomshe is dead.
For months, while I have been lost in a cloud of infatuation with the other woman, Eleanor has silently battled a grave illness. Knowing she has little time left, she summons her final strength to spare Oliver the stress and preserve his image of me as a good father and loving husband.
