Edward Baker packed his belongings with a stiff pride. He was leaving the wife with whom he had spent fifteen years, heading for a woman twelve years his junior. Eleanor watched him, her eyes rimmed with tears, hoping it was some cruel jest and that he would not truly go.
Edward, dont go, she pleaded, we still have children to raise. For the sake of the children, please stay!
The children will understand, Edward replied, his voice flat as stone. Dont bind me with them! Theyre already thirteen; theyve grown up.
Grown up? At that age they still need their father! Eleanor sobbed again, trying to grasp his sleeve, but he slipped away his hand.
Dont tie me to the children! Dont ruin my life! he snapped, his anger blinding him to the hurt he caused. In that instant he thought of nothing but a bright future with his new, younger wife.
When the last of his things were in a sack, Edward walked out. Eleanor collapsed onto the hallway floor, her sobs echoing against the plaster.
Later that afternoon, when Arthur and his sister Mabel came home from school, they found Eleanor still lying there. She had stopped crying; her gaze was empty, fixed on some distant point. She rose slowly, brushed dust from her dress, and whispered:
Fathers gone forever.
Dont cry, Mother, Mabel tried to soothe her. Well manage without him.
Exactly, Arthur added, Ill help you, Mum.
Eleanor clung to her children, her voice trembling: Youre so kind, my dears. How blessed I am to have you. Well get through this; everything will be all right.
They did get through, though not without a long, bitter stretch. Eleanor wept in the night when the house was quiet, mourning Edward more and more rarely as the weeks passed.
For Edward, life with Marian was lively but exasperating. She knew nothing of household chores, and when she did know, she balked at doing them. He began to compare her with Eleanor, for that was the only way he knew how to live. Marian grew weary of the comparison and, one day, tossed him out onto the street, as she had once done to Eleanor.
A year later Edward stood once again on Eleanors doorstep, eyes downcast, his coat threadbare, his hair unkempt. He begged for forgiveness, offering vague promises of love and need. If you wont take me back, I cant live, he pleaded, as if his conscience were the only thing at stake. Eleanor felt a flicker of relief, remembering the love she once held for him and for the children, more than for the young divorcee. She chastised him for his selfishness, yet she let him in. The children accepted him with polite reserve; youthful pride barred them from fully forgiving their father, and they kept their distance.
Eleanors heart swelled with a quiet triumph. So I am better after all, she thought. Edward, pleased that his wife had taken him back, took it as proof that she still loved him. It seemed, for a moment, that the pieces were falling back into place.
But Marian, still nursing her bruised pride, could not stand the thought of Edward living happily without her. She resolved to win him again, and Edward, ever the gullible soul, didnt resist.
The second time Edward left, he was far less dignified. He gathered his few belongings on a Saturday, the familys day off, when the children were at school. He slipped a brief, Im sorry, I was wrong, into the door and walked out. Eleanor, this time, did not weep or beg; she turned on the television as if to mask her shame. She felt like a complete failure, not for the loss of a husband but for allowing herself to be swayed by weakness. She fought to keep her composure, and only after the door shut behind him did the dam break and tears stream down her face.
By the time Arthur and Mabel returned from school, Eleanor had composed herself. When she told them what their father had done, the children, surprisingly, felt a lightness.
Good riddance, Arthur remarked dryly. Well manage without him, perhaps even better.
Edward returned to Marian like a triumphant king; she had called him back, after all, she reasoned. He strutted as if the world owed him everything, believing both women would always welcome him. The illusion lasted barely a month before Marian, fed up, sent him packing again.
Once more Edward found himself on Eleanors doorstep, head bowed, convinced that forgiveness would greet him as it had before. This time, however, Eleanor closed the door in his face.
You were right then, she said calmly. Our reunion was a mistake. Some wounds cant be healed; they must be cut away. Dont come back.
Stunned, Edward realized he was truly unwanted. He could not blame his young wifeshe was a flighty spiritbut the thought that his own children might still need him gnawed at him. Yet the betrayal by his former wife, Eleanor, cut deeper than any other. He never expected such coldness from the woman he had once loved, and he never fully understood why the women in his life seemed to need him only on their terms.
