I ran into my ex-wife two years after our divorce. In that moment, I understood everythingbut she only smiled and shook her head when I suggested starting over.
When our second child was born, Emily stopped caring about her appearance. Before, she would change outfits several times a day, always impeccably dressed, her hair and makeup flawless, every detail perfectly matched. But after coming home from the hospital, it was as if shed forgotten her wardrobe held anything but an old t-shirt and a pair of worn-out joggers.
She wore them all day, often even sleeping in them. When I asked why, she said it was easier when the children woke her at night. It made sense, in a waybut what happened to the woman who always insisted that “a lady should carry herself with grace, no matter what”? She no longer spoke of her favourite salon, her gym sessions, or her stylist. And yesforgive the detailshe sometimes forgot her bra in the mornings, padding around the house without a second thought.
Her body had changed too. Her waist, her stomach, her legsnone were the same. Her hair, once glossy and styled, was now either a tangled mess of curls or a hasty bun with loose strands escaping. And to think back when we strolled through London, men would turn to look at her. Id felt proud. Lucky.
But that woman was gone.
Our home mirrored her state. The only thing Emily still excelled at was cookingher meals were divine. But the rest? Depressing.
I tried to tell her she couldnt let herself go like this. That she needed to find herself again. Shed just smile sadly and promise to try. Months passed, and every day, I saw a stranger before me.
Until one day, Id had enough.
I filed for divorce.
There were no fights, no scenes. She pleaded with me to reconsider, but when she saw my mind was made up, she just sighed and whispered, “Do what you want I thought you loved me.”
I didnt argue. What was the point? I signed the papers and left.
I dont know if I was a good father. I sent child support, nothing more. I couldnt bear to see hernot like that.
Two years later
It was an autumn afternoon in Manchester. Lost in thought, I wandered aimlesslyuntil I saw her.
There was something in her stride, a quiet confidence that drew the eye. Her steps were light, elegant. And when she came closer, my heart stopped.
Emily.
But not the Emily Id left behind.
This woman was more radiant than everhigh heels, a dress that hugged her curves, flawless hair, manicured nails, subtle yet striking makeup. And that perfumethe one that used to drive me wild.
I must have gaped, because she laughed.
“Whats wrong? Dont recognise me? I told you Id change, but you didnt believe me.”
I walked her to the gym where she now trained daily. She spoke about the children, how well they were doing, how happy they were. She said little of herself, but she didnt need toher poise said it all.
And I
I remembered.
The mornings Id scowled at her messy hair and pyjamas. The times Id resented her exhaustion. The moment Id decided to leave, convinced she wasnt enough for me anymore.
And I remembered that by leaving her, Id abandoned my own children too.
Before we parted, I gathered the courage to ask, “Can I call you? I understand now Maybe we could try again.”
Emily looked at me, serene. Then she smiled and shook her head.
“Its too late, James. Take care.”
And she walked away.
I stood there, frozen, watching her disappear into the crowd.
Yes.
I understood.
But far too late.
