**Diary Entry**
Two years after the divorce, I ran into my ex-wifeeverything became painfully clear to me, but she only smiled bitterly and dismissed my desperate plea to start over
When our second child was born, Catherine stopped taking care of herself entirely. She used to change outfits five times a day, obsessively chasing perfection, but after returning from the hospital in Manchester, it was as if she forgot anything existed beyond a worn-out jumper and saggy tracksuit bottoms that hung off her like a flag of surrender.
In that *marvellous* ensemble, my wife didnt just move around the houseshe lived in it, day and night, often going to bed in those rags as if theyd become a second skin. When I asked why, shed shrug and mumble that it was easier when the children woke her at night. There was a grim logic to it, Ill admit, but all those lofty principles she used to preach*A woman must always remain a woman, even in hell!*had vanished into thin air. Catherine forgot everything: her beloved beauty salon in Bristol, the gym she once treated like a sacred space, andforgive me for saying itshe didnt even bother with a bra anymore, shuffling around the house with no care for how she looked.
Of course, her body suffered too. Everything saggedher waist, her stomach, even her neck had lost its shape. Her hair? A complete disastereither a wild, tangled mess as if a storm had blown through it or a hasty bun with strands sticking out like a cry for help. The worst part? Before the baby, Catherine had been stunningan absolute ten. When we strolled through London, men turned their heads, their eyes glued to her. It fed my pride*theres my goddess, mine alone!* Now? Nothing remained but a faded shadow of that beauty.
Our home mirrored her declinea gloomy swamp of chaos. The only thing she still mastered was cooking. Hand on heart, Ill say it: Catherine was a magician in the kitchen. Complaining about her meals wouldve been a crime. But the rest? Pure tragedy.
I tried to wake her up, begged her not to let herself go, but shed only smile apologetically and promise to do better. Time passed, and my patience wore thinseeing that ghost of a woman every day became unbearable. One stormy night, I delivered the verdict: *divorce.* Catherine tried to stop me, repeating empty promises, but she didnt scream or fight. When she saw I wouldnt budge, she sighed in pain:
*Fine I thought you loved me.*
I refused to be dragged into a pointless argument about love. I filed the papers, and soon after, in a registry office in Leeds, we received our divorce certificatesthe end of the story.
Im hardly father of the yearbeyond child support, I did nothing to help my ex-family. The thought of facing the woman whod once dazzled me with her beauty felt like a punch to the gut, something Id rather avoid.
Two years later. One evening, wandering through the bustling streets of London, I spotted a familiar figure in the distanceher walk so light, almost dancing. She was heading straight for me. As she got closer, my heart stopped*Catherine!* But what a Catherine! Reborn from the ashes, more radiant than in our early, passionate daysthe very picture of elegance. High heels, flawless hair, everything in perfect harmonyher dress, makeup, nails, jewellery And the scent of her old perfume hit me like a wave, dragging me under forgotten memories.
My face must have betrayed everythingshock, longing, shamebecause she burst into sharp, triumphant laughter:
*What, dont recognise me? I told you Id get myself togetheryou just didnt believe me!*
She let me walk her to the gym, mentioned the kids brieflytheyre thriving, full of energy. She didnt say much about herself, but she didnt need toher glow, the unshakable confidence, that new, devastating charm spoke louder than words.
My mind flashed back to those dark days: her dragging herself through the house, broken by sleepless nights and the weight of motherhood, wrapped in that cursed jumper and tracksuit, that pitiful bun a symbol of surrender. How it infuriated methe lost elegance, the extinguished spark! This was the same woman Id abandonedour children tooblinded by my own selfishness and momentary anger.
As we said goodbye, I stammered, asking if I could call her, confessing I finally understood, begging for a fresh start. But she just gave me a cold, victorious smile, shook her head with unyielding resolve, and said:
*Too late, mate. Goodbye.*
