I met my ex-wife two years after the divorce. In that moment, everything became clearbut she only smiled and shook her head when I suggested starting over
When our second child was born, Eleanor stopped caring about her appearance. Before, she would change outfits several times a day, always impeccably dressed, every detail perfectly matched. But after coming home from the hospital, she seemed to forget that her wardrobe held anything other than an old jumper and a pair of worn-out tracksuit bottoms.
She wore them not just all day, but often to bed as well. When I asked why, she said it made it easier to get up at night for the children. It made sense, perhapsbut what of the words she used to repeat, that «a lady must always be a lady, no matter the circumstance»? She never said them anymore. Nor did she speak of her favourite beauty salon, the gym, or her hairdresser. Andforgive the detailsometimes she even forgot to put on a bra in the morning, padding about the house without a care.
Her body had changed too. Her waist, her stomach, her legsnone were as they once were. Her hair, once glossy and well-kept, was now a messeither a tangle of curls or a hurried bun with rebellious strands sticking out. And to think before, when we strolled through the streets of London, men would turn to look at her. I used to feel proud. She was beautiful. Mine.
But that woman no longer existed.
Our home reflected her state of mind. The only thing Eleanor remained flawless in was the kitchen. That, she never neglected, and her meals were a true delight. But everything else was dismal.
I tried to make her see that she couldnt let herself go like this. That she needed to find herself again. She would only smile sadly and say shed try. Months passed, and every day I saw a woman I barely recognised.
Until, one day, Id had enough.
I made my decision: divorce.
There were no shouts, no scenes. She tried to persuade me to reconsider, but when she saw my mind was made up, she only sighed and murmured faintly, «Do what you want I thought you loved me.»
I didnt answer. There was no point arguing over what love was or wasnt. I went to the courthouse, and soon after, we signed the papers.
I dont know if I was a good father. I sent the child support and nothing more. I didnt want to see her. Not like that. Not the woman shed become.
Two years later
It was an autumn evening in Manchester. I was wandering absently, lost in thought, when suddenly I saw her.
There was something in the way she moveda confidence in her step that drew attention. She walked lightly, elegantly, with assurance. And when she came close enough, my heart stopped.
It was Eleanor.
But not the Eleanor Id left behind.
This woman was more radiant than shed ever been when I first knew her. High heels, a dress that hugged her figure, flawless hair, manicured nails, subtle but striking makeup. And that perfumethe same one that used to drive me wild.
I must have gaped, because she laughed.
«Whats wrong? Dont you recognise me? I told you Id changeyou just didnt believe me.»
I walked with her to the gym where she now trained daily. She spoke of the children, how well they were doing, how happy they were. Of herself, she said littlebut she didnt need to. Her gaze, her posture, her bearing said it all.
And I
I remembered.
I remembered those mornings when I was irritated to see her in pyjamas, her hair unkempt. The days when her exhaustion frustrated me. The exact moment I decided to leave, when selfishness convinced me she was no longer enough.
And I remembered that, in leaving her, I had abandoned my own children too.
Before we parted, I gathered the courage to ask, «Can I call you? Ive understood everything Maybe we could try again.»
Eleanor looked at me calmly. Then she smiled, shaking her head.
«Its too late, William. Take care.»
And she walked away.
I stood there, motionless, watching her disappear into the crowd.
Yes.
I had understood.
But too late.
