Divorcing at the age of sixty-eight was neither a romantic gesture nor a midlife crisis. It was an admission of defeatafter forty years of marriage to a woman with whom I shared not only a home but also the silent dinners, the empty glances, and all the words left unspoken, I realised I was no longer the man I ought to be. My name is Edward, I hail from York, and my story began in loneliness and ended with an unexpected revelation.
With Margaret, I lived most of my days. We married at twenty, in the England of the seventies. At first, there was love: stolen kisses on the park bench, long talks at dusk, shared dreams. Then, it all faded. First came the children, then the mortgages, the work, the exhaustion, the routine Our conversations dwindled to passing remarks in the kitchen: «Did you pay the gas bill?» «Wheres the receipt?» «Were out of salt.»
Mornings came, and when I looked at her, I no longer saw my wifejust a weary neighbour. And likely, I was the same to her. We werent living together anymore; we were merely existing side by side. Stubborn and proud, I one day told myself, «You deserve more. A second chance. Fresh air, at long last.» And so, I asked for a divorce.
Margaret didnt resist. She simply sat in her chair, gazed out the window, and said, «Very well. Do as you please. Ive no fight left in me.»
I left. At first, I felt free, as though a weight had lifted. I slept on the far side of the bed, adopted a tabby cat, sipped my tea on the balcony at dawn. But then came another feelingemptiness. The house grew too quiet. Meals lost their flavour. Life turned dull.
Then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea: to find a woman who could help. Someone like Margaret in her younger dayssomeone to cook, clean, chat a while. Perhaps a bit younger, in her fifties, kindly, experienced. Maybe a widow. My demands werent high. I even thought, «Im not a bad catchI take care of myself, own my flat, am retired. Why not?»
I began my search. I hinted to neighbours, mentioned it to acquaintances. Then I mustered the courage to place an advert in the local paper. Short and to the point: «Gentleman, 68, seeks lady for companionship and light household duties. Good terms, lodging and board included.»
That advert changed my life. Because three days later, I received a letter. Just one. But it was enough to make my hands tremble.
«Dear Edward,
Do you truly believe a woman in the 2020s exists solely to wash socks and fry your dinner? We are not living in the nineteenth century.
You are not seeking a companiona person with thoughts and desiresbut an unpaid housekeeper with a hint of romance.
Perhaps you ought to learn first to care for yourselfto cook your own meals and keep your own house in order.
Sincerely,
A woman who isnt searching for a gentleman in need of a maid.»
I read it again and again. At first, I seethed. How dare she? Who did she think she was? I wasnt trying to take advantageonly seeking warmth, a welcoming home, a womans touch
But then I wondered: What if she was right? Without realising it, was I asking someone to make my life comfortable rather than learning to do it myself?
I started with the basics. I learned to make soup. Then, shepherds pie. I subscribed to a cooking channel, shopped with a list, ironed my own shirts. I felt clumsy, even foolish, but in time, it stopped being a chore. It was my life. My choice.
I even framed that letter and hung it in the kitchen. A reminder: dont ask others to rescue you if you wont first pull yourself from the mud.
Three months have passed. I still live alone, but now my flat smells of stew. On the balcony, geraniums I planted bloom. On Sundays, I bake apple crumbleMargarets recipe. Sometimes I think, «I could bring her a slice.» Perhaps for the first time in forty years, I understand what it means not just to be a husband, but to stand beside someone as an equal.
Now, if asked whether I wish to marry again, Id say no. But if ever a woman were to sit beside me on that park benchone who seeks not a master, but simply conversationId surely speak to her. Only now, Id do so as a different man.
