I never loved my wife, and I told her so many times. It wasnt her faultwe lived quite comfortably. She never made scenes, never reproached me for anything; she was always kind and affectionate. But the problem remained: there was no love.
Every morning, I woke up wanting to leave. I dreamed of finding a woman I could truly love. But I never imagined how fate would take such an unexpected turn.
With Emily, I felt at ease. Not only did she keep the house spotless, but she was also stunning. My friends envied me and couldnt understand how Id been so lucky with my wife.
I didnt even know what Id done to deserve her love. Im an ordinary man, with nothing special to set me apart. And yet, she loved me How was that possible?
Her love and devotion haunted me. What tormented me most was the thought that if I left, someone else would take my place. Someone richer, more attractive, more successful.
When I pictured her with another man, I felt like Id go mad. She was mine, even though Id never loved her. That sense of possession was stronger than reason. But can you spend your whole life with someone you dont love? I thought I could, but I was wrong.
«Tomorrow, Ill tell her everything,» I decided as I went to bed. The next morning, over breakfast, I gathered my courage.
«Emily, sit down. We need to talk.»
«Of course, Im listening, darling.»
«Imagine we divorce. I leave, and we live separately»
Emily laughed. «What strange ideas! Is this a game?»
«Listen until the end. This is serious.»
«Fine, Im imagining it. What then?»
«Answer honestlywould you find someone else if I left?»
«James, whats gotten into you? Why are you thinking of leaving?»
«Because I dont love you, and I never have.»
«What? Are you joking? I dont understand.»
«I want to leave, but I cant. The thought of you with someone else wont leave me in peace.»
Emily thought for a moment, then replied calmly, «I wont find anyone better than you, so dont worry. GoI wont be with anyone else.»
«Do you promise?»
«Of course,» Emily assured me.
«Wait, but where would I even go?»
«Dont you have anywhere?»
«No, weve been together our whole lives. Ill probably have to stay near you,» I said glumly.
«Dont worry,» Emily answered. «After the divorce, well swap the flat for two smaller ones.»
«Really? I didnt expect you to help me like this. Why are you doing it?»
«Because I love you. When you love someone, you cant keep them against their will.»
A few months passed, and we divorced. Soon after, I learned Emily hadnt kept her promise. She found another man, and the flats she inherited from her grandmothershe never intended to share them. I was left with nothing.
How can I trust women now? Ive no idea. I sit alone in the rented room, staring at the photograph of her I couldnt bring myself to destroy. The rain taps against the window like a ghost seeking entry. Yesterday, I saw her laughing outside a café, her hand in his, sunlight catching the ring I never gave her. I still dont know if she ever loved meor if I ever truly knew her at all. And yet, in the silence, I whisper the words I never meant to mean: «I miss you. The rain keeps falling, and the photograph stays on the nightstand, slightly warped from my touch. I tell myself Im free now, that this loneliness is the price of honesty. But sometimes, in the half-light of evening, I catch myself hoping shell walk through the door, that shell say it was all a mistake. I know she wont. Still, I whisper it again, softer this time, as if the walls might carry it to her: «I miss you. The rain keeps falling, and the photograph stays on the nightstand, slightly warped from my touch. I tell myself Im free now, that this loneliness is the price of honesty. But sometimes, in the half-light of evening, I catch myself hoping shell walk through the door, that shell say it was all a mistake. I know she wont. Still, I whisper it again, softer this time, as if the walls might carry it to her: «I miss you. The rain keeps falling, and the photograph stays on the nightstand, slightly warped from my touch. I tell myself Im free now, that this loneliness is the price of honesty. But sometimes, in the half-light of evening, I catch myself hoping shell walk through the door, that shell say it was all a mistake. I know she wont. Still, I whisper it again, softer this time, as if the walls might carry it to her: «I miss you.»
