Two years after the divorce, I ran into my ex-wife: I understood everything, but she only smiled bitterly and brushed off my desperate plea to start over.
When our second child was born, Catherine stopped caring for herself entirely. Once, shed dress five times a day, obsessively hunting for the perfect look, but after coming home from the hospital in Kraków, she seemed to forget anything existed beyond a worn-out jumper and saggy sweatpants, hanging off her like a flag of surrender.
In this glorious ensemble, she didnt just potter around the houseshe lived in it, day and night, often falling asleep in those rags as if theyd become her second skin. When I asked why, shed shrug and mutter it was easier for night feeds. There was a grim logic to it, Ill admit, but all those lofty principles she once preached like gospel»A woman must remain a woman, even in hell!»had evaporated. Catherine forgot everything: her beloved beauty salon in Rzeszów, the gym shed treated as sacred, andforgive my boldnessshe didnt even bother to wear a bra in the mornings, shuffling around with her breasts loose, as if it meant nothing.
Her body, of course, had crumbled too. Her waist, her stomach, her legsall of it sagged. Even her neck lost its former grace, becoming a shadow of itself. Her hair? A nightmare. Either a wild, tangled mess, as if a storm had raged through it, or a hasty bun with strands sticking out like desperate signals. The worst part? Before the baby, Catherine had been breathtakingan absolute ten. When we walked through the streets of Gdańsk, men turned their heads, their gazes clinging to her. It thrilled mehere was my goddess, mine alone! Now? Nothing remained but a faded outline of what shed been.
Our home mirrored her declinea dismal swamp of chaos. The only thing she still managed was cooking. Hand on heart, Ill say it: Catherine was a kitchen witch; complaining about her food wouldve been blasphemy. But the rest? Pure tragedy.
I tried to wake her up, begged her not to let herself waste away, but shed only smile apologetically and promise to do better. Time passed, my patience thinnedseeing that wretched ghost of a woman daily became unbearable. One stormy night, I delivered my verdict: divorce. Catherine tried to stop me, repeating hollow promises, but she didnt shout, didnt fight. When she saw my decision was final, she sighed in pain:
*»Fine I thought you loved me.»*
I refused to be dragged into a pointless debate about love. I filed the papers, and soon after, in the Lublin registry office, we got our divorce certificatesend of story.
Im hardly father of the yearapart from child support, I did nothing for my former family. The thought of facing the woman whod once dazzled me with her beauty was like a punch to the gut, one Id rather avoid.
Two years passed. One evening, wandering the bustling streets of Warsaw, I spotted a figure in the distanceher walk so familiar, light, almost dancing. She was heading straight for me. As she neared, my heart stoppedCatherine! But what a Catherine! Reborn from the ashes, more radiant than in our earliest, most passionate daysthe very essence of womanhood. High heels, flawless hair, every detail in harmonyher dress, her makeup, her nails, her jewellery And the scent of her old perfume hit me like a wave, pulling me under forgotten memories.
My face must have given me awayshock, longing, shamebecause she let out a sharp, triumphant laugh:
*»What, dont recognise me? Told you Id pull myself togetheryou just didnt believe me!»*
Catherine graciously let me walk her to the gym, briefly mentioned the kids»thriving,» she said, full of energy. She didnt talk much about herself, but she didnt need toher glow, that unshakable confidence, this new, devastating charm spoke louder than words.
My thoughts spiralled back to those dark days: how shed dragged herself through the house, broken by sleepless nights and the weight of everyday life, wrapped in that damned jumper and sweatpants, that pathetic bun a symbol of surrender. How it infuriated methat lost elegance, that extinguished flame! This was the same woman Id abandoned, along with our children, blinded by my own selfishness and fleeting anger.
As we parted, I stammered if I could call her, confessed I finally understood, begged for a fresh start. But she only flashed me a cool, victorious smile, shook her head with unyielding resolve, and said:
*»Too late for epiphanies, mate. Goodbye. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking firmly against the pavement, each step echoing like a final period in the story we once wrote together. I stood frozen, the city noise fading around me, watching her silhouette blend into the evening crowduntouchable, whole, and utterly beyond me. The woman Id dismissed as lost had not only found herself but outgrown me entirely, and there was no room in her new world for the man whod once failed to see her worth.
